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Geck-o-Lizard
30-07-03, 23:28
Okay, I've had an idea: Why don't we start a sort of Forum Writers' Group for us writers to share our work with others?

Here's one I found in my hard drive, and I'm not sure how to finish it... Perhaps we could do it a little like 3 word story but with larger passages and try to make it like a book? Nah...

A man dressed in rather tattered rags was hurrying down a metal staircase, breathing heavily. He had his gun out, a Smith and Wesson handgun, but that did nothing to help the situation he was in. He cursed loudly as the heel of his boot caught the underside of one of the steps and he tripped and crashed down the stairs. He lay panting for a few seconds, listening for sounds of the men following him. A couple of shouts and a bark echoed through the darkness from up above, near the fire exit door, slightly muffled because of the rain pouring down.
Climbing back up to his feet, the man continued his flight, but once he was at the next level down he peered over the side, deciding whether or not to jump to the ground. It was about twenty feet down, so he climbed over the railing and down the bare metal skeleton of the stairs, then he jumped. He landed hard, winded, but looked up to the top of the stairs to see where his pursuers were. There were four of them, on the third level down, and they had torches attached to Hekler & Koch rifles. There were also two Dobermans, straining at their leashes. The men stopped and released the dogs, who bounded down the steps.
On the ground, the man in rags started panicking. He looked around for some running water as he sprinted away, knowing that it would throw the dogs off the scent. He found an open manhole, though, and decided that the sewers would do just as well. He climbed down, careful not to land in the water first. He ran down the side of the disgusting brown stream on the dry ledge, trying to put as much space between him and the manhole through which the men with their dogs were sure to follow. Suddenly he found himself wondering why oh why hadn't he shut the manhole cover over? At least it would've slowed down the pursuers.
A few hundred metres down the tunnel split in three. Straight ahead, left or right? The man chose to go left, and hurried on down. Suddenly he came to a dead end, with only a rusty ladder leading up to an ancient manhole cover in the ceiling. He practically leapt up the ladder in panic and threw his weight against the thick steel cover, but it didn't budge. He fell back down and crouched on the bank, listening. There was no sound apart from the scratching of rats and the steady drip of water. That's funny, he said to himself. Why aren't they following me? You'd think my trail would be easy enough to follow into the sewers. But he could now hear a faint rumbling in the distance, rapidly growing louder. It's a trap, he thought to himself. They opened that cover beforehand knowing I'd go into it. They're going to drown me.
He climbed back up the ladder and tried with all his might to push the cover away, his strength aided by his panic. A few flakes of rust peeled off around the cover, floating gently to the floor. He threw himself at it several times as he heard the rumbling growing louder and louder, shockwaves rippling across the stagnant water below. Suddenly the cover burst open and flooded the tunnel with light, so the man leapt out without thinking. He slammed the cover back down and ran for it as he felt the ground vibrating slightly with the force of the water below.
The water traveling through the subterranean passages surged through like electricity, and swiftly reached the dead end. Because of the force of it, it slammed into the wall and shot up through the manhole like a fountain, spitting the cover away like a piece of polystyrene. It flew through the air and smashed into the ground with such force that it half buried itself.
The man looked around from where he was crouching, and it appeared that he had emerged in a huge old warehouse. The walls were made of corrugated steel, as was the roof, and the floor consisted of old crumbling concrete with tiny plants growing in some of the deeper cracks. The man looked around for the door as he felt the pocket inside his jacket, ensuring he still had both his gun and the little parcel. He saw a door leading out to what was presumably a yard, and took it, seeing that he was right. But the yard, unlike the warehouse, was not deserted. There were cars and motorbikes parked in it haphazardly, all with occupants. Men with laser-sighted rifles leant over the car bonnets aiming at the man's head. He looked panic stricken as two hefty guards in black clothing approached him and knocked him to the ground, then searched him, relieving him of the Smith and Wesson and the parcel. Then they grabbed his wrists and plasticuffed them together and dragged him into the black Merc with mirrored windows. He was sandwiched between the two men, a knife held at his throat. The front passenger turned round as the car started going, and it was a woman. She had shoulder-length straight jet-black hair, large red lips, a black business suit, and a cruel expression. She tried to smile sweetly at the man, but gave up within seconds when she got no response from him.
"Good evening, Pierre. I see you have given us the first segment."
"Not willingly."
"Well we have it anyway. Well, you are going to help us find the others."
"Never! You don't know the power of the ; in the wrong hands it would prove fatal!"
"Well, we'll see if you're still saying the same when you've lost some blood. Boris, slit open his left hand."
Boris, the guard on Pierre's left, drew his knife and placed it against his left hand. He drew the blade across his palm and up round the back of his hand to the knuckles, leaving a deep bloody painful gash all the way round. He screamed and twitched violently, unwillingly.
"We'll continue slicing you up until you talk, moving onto more essential parts of your anatomy," the woman snarled. "Tell me where it is!"
"No!"
"Boris, slice his hand again."
Boris flashed the knife once more. Again, Pierre screamed and jerked.
"Okay, okay, I'll tell you!" he gasped. He pulled his bleeding hand from Boris and cradled it, panting. "You know where that old apothecary is, in this town?"
"Yes...?"
"Well, it's in the basement in a locked safe. The code is 7251."
"Good boy."
The car spent another fifteen minutes in travel, with Pierre's hand staining his clothes and the cream leather seats with crimson. Finally the car stopped and the headlights flicked off, but the windscreen wipers continued to zip back and forth. He was dragged out of the car by the guards and was shoved ahead. The woman and a few others followed. He led them to the locked door, which Boris's partner happily kicked down. The room through the door was dark and musty, and it smelled of damp rotting wood, old medicines, and herbs. The group continued through two rooms to a thick wooden door at the end, obviously the way down to the basement. It was locked, and this time it didn't give in to Boris's partner's boot. Pierre pointed to a bunch of keys on a hook next to the door, and the partner sheepishly picked them up and unlocked the door. It swung open, and the group gagged at the appalling smell of rotting flesh, medicinal materials and decaying wood. There was also a heavy smell of varnish, the reason for which became evident when the torchlight showed a can of the stuff which had spilled and spread across the floor. At the very back of the room was the safe, tiny and dusty. The woman, eager for the second parcel, rushed up to the safe and unlocked it using the number her prisoner had given. It opened up with a creak and she reached inside, pulling out a plastic bag-wrapped parcel. She ripped the plastic off and discarded it on the floor, then looked fondly at her prize. But suddenly she keeled over, the expression frozen on her face, her eyes wide and sightless. She was dead. Within seconds of the others going up to investigate her, they were all dead, including Pierre. He had known that the safe contained a dummy parcel and that it had cyanide gas in it to kill any thieves. The location of the real parcel was still unknown, as Pierre himself had hidden it and had told only one other person where it was, and she was currently somewhere in India at the moment.

How's that? It's not really so much a short story as a prologue or first chapter of a longer story, but I wrote it because I was bored and I suddenly had an idea while listening to Furious Angels (I think, may have been Dread Rock or Zion, can't remember) on the first CD of the Matrix Reloaded soundtracks (the one with the songs including Marlyn Manson, Linkin Park and P.O.D.) so I wrote it down. It could be for Tomb Raider or anything else really, it's not specific. Well, I guess if it was for Tomb Raider you might have to change Pierre's name to avoid confusion or whatever with the previous character (Larson and Pierre, remember? http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/tongue.gif )
Hey Genocide, have you started your TR story yet? How's it going? http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/smile.gif

tlr online
30-07-03, 23:32
Excellent idea! Be great to pool the literary talent we have hidden in our aisles.

Rommie
30-07-03, 23:40
Geat work Gecko :cool:

Isabella
30-07-03, 23:48
Very well written http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/smile.gif

Geck-o-Lizard
30-07-03, 23:51
Lol, I think that's about the only bit of anything I haven't tried to make humourous. I'm a great fan of Ben Elton. http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/smile.gif

Geck-o-Lizard
31-07-03, 00:41
Genocide must think I've forgotten him or something, I hope not. I wonder when he'll be on next http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/privateeye.gif

Geck-o-Lizard
31-07-03, 12:11
Ho hum. I'm bored, and it's cold and grey outside. http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/sleepy.gif

Annacia
31-07-03, 12:20
Same here Gecko. I'm sure it will get hot later.
*sigh*

Geck-o-Lizard
31-07-03, 12:22
Maybe I can quickly build a giant laser and burn the clouds away... http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/tongue.gif

Annacia
31-07-03, 12:23
No thanks Gecko, not needed. http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/smile.gif

Genocide
31-07-03, 12:38
not a bad idea...and yes i have started my TR story, theres a prewiew of it on one of the other pages, i'm getting a basic plot worked out with some extensive character development, but i'm gettin there!! i know the basics of it, it's just gettin to fit into place...it's like a jigsaw

[ 31. July 2003, 13:48: Message edited by: Genocide ]

Annacia
31-07-03, 12:43
Good morning Geno.

Genocide
31-07-03, 12:46
good morning to you too

Geck-o-Lizard
31-07-03, 12:48
Hi Gen http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/wave.gif

Genocide
31-07-03, 12:49
HELLO!!

Annacia
31-07-03, 12:53
hows the world flying for ya this morning?

Genocide
31-07-03, 12:57
not so bad....i havn't slept, it's 1:55pm and i'm still not tired!!

Annacia
31-07-03, 12:59
I know that feeling, seems my max sleep time is 4 hrs!