Shade
Nibbler
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Post by Shade on May 11, 2004 21:47:04 GMT -8
Ah... my favorite. The Neverending Story. I'll start a story and the next person that comes along ads a paragrah, sentence or whatever and then the next person ads more to it. It's a neverending story. I love these things. I'll start: It was getting late and John had just stepped outta the forest to head back home. So far, it's been a rather unusual day. Didn't start that way though. Everything seemed to be fine up until the muffin. Ever since he ate that muffin, things have been weird. Well, weird would be an understatement. While walking the pathway in the field leading from the woods to his home, he felt as though he was still being followed. ____ okay! Your turn! hehe finish the story.
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jo
Nibbles: 40
Crackin' since: April 2004
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Post by jo on May 12, 2004 0:17:35 GMT -8
...and hell, the paranoia was justified.
Five years ago, John wasn’t John. He was an average Joe (only his name wasn’t Joe either, of course), married to Melissa, father of Zachary and Michael, proprietor of the world’s worst seafood restaurant (notorious for causing the hardiest stomach to heave), catering to fisherfolk, cheap daters, and occasionally, a tourist lost in that little corner of heaven in the far side of Maine we call *insert suitable geographical info*.
Not-Joe’s world was just dandy. He’d wake up early, shell out his crustaceans, attempt to steam, broil, and butter them depending on his mood…or rather on the music Melissa would blare out from their trusty old jukebox, as she wiped the salt off their tables and danced to the jingle-jangle of glasses being set. Not-Joe need only glance at a strategic porthole (the world’s worst SR being designed to mimic a ship) and see their twin nine-year-olds demolishing a sand-castle. Idyllic is it not, nutty Not-Joe, musical Melissa, and the twin dynamos? Not-Joe thought so himself.
Until, of course, May 15 in the year of the millennium, the day that would drive Not-Joe into becoming John, arrested in front of his forest home, looking over his shoulder, wondering why he was breathing in a whiff of the sea-air that ought to be miles, and miles away, in another world, a world where everything he owned had been destroyed, and everyone he loved, he’d lost…<br>
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Shade
Nibbler
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Post by Shade on May 12, 2004 1:05:41 GMT -8
Meanwhile.... in a Galaxy far far away, aliens are watching down on their experiment. John/Joe had been secretly sliced with an alien tool and a tracking device was implanted into his mind... "Ah.." the head alien said, "our plan is coming along nicely..." :reflective:
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jo
Nibbles: 40
Crackin' since: April 2004
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Post by jo on May 12, 2004 20:19:41 GMT -8
Unbeknownst to the aliens, John/Joe's nerve impulses are far superior to that of the average humanoid. He is able to sense the implant, only, his brain interprets the signal as some nefarious character always physically behind him, waiting to pounce. The implant, however, is also designed to suppress John/Joe's memories of the past, and at the moment, seems to be failing...
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Shade
Nibbler
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Post by Shade on May 12, 2004 20:40:51 GMT -8
He occasionally can recall bits and pieces from his early childhood. though his mind is more powerful than the aliens have imagined, they try to keep teh deep early past hidden from him. the day when he was born from an egg on mars.....
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jo
Nibbles: 40
Crackin' since: April 2004
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Post by jo on May 12, 2004 22:44:58 GMT -8
...bursting out in one dramatic, oozy, woozy way, with small wings springing painfully from his back, and lashless lids hooding eyes that when opened, could already distinguish the rocky, empty terrain of his home planet. Martian lads, after all, are born fully capable of sight, if not sound. At least, for the first 24 hours.
He'd been alone, then, as now...
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Shade
Nibbler
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Post by Shade on May 15, 2004 1:30:35 GMT -8
shortly afterwards, he awakens. was it just a dream? " . For 3 months he has been in a deep mysterious coma and he now carries the heavy burden of amnesia! He doesn't rem*ember who he is or where he came from. On his forhead, is a large gash, too precise to have been any accident. Some for of surgery maybe? The room spins and his vision is blurred....
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jo
Nibbles: 40
Crackin' since: April 2004
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Post by jo on Jun 30, 2004 21:49:27 GMT -8
Joe wakes to screams in his head. Damned migraine again. The only cure, of course, was to run like hell. Jogging clears the head, so joggers like Joe believe.
"Look da! Harry Potter!" some kid in the park screeched, pointing at the gash on nutty-Joe's broad forehead. He resisted the urge to swipe at the boy, Martians by instinct, being mighty disciplinarians.
In Mars, that boy would've been sent to look for the blood-stones of Gertzhan, an isle filled with the remains of the dragon-lords. They returned to shed their last drop of blood in their birthplace, the only tear likely to be shed on their behalf (dargons are a cruel race), which crystallized into the jewel Martians grafted onto their foreheads...for strength, as a mark of status. If a boy returns from the dragon-lairs, he would be respected, no longer a boy.
But of corz, nutty-Joe wouldn't know anything of that. All he knew was that some kid was calling him Harry Potter, an alien name. Er, nutty-Joe isn't much into the pulse of pop fic that way...
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Mister Mouse
Si on devait mourir demain, qu'est-ce que tu ferais?
Nibbles: 790
Crackin' since: September 2007
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Post by Mister Mouse on Sept 26, 2007 23:11:01 GMT -8
((And now I am thinking of the Martian Chronicles... YAY! The world asploded in that don't you know?))
Not-Joe continued on his way, still believing that his name was John (although, it may very well have been... but I have never hear of a Martian named John, so I don't think it was) and grumbling to himself about the poor upbringing of children now-a-days. He thinks to himself that if he ever had children of his own, they would never be unruly and they would always mind their elders. They wouldn't raise their voices, point, or behave in any childish manner. They would be propper young hatchlings with good brains and an eye for finding stalkers. He would name his son Tom, and he would change how he looked constantly, keeping him safe from any possible being that lurked in the shadows - for as long as his identity was unknown no being could... -continue please-
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