Discussion in 'Roleplaying Forum' started by Grossenschwamm, Aug 28, 2011.
It's was a sunny morning. He could hear his mother calling. This was the day he had forgotten.
Calling his dog, The Last Boy ran back to his childhood home through the bucolic setting of rural Mid-America. With a smile, his mother said "Dinner's ready." It was always a surprise. His parents took turns cooking, trying new recipes nearly every day. Being a picky eater, it didn't always taste good to him; but the variety kept meals exciting. He sat in his seat at the table, everything was in place. The dog excitedly rushed to its food dish and began eating, then paused. Looking at The Last Boy, it seemed to tense up. He froze, as if he felt a sense of impending doom.
It was gas.
They all died.
After dying from the horrible dog-gas, The Last Boy felt himself being pulled back into terrible reality, all of what he experienced being a fabrication of his addled mind. Again a man, he had apparently entered a catatonic state and was now regaining self-awareness.
Then he woke up and it was all a dream.
(Zanza...that's what I said in the post before yours. You can do better, with trolling AND with a story.)
Before him was the unspeakable horror.
"You didn't have to cut me. I just want to love you, baby. Now, I have to get a little...rougher...than I did with the rest."
The Last Man stifled a scream. He guessed abominations liked that sort of thing, and decided not to utter a sound.
"Actually, I prefer the quiet type."
He tried desperately to blank his mind. It was in his thoughts. It manifested hallucinations of his family as represented in the dream, but there was something slightly off about them...
Then he had a heart attack and died.
Atleast he thought that he had died, but no. While the Last Man woke up, the Unnameable Thing spoke to him 'No, boy. I cannot let you die. I gonna have some great plans with you.'
(Zanza, I know you're trolling, but if you want to end the story you'll have to be more creative. A repeat? You really can do better. I deleted it. If you won't try, I'll delete your posts.)
His chest burned. It seemed that while it could sustain his life, it was keen on reminding him that he was only alive to entertain it. He remembered a song popularized by Justin Bieber, and the creature laughed. It seemed hollow, like a blatant imitation of genuine laughter.
Reality quivered. The Last Man was now in a padded cell, with little to remind him of the horrors that existed at the end of the world, save a singular bottle of vodka.
Wildly he looked around to find a way to escape this forsaken place. Wait. Is not that a wooden spoon he saw before him?
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He suddenly realised there was no spoon, for it was all a dream. Then he woke up and died.
OK, I actually liked that one a lot. The spoon thing didn't make sense to me, and I had no idea how to follow it.
It was a reference to The Matrix.
If you ever played TF2, you will enjoy this immensely. If you didn't, it's still worth a read.
No, I meant I couldn't follow Arthgon's use of the Spoon.
"Hey, random wooden spoon!"
My turn: ...eh.
Zanza saves the day!
It would have been something like this:
He began to dig a tunnel to safety. At the end of the tunnel he emerged into a wild world.
Standard padded rooms are surrounded by concrete. You can't dig through concrete with a spoon made of wood. The pads themselves are pouches made of leather or or strong canvas, and coated with a rubberized paint. While those can be punctured and subsequently ripped, the concrete remains. The way I was going was that he'd eventually submit to the urge to drink. But, I guess that's the problem with passing the torch.
He can't drink with the spoon?
The Last Man picked up the spoon with awe, pour some medicine in it and started drinking. He didn't stop til the bottle was empty.
(oops, I should have known that.)
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