i can't think of a thread title

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  1. #1
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    Default i can't think of a thread title

    you wake up. it's dark. there's a sharp, acrid smell in the air. yr not sure if you hear the echoes of a cry in the air or if that was part of yr dream. either way, it woke you up.

    you fumble for yr phone, in the dark, and turn yr face away for a few moments to adjust to the bright light in the dark.

    3:12 am.

    now that yr a bit more awake, you recognise the smell. something's burning. no fire alarm's gone off in the residence, though, so maybe it's outside.

    at that moment, you hear the sound of breaking glass, and you're out of bed in a moment. you peer out yr window, trying awkwardly to be seen without maybe being seen if anyone's looking. there's a car on fire. in the pool of light by the main entrance you see a bunch of people standing around. off to the side you can sort of see a body lying on the ground. its feet and the jeans on its lower legs, anyway. the angle of the building prevents you seeing more.

    what do you do
    I hate TALKING. to PEOPLE. about THINGS.

  2. #2
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    "Man, **** this shit, it's too early for this."

    Promptly go back to bed.
    On nights like tonight when no one's around, I turn off the lights, and I float off the ground.

    And I smile like I used to when you were around.

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    you do that. the smell's a bit hard to sleep with, but yr used to smelling things burning, living in a college residence, and you soon drift off.

    ...

    you wake up again, again with a start. this time there's a dim light coming in the window. someone's banging on the door to the hallway really loudly. maybe yr roommate (well, not really, his room is actually next to yrs, and both rooms open onto a kitchenette, but anyway...) will deal with it, though. answering the door would require getting up, walking over and opening yr room door, and walking across the cold kitchen floor to open yet another door...

    too much effort.

    after a few seconds, though, the pounding on the door is still going on. what do you do.
    I hate TALKING. to PEOPLE. about THINGS.

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    quietly tiptoe to the door and look out through the peep hole.

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    you try to get yr creep on but you've never been really great at that, and you whack yr bare foot on the door frame. you do a silent internally swear-y dance and hope no one heard that.

    you limp over to the door. outside there's an east asian guy, about yr age, with a surgical mask on.

    what do you do
    I hate TALKING. to PEOPLE. about THINGS.

  6. #6
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    Realizing the situation, that Vladimir Putin had crashed his car while running from an army of vampires, I rushed into action. It's what any sensible person would do. Who could allow harm to come to Russia's favorite son. Right?

    As I exploded through the shower of glass that had been the window of my fourth floor studio apartment, the vampires turned. Giving me a clear glimpse of their sunken deformed faces for the first time. Their beady eyes locked on me and their flapping heads opened to expose rows of razor sharp teeth... Not just vampires but Canadians! This was going to be fun.
    _
    Edit: Damn, I'm slow.

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    farmer's alt. story: the canadian vampires rush forward with unnatural speed. you take down a few a swing of yr machete, their limbs flying through the air in gouts of blood and maple syrup, and another few with yr gun that launches sharpened stakes, which you designed based on a video game you played one time. nonetheless the vampires surround you, and the situation, which had seemed so bright a moment ago, is suddenly desperate.

    at that moment, though, one of the vampires raises its head, and sniffs loudly, its thin nostrils flaring. you spin round as, with a rending sound, a building collapses. over it, mouths foaming, and with hellfire in their eyes and sparking hooves, a massive herd of stampeding weremooses appears, coming yr way.

    the vampires scatter, and you and the great man are left standing alone in the street, seconds from inevitable squishy death.

    You are paralysed by fear. vampires, even canadians, you were prepared for, but this...

    Putin, seeing yr indecision, takes out a wire rope from the remains of his car, and quickly macgyvers it together with yr stake gun to make a makeshift but pretty badass grappling hook gun thing. then he seizes you in his strong arms, and fires the gun. it hits the top of the kremlin. Putin presses a button, and you both take off, flying through the air, as the grappling hook reels you in with tremendous speed.

    standing atop Russia's most important structure, you try to stammer yr gratitude, but Putin and only smiles, and, clasping yr shoulder for a moment, walks away.

    You stand there looking out at the red dawn, and you light a cigarette.
    I hate TALKING. to PEOPLE. about THINGS.

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    # ᴛ ʜ ᴇ ʏ ᴄ ᴀ ʟ ʟ ᴍ ᴇ ᴛ ʜ ᴇ s ᴏ ʀ ᴄ ᴇ ʀ ᴇ ʀ s ᴜ ᴘ ʀ ᴇ ᴍ ᴇ ʙ ᴇ ᴄ ᴀ ᴜ s ᴇ ɪ ' ᴍ s ᴏ s ᴛ ʀ ᴀ ɴ ɢ ᴇ.


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    Quote Originally Posted by postrook View Post
    you try to get yr creep on but you've never been really great at that, and you whack yr bare foot on the door frame. you do a silent internally swear-y dance and hope no one heard that.

    you limp over to the door. outside there's an east asian guy, about yr age, with a surgical mask on.

    what do you do
    . .
    I hate TALKING. to PEOPLE. about THINGS.

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