Okay, Okay, Mary Shelley's Ghost Story, vol. 3
I remember the curve.
posted by Carson | 4:54 PM
Eng Lit
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8 Comments:
Where's the story! Ah!
Bekki
Really? cause I thought Ned was in it -_- okay... so that means we're starting over again, right?
Bekki
Very nice, Adam, very nice. Give yourself a pat on the back. :-D
Yes. Where to begin? Have any of you actually written a group story before??? Yes, Nick (Ned, whoever) had to go. Ruth was saddened that it didn't sound much like Hemingway--especially the part I added in about the protagonist's cat-like bathing/relaxation technique(s). What was I thinking?
So I suppose a few ground rules are needed (Adam). 1. No Limericks. 2. continue writing based on the last person's response. Try to keep the story going. 3. No Limericks. 4. It's supposed to be a ghost story--like the one Mary Shelley wrote as part of an impromptu ghost story competition (Frankenstein). 5. No Limericks. 6. See numbers 5, 3, and 1 (above).
what ever did happen to that story ? i feel so ashamed for the icky things i wrote but alas, maybe i will return from gnomeland one day and show you all.
muahahahahahahahahahahahaha
hooded thunder
Hi tis me, Hooded Thunder, I encourage all you to delve inta me increadibly intriguing blog- Hooded Thunder. I av bin putting all me efforts thru one young student and hope that me li'l gnomish legguns kan count on u to solve the mysteries I av bin pourun out.
Hi tis me, Hooded Thunder, I encourage all you to delve inta me increadibly intriguing blog- Hooded Thunder. I av bin putting all me efforts thru one young student and hope that me li'l gnomish legguns kan count on u to solve the mysteries I av bin pourun out.
I remember the curve. I remember lots of things, but mostly I remember the curve. It was a large half-shaped circle beckoning me to follow it.
It wasn’t until I found myself opening up my creaky door and walking into the street did I notice something was wrong. One by one, my neighbours were emerging from their houses the same as I had. They joined the rest of us, spellbound, moving as though in a trance. We were all gathering around the streetlights. We obliged the moon.
I was only one in a crowd of many, but I found myself standing near Mr. Parker, who I felt that I should recognize, even in my drugged state. I thought of speaking to Mr. Parker but my mouth did not obey me. Mr. Parker wished to speak to me too. He could not speak. Neither of us knew what was happening to us. We glanced frightened at each other, unable to communicate in any other way than our scared eyes.
The whole of the neighbourhood was congregated at the end of the street. We were looking past the red octagon warning us to stop. We stared at the moon. I was waiting for something to happen, but I didn’t know what it was.
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