Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Second post of new story

That clementine is still on the roof of Brian's trailer...yes. Yes it is. Well, I could go out there and get it, but I'm too lazy. There's a little bit of clementine juice there, and it's all dried up, making the roof have a little white spatter all over it. I really have no clue what to write about... oh wait! The story, right...

January, 16, 2006

Before I go on my journey, I have to go back to my apartment in Toronto to pick up a few things. I stick to the small, country roads, covered in snow, so no one will ask for a ride and delay my long journey back. After driving for eight hours, I'm back at my apartment in Toronto. I jingle my keys, becuase I like the sound, and then go inside and lock the door. I keep turning the keys until I hear the soft click. I check the traps I set around my house. No one got in.
First I stride over to my bedroom, my shoes making no noise on the soft carpet. I look around at my room: a mattress, plopped on the floor, a dresser being used as a desk. Nothing important. I lift up the mattress, findind that farmiliar cut in the carpet. I lift it up and grab my life's savings: $50,000. Then I open up my closet. My big closet. The one without clothes in it. The one full of  guns.
I take an M-16, and two MAC-10s, then I get my desert eagle, along with a SPAS 12 and my Draganuv sniper rifle. I run around trying to find ammunition for all of them. I make a couple of coca-cola bombs since I don't have any grenades, and then get my gun permit. I feel like an action here from a movie. I stop in front of a mirror and hold my guns up and then imagine myself with a cigar. Defiantly an action hero.
I pack all of my regular person stuff and then I walk to the garage to get my Mustang GT. I wouldn't want anyone coming into my taxi and see guns everywhere. So, I walk the short distance there, contemplating how old the black, hard pieces of gum on the sidewalk are. I get inside my Mustang and head off to the nearest airport. Once I get there, I realize a problem. The airport security. And they would get pretty +@&%#^* mad if I walked in there and tried to get on a plane laden with guns, two of them illegal. I decide to go and get my bush-plane, 120 miles away in the country.
Just as I'm leaving the airport, I notice a guy. A guy with a button with a crescent moon with a sword through it. I get out of my car and follow him. He walks inside the airport and checks the giant TV with the flight times, then goes to gate G-12. It's a flight to San Francisco. I run to my blue mustang and drive way past the speed limit. I watch the speedometer on my car go up. 90, 100, 105, 120, 150... I drive and swerve through the small country roads covered in snow-I'm good with cars, too- and drive to the farm where my bush plane is.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

the 411 on the next story

There are gonna be some changes in the next story. First of all, it will be in first person. I've never written this way before, so I won't be best at it. Second of all, there will be a difference of font. The purple font I'm using right now will be narration. The black courier new will be what is written in the story. So, with that it mind, let's get started.

January 16, 2006
Still driving. I've been driving for hours. Whoa! Damn minivans. I've been drivin' for hours, and probably will be for a few more. But still, it ain't so bad. I kinda like this guy. He's kinda sketchy looking, wearing that black fedora and trench-coat. He's also got a briefcase with him, and he's got a gun, so I ain't messin' with him. But he's still good company, unlike most, who treat you like moose hair. I drive fast, and then suddenly he tells me to stop. My taxi comes screeching to a halt in front of a tiny log cabin, like it was an ad for maple syrup. We're in the middle of nowhere. Woods surround us, and there's snow everywhere. He leans up against the back of my seat and hands me a roll of $100 bills. 
"It's a little extra for what your about to go through." he says. He pulls a .22 magnum out of his trench-coat along with three clips. "You might want this." he says as he hands it to me. The etched, black, no-slip grip on the handle feels cold on my sweaty hands. "Stay here with the keys in the ignition. If you here a gunshot, start up the car and I'll be here shortly. Once I get in, drive like a maniac. But if you here two gunshots,go in the cabin with guns blazing. Have you ever handled a gun before?" he asks.
"Hellz ya! I used to be a marine!" I reply. I knew everything about every gun there was.
"Good. You know the plan." he says, and walks into the cabin with briefcase in hand. I wait. I wait longer. You know how when you think it's been an hour, but then you look at your watch and its only been fifteen minutes? That's what kept happening. The heater rattles on and on. I have the radio on really low. It plays "Radar Love". Then the shot rings out, echoing through the forest. It sounded sort of like a car exuast going off. I start the car. BANG! The car exuast really does go off. No, wait- that's a gunshot. I take the .22 out and kick the door down on the cabin, and go in guns blazing. I take cover behind a overtopped steel table. I see the guy I was giving a ride to with a gunshot in him. I run as fast as I can and pull him over behind the table. HE's fading fast. Blood that looks so fake I would put it on my hotdog gushes out of the wound. He hands me he briefcase and says,
"Things didn't go according to plan... Get this to 
Yazoko Kirabiti in Tokyo...(a gasp) and whatever you do, don't
let it get into the hands of them..." He looked over the 
table, and then, he fell back with a thump. I twirled out the 
.22 and shot all five of the guys in black suits. As I said 
before, I was good with guns. I walked over the hot cabin and
crouched down next to one of the dead guys. He had a badge 
with a crescent moon and an sword through it. They were all 
wearing them. WEll, at least I would have something to do for
the next little while.

next storie?

Next Storie? Well, maybe not. First I have to wrap some things up from the last story.

     EPILOGUE: twenty years later...
Brent's Diary, January 4th, 1965
     I have passed boot-camp along with Will, and am currently being shipped off to North Vietnam. We are in the 32nd unit of the Marine Corps. We are both looking forward to our first encounter with the enemy. Dad would be proud that I followed in his footsteps. I am still troubled by his death sometimes, late at night, as is William. We comfort each other all the time, and we hope that if we die in battle, we'll also die together, as our fathers did. I never forget how he died: He saved his entire platoon by distracting the entire oncoming force with nothing but the five shells in his magnum handgun, taking quite a few Germans with him. Will's dad also died in the Battle of the Bulge, by stealing a german biplane and crashing it into a unit of panthers, saving his entire platoon also.
I'm afraid it's almost time to go. I can feel the jungle heat, and it calls me. I hope I live to tell the tale to mum.

Epilogue is over now. Well, now, a new story, eh? What should it be about? Hmmm... a zombie apocalypse? Nah. ooh, I have an Idea! Yay, introduction to story!

The clock beeped.  Tim turned over. 2:30 am. it said in big red numbers. Hew couldn't sleep. He never could on nights like this. It was hot and humid outside, with a gray fog dimming the streetlights. There wasn't a sound at all. The moon was either a new moon or blocked by dark clouds. Then, he saw the lights. Cutting through the fog were red and blue lights, flashing rhythmically. There still wasn't a sound in the thick air.  It pulled up two his house, and the two police officers walked out. He heard the slam of doors, then footsteps. There was a knock on the door. Tim rolled out of bed and walked downstairs. He opened the door.
"Are you Tim Rills?" The taller police officer asked.
"Yes." Tim said. The fatter police officer pulled out a huge packet of papers.
"Your uncle Ray Blank has just died," he said. He must have seen the confused look on Tim's face. "Never heard of him? Well, he was a taxi driver in Canada. But here's the thing: He was found with five bullets in him in Hong Kong. This was found in his back pocket." he says, and hands Tim the packet of papers. Tim looked at it and read the title.

"The Life and Death of Ray Blank."