Wahoo. My blog hasn't yet gone down the tubes of disgrace!
I got a few comments, and now it is time to celebrate! I don't know why, but I always get hyped over comments (Almost always -- Depends on who they're from).
After church yesterday, we came home to find a little black lab puppy with a white spot on his chest and no tail. The no tail part was really scary for me. /kidding.
Anyway, I added a little more onto the story. As before, comment to your hearts delight.
Oh, and Esther pointed out that the 'Author' didn't seem to know the boys age, and that I was portraying the character as me. Then Ashley said that she thought the same thing.
Nobody else has commented yet, so I'll just deal with those two things right now.
First, the Author did know the boys age, but the dog did not. He was merely guessing.
Second, this book is a concept script for a film that I'd like to do. I play the kid. Therefore, I should look like the kid, so nobody will be disappointed when the movie comes out!
I still am not totally certain of the story. Oh, and just so you know, in part 1 when he hits his head on the tree, I'm taking it out. It has absolutely nothing to do with the story, and it will be extremely confusing later on. Just pretend it NEVER happened.
Poof.
Very good.
Now, for part 2.
Enjoy!
A freshly washed silver sports car rolled down the highway with the precision of an ink jet printer. A twenty-seven year-old man named Chase Collins sat in the driver seat, maneuvering the vehicle with such a graceful skill that it appeared to be dancing.
But though the car was floating in it's charming ballet, the driver was in a battle of wits with a man named Farrel at the opposite end of the cellphone connection.
“You're not getting the point dammit! He shouldn't have even been there, let alone the breaker! He's too inexperienced!”
“Hey man, YOU were the one who said he could do it, and he wanted to try! I had no reason to stop him. Your problem is a guilty conscience!”
Chase's eyes narrowed, and he spoke through gritted teeth as he said, “I have no conscience. Farrel, you WILL find him, and if he's in jail, YOU will pay his way out. Got it?”
Farrel cursed. “I marvel that you can sell insurance. Your personality isn't anywhere near pleasing, and I certainly wouldn't buy anything from you.”
“That's because you have a hint of intelligence.”
Both men were silent, as if each was waiting for the other to make a move. It was a tough situation due to the nature of both men. Chase was hard, and a genius. Farrel had the same genius, but he wasn't quite so hard as Chase. He was, in fact, so methodical and logical in everything that he did, that he had no choice but to be extremely fair with people. After time this gained him the nickname “Fair”. He actually liked the term.
Finally, Farrel gave in.
“Alright. We'll keep lookin'.”
“Good.”
“But Chase,”
“Yes?”
“Go to Hell.”
“Sure thing Fair. I'll see you there.”
Chase closed up his cell and floored the gas, speeding through several cars that were deemed “too slow”. In other words, they were only going seventy in a sixty-five zone.
Meanwhile, the dog and the boy were still walking slowly down the old country road. The boy had washed his muddy face in the creek, as well as his hair and shirt. The Texas heat took care of the drying process. This boy though, was in an unusual situation. Though he could think freely, and had a good lot of common sense about him, he couldn't remember a thing. His past had been erased, but he wasn't sure how. He didn't even know who this dog was, or if he belonged to him. Strange thoughts rolled through his open mind. Did he have parents? If not, why? Would people in the neighborhood recognize him? If so, he didn't want to be seen. He felt handicapped. How old was he? What was his name? What was this strange dogs name?
He stopped and called the dog to him. The dog walked up and sat down slowly, though obediently, as if to say “Hey pal, do this on your own time!”. The boy looked at the dogs collar. The tag read 'Gabe', and nothing more. Though his voice was still slightly stiff, the boy muttered “Too bad dogs don't carry a wallet, right Gabe?”
He scratched the dogs ears slowly. Then his brain began to function, and he thought about the sentence he'd just spoken. He began looking through his pockets for any form of identification.
After church yesterday, we came home to find a little black lab puppy with a white spot on his chest and no tail. The no tail part was really scary for me. /kidding.
Anyway, I added a little more onto the story. As before, comment to your hearts delight.
Oh, and Esther pointed out that the 'Author' didn't seem to know the boys age, and that I was portraying the character as me. Then Ashley said that she thought the same thing.
Nobody else has commented yet, so I'll just deal with those two things right now.
First, the Author did know the boys age, but the dog did not. He was merely guessing.
Second, this book is a concept script for a film that I'd like to do. I play the kid. Therefore, I should look like the kid, so nobody will be disappointed when the movie comes out!
I still am not totally certain of the story. Oh, and just so you know, in part 1 when he hits his head on the tree, I'm taking it out. It has absolutely nothing to do with the story, and it will be extremely confusing later on. Just pretend it NEVER happened.
Poof.
Very good.
Now, for part 2.
Enjoy!
A freshly washed silver sports car rolled down the highway with the precision of an ink jet printer. A twenty-seven year-old man named Chase Collins sat in the driver seat, maneuvering the vehicle with such a graceful skill that it appeared to be dancing.
But though the car was floating in it's charming ballet, the driver was in a battle of wits with a man named Farrel at the opposite end of the cellphone connection.
“You're not getting the point dammit! He shouldn't have even been there, let alone the breaker! He's too inexperienced!”
“Hey man, YOU were the one who said he could do it, and he wanted to try! I had no reason to stop him. Your problem is a guilty conscience!”
Chase's eyes narrowed, and he spoke through gritted teeth as he said, “I have no conscience. Farrel, you WILL find him, and if he's in jail, YOU will pay his way out. Got it?”
Farrel cursed. “I marvel that you can sell insurance. Your personality isn't anywhere near pleasing, and I certainly wouldn't buy anything from you.”
“That's because you have a hint of intelligence.”
Both men were silent, as if each was waiting for the other to make a move. It was a tough situation due to the nature of both men. Chase was hard, and a genius. Farrel had the same genius, but he wasn't quite so hard as Chase. He was, in fact, so methodical and logical in everything that he did, that he had no choice but to be extremely fair with people. After time this gained him the nickname “Fair”. He actually liked the term.
Finally, Farrel gave in.
“Alright. We'll keep lookin'.”
“Good.”
“But Chase,”
“Yes?”
“Go to Hell.”
“Sure thing Fair. I'll see you there.”
Chase closed up his cell and floored the gas, speeding through several cars that were deemed “too slow”. In other words, they were only going seventy in a sixty-five zone.
Meanwhile, the dog and the boy were still walking slowly down the old country road. The boy had washed his muddy face in the creek, as well as his hair and shirt. The Texas heat took care of the drying process. This boy though, was in an unusual situation. Though he could think freely, and had a good lot of common sense about him, he couldn't remember a thing. His past had been erased, but he wasn't sure how. He didn't even know who this dog was, or if he belonged to him. Strange thoughts rolled through his open mind. Did he have parents? If not, why? Would people in the neighborhood recognize him? If so, he didn't want to be seen. He felt handicapped. How old was he? What was his name? What was this strange dogs name?
He stopped and called the dog to him. The dog walked up and sat down slowly, though obediently, as if to say “Hey pal, do this on your own time!”. The boy looked at the dogs collar. The tag read 'Gabe', and nothing more. Though his voice was still slightly stiff, the boy muttered “Too bad dogs don't carry a wallet, right Gabe?”
He scratched the dogs ears slowly. Then his brain began to function, and he thought about the sentence he'd just spoken. He began looking through his pockets for any form of identification.
So, comments, questions, or rants?
posted at
5:12 PM
