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Cafe Doom  |  The Critique Crypt  |  Writing Exercises (closed to guests)  |  let's all write a book
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Author Topic: let's all write a book  (Read 3276 times)

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Offline fnord33

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let's all write a book
« on: March 15, 2010, 04:55:59 AM »
I see that there are several collective story threads and nobody seems to have posted anything on them. These things can be really fun so I'm going to try to get something started here. Part of the fun is having other people destroy what you thought was going to happen. Take this as far as you want. Here goes:


Jim woke up yet again with the distinct feeling that his mouth was not his own. His teeth were to too sharp and tasted of chemicals. Every night they seemed to reform themselves in new positions just familiar enough to keep him wondering.     
Life is an entanglement of lies to hide it's basic mechanisms. - William Burroughs

Offline LashSlash

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Re: let's all write a book
« Reply #1 on: December 21, 2010, 03:41:28 PM »
Jim woke up yet again with the distinct feeling that his mouth was not his own. His teeth were to too sharp and tasted of chemicals. Every night they seemed to reform themselves in new positions just familiar enough to keep him wondering.   He had tried, with little succes, to tie them in place with dental-floss, but their sharp edges slashed the bonds with ease. In desperation he borrowed his girlfriends dental-retainer when she wasnt using it.

Offline jsorensen

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Re: let's all write a book
« Reply #2 on: December 21, 2010, 05:38:52 PM »
Jim woke up yet again with the distinct feeling that his mouth was not his own. His teeth were to too sharp and tasted of chemicals. Every night they seemed to reform themselves in new positions just familiar enough to keep him wondering.   He had tried, with little succes, to tie them in place with dental-floss, but their sharp edges slashed the bonds with ease. In desperation he borrowed his girlfriends dental-retainer when she wasnt using it.

He stole to the bathroom, retainer tucked in the pocket of his robe.  "Gotta go," he called out in a sudden desire to give himself the pretense of doing normal things in the morning.  He wondered if his girlfriend, coming out of heavy sleep, bought his pretense.

He closed the door and pushed the button lock on the knob.

"Gotta go?" he quietly asked himself.  "What the hell am I?  Closseau?"
He had something to say. He said it. . . . He had summed up—he had judged. ‘The horror!’

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