Chatterbox: Inkwell



Yo. . . If you read the comment by me in the original thread, you know that I might change this into an RP since my ideas box is empty.  If you want a charrie to die or if you want to request an event, please comment!  This is in the POV of my character.


Twisted.  A sign that says go away in front of a cave.  Really?  I kick it over and enter, taking care to draw a flashlight that works before getting too deep. As my footprints echo through the halls, I hear a voice.  

"Why are you here?" It asks, a female voice that creeps me out.  "Didn't you see the sign?". She sounds upset.

"Yeah.  I kicked it away.  Didn't look like much of a big deal," I say.   

"But it is,"  she says flatly. "It's my cave."

" Why should I care if it's your cave?"  I ask, raising my eyebrow.  

"I've claimed it!" Her voice starts soft, but then gets louder until it hurts my ears.

A person leaps onto me, yelling loudly.  I hurry to draw my weapon, but she is already on top of me.  I kick and thrash, trying to escape but her hands are too fast for me.  I'm trapped.

She beats me until I am unable to move then says, "Hold still."  As if I couldn't.  She holds up a gun pointed at my  stomach.  I guess she doesn't want to kill me yet.  She fires, and the world goes black.

$k3tch ₽@!nt 

My everything hurts.  I try to open my eyes, but I can't seem to have the strength.  Why do I feel so weak?  

Then it all comes back to me.  The cave, the girl, everything.  I become more aware of the blast wound in my stomach, a searing pain worse than. I have ever felt.the sound of a blast surprises me into waking up.  It's dark, so dark I couldn't see my hands in front of my face if they were able to lift.

"Elmira Prism," a voice, this one male, says.  "I see you haven't killed the person I requested."

"I would have thought you wanted to see me kill her in person," the same female voice, now known as Elmira Prism states.

" I told you to murder her, not to take her prisoner, Elmira.  I did not expect you to bring her to me."

"I apologise, Sharp," Elmira quickly replies.  "I didn't know your expectations, Sharp."

"What are you thinking?" Sharp yells.  "Kill her!  Now!"

I hear the sound of the blaster loading, but I year myself away from my bondings before my head can be blown off.  I guess she was used to not stripping prisoners of their weapons.  Either that or she doesn't expect pencils or pens to be lethal.  I blindly fight them, ignoring my wound, and play a move that is impossible to evade.  I spin both my weapons around, one pen and one pencil  in so many loops they probably are both on the ground.  I run away, still ignoring the pain.

I apologise to @Moonfrost  because nobody made Sharp's daughter.

submitted by Lucy B., age 12, California
(January 13, 2017 - 10:17 pm)

Wow. You're good. 


"You're just a kid." Those are the words I've heard too many times. From myself. From my older siblings. Even from my parents. Sometimes I feel like they define my exsistance; like a whole portion of my life will be spent waiting until I can be older. Until I can make a difference. 

But that is going to change. Now.

My sister finds me straddling the windowsill at nearly 2:00 AM, cradling my right wrist and shaking the raindrops from my face. Her shiny black hair falls perfectly down her back, and her eyes are alight and alert. I can tell she hasn't slept at all. 

"Oats? What are you...where have you...?" 

"It's Oakes," I say through gritted teeth, "not Oates are Oakey or Oake-tree." I slide down onto the carpet, spraying the area with rainwater droplets. Carefully, I slide the window shut, struggling to only use one hand. Thankfully, I happen to be left-handed. 

"Have you been...outside? Past midnight? Oh my...Mom and Dad are going to be so mad!" Janice hisses, still staring wide-eyed at me.

"But you won't tell," I answer knowingly.

"No, I won't. What the heck did you do to your wrist?" 

"I don't know. Probably sprained it," I answer, peeling off my soaked grey jacked and hanging it on the door, wincing at nearly every movement. Janice rolls her eyes.

"Doing what, exactly?" She questions.

"Something good," I answer simply. 

"Deal with that yourself. Your trouble; your consequences," replies Janice, shutting the door. A few seconds later, she opens it again.

"You need somethin'?" I guess she has a conscience after all.

"No." She turns to leave again.

"Janice? You always told me I was different. Now, I'm making a difference." I can barely hear her sigh over the pounding of the rain outside.

"You are different, Oakes," she says finally, whirling back through the doorway into the dark and silent house. I have a feeling that this time it isn't an insult.

I'm not just a kid. No. I'm actually a lot more than meets the eye, and someday, Janice will find out just how much. Carefully, I walk over to one of the two peices of furniture in my cramped room. The wooden bookshelf is cluttered and dusty. I slide my hand along the bottom of the middle shelf, and it comes loose in my hand. As it falls forward, a whole section of the back comes with it, revealing a hidden screen. Blipping dots and messages appear on it; pixely (? spelling?) because the quality isn't so good. I'm not some kid genious. I'm not some hero either. I'm just in connection with the NIGHT, because I happen to have some very unordinary contacts. 

People say I'm unique, different, unusual. They don't know anything. 


I'm really making this up as I go along. Reread the post. It's a bunch of fluff, LOL. I just figured that most of us are kids, right? So we need a common cause. An orginization to work for...or against. So, although I'm not sure what NIGHT does, it has something to do with your master plot, maybe....?

I'm dropping Ira as a charrie, and making someone evil instead. MWAHAHAHAH!  

Wildflower: You watch too much TV.

Sam: You read too many books.

Me: I DO NOTHING OF THE SORT! Actually, the second accusation could be true, depending on your definition of "too many." 

submitted by Rose bud
(January 20, 2017 - 9:02 pm)