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RANDOM TALE RP
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RANDOM TALE RP
RANDOM TALE RP
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.
Sketch~
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)
(January 13, 2017 - 10:17 pm)
Wow. You're good.
Oakes~
"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."
(January 20, 2017 - 9:02 pm)