Okay, last night I tried writing my first piece of the summer, where I played the role of a detective who got killed in the line of duty. Today I wrote my second piece of the summer, this time with a little more intro, body, and conclusuon to it, unlike last night's piece. Hopefully this one should be a little more enjoyable. It took me like three times as long to write it as the one from last night took.
Let me know what you guys think... here it is...
"vrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr VEEERRRRRRRR EEEEEECHHHHH"
"Give me the ghostmobile bfactor!"
"come on craphead, it's my turn!!!"
"I'll tell Mrs. Walker on you..."
"leave me alone Mikey!"
I turned away from Mikey to play with the miniature ghostbuster car. Suddenly I felt myself being hurtled to the ground. Mikey was standing over me, reaching for the ghostmobile.
"What are you doing!? Get off me!!!"
I shoved Mikey as hard as I could, and he rolled across the ground to my side. Just as I began to stand up Mikey ran at me, hitting me full force in the chest with both of his hands, sending me flying into the wall behind me.
I could feel my palms getting sweaty, and my face felt like it was on fire. I was mad.
"What are those guys fighting about?"
My father chuckled for a few seconds, "They aren't fighting ABOUT anything bfactor. They are boxing"
"What does that mean?"
"It is a sport, bfactor. They are not mad at each other, they are simply trying to defeat their opponent, just like you try to defeat me when we play mario kart together."
"So they are just playing with each other?"
"Not exactly bfactor... they are being paid... a great deal of money to fight each other. That guy on the right, Evander Holyfield, he is the best boxer in the world right now, and he really wants to win this fight. He is a world champion bfactor."
"If I became a world champion some day, could I buy 100 supernintendos?"
Again my father chuckled, "You could buy a lot more than 100 supernintendos bfactor."
"I should practice punching people; then one day I could be a great boxer, and buy whatever I want."
"Bfactor, if you ever want to play that supernintendo of yours again, you will not hit another kid in your kindergarten class ever again. You are going to appologize to Mikey when you see him tomorrow. Bfactor the next time someone starts a fight with you, I want you to tell him to stop, and if he doesn't, I want you to go to your teacher. Fighting is only going to get you in trouble bfactor."
"But da--aaad, then they'll make fun of me"
"You want to play that nintendo of yours?"
My father walked out of the family room into the kitchen, and I could hear him talking very quietly with my mother. I had recently begun to understand that when they talked quietly, they didn't want me to hear a word they were saying. I quickly scuttled over to the side of the kitchen door.
"Sean, what the fuck did he do? I just got off the phone with Mikey Carlston's mother, and she told me that if my son ever hit Mikey again, she would call the police."
"Bfactor got into a fight earlier today"
"So what!? They are kindergartners, these kids fight all the time, its normal."
"Is it normal that Mikey no longer has his two front teeth, and that it took eight and a half minutes before he regained consciousness Sandra?"
"Jesus Christ... You can't be serious."
"Do I look like I'm kidding Sandra?"
As I gave the sexy young Blonde her receipt, the clock struck 5:00 pm. My shift was over. It had been a long day. Not only had I completely forgotten to do my extra credit assignment for one of my gened courses, but I had two midterms in my two toughest classes earlier in the morning. Wanting nothing besides sleep, I began the long journey to my car.
Out of nowhere, an old man, with a scarred face walked up to me. "Excuse me young man, are you bfactor?"
"Yes, I'm sorry do we know each other?"
"I know you, but I don't think you know me kid."
"Who exactly am I speaking to then?"
"I am David Goldstein. You don't know me, but I think you do know who Mr. Robert Johnson was..."
"Yes, of course I know who he is"
"Was." "He was unfortunately killed in a tragic car accident about four months ago."
"That's terrible, I'm very sorry. Are you a relative?"
"No, actually I was his trainer."
"You mean... for boxing then?"
"Yes, I was half expecting you to recognize me when I approached you just now."
"I'm sorry what is all this about Mr... Goldstein was it?"
"Do you remember anything about the bout between you and Mr. Johnson?"
"Well, I remember the beginning of the fight pretty clearly, but absolutely nothing past the second round, and the way I understand it, I should be glad I don't remember."
"Yes, you were knocked out cold as an ice cube bfactor. There is just one thing though..."
"You might remember that you hadn't laid a single solid blow on Mr. Johnson in that fight."
I smirked a little now.
"Yea, it wasn't going too great for me in that fight was it?"
"What you probably don't remember is that about 5 seconds before you were knocked out, you landed a single body shot on Mr. Johnson."
"Bfactor, you weren't the only man in that fight who was hospitalized afterwards. Mr. Johnson suffered two completely broken ribs from that fight."
"Bfactor, I think you should take this card"
The old man handed me a small business card, with the address of some gym scribbled on the back of it. I took the card and thanked him.
Three weeks later I was breathing heavily in a musty old gym. Coach was yelling in my ear...
"I've never seen someone who could hit as hard as you in my life, nor have I ever seen anyone with as poor accuracy as you in my life."
"This is going to take a lot of work bfactor, but when I'm done with you, it will pay off. You'll see. You'll see."
Several years, and many fights passed by. I found myself staring at my shoe laces. The stainless steel bench pressed coldly against my underside. I felt vaguely nausious now. My fingers, seemingly with a mind of their own were twiddling with the lacings of the two large red boxing gloves I held in my hands. Coach hurried over to me.
"Come on, lets get you taped up kid, we've only got a few more minutes before the fight starts."
He paused for a second and looked up at me. His eyes moved quickly up and down as he studied my face. What the fuck bfactor? You are sweating bullets. What are you worried about? You are ready, and you know it. Be patient, and when the time is right, you'll know. Knock that son of a bitch on his ass."
As I jogged into the stadium the crowd roared loudly... "Boooooooooooooooo"
I tried to ignore the audience, but they were just too loud. I awkwardly worked my way into the ring, and jabbed a couple times into the cold conditioned air that was in front of me. The crowd quickly worked the sound level up to a fever pitch as my opponent skipped his way down the isle towards the ring. He looked like someone who had just won the lottery. What the hell is he so happy about? As he smiled broadly and winked at the crowd, he jumped energetically into the ring. As he fired off a few jabs at machine-gun pace, he made eye contact with me several times. He almost seemed to be laughing at me.
Our robes were off now, and we were standing close to each other. The referee, now finished giving us the usual speech about the various rules of tonight's fight, was asking us to touch gloves. Still smiling happily, Carlos "the exocutioner" Garcia muttered quietly "I am going to destroy you, you little bitch."
The sound of the bell was still ringing in my ears as his gloves first met my face. It stung, badly. "Keep your fucking guard up bfactor" "This is practice!! This is just like practice!!! Keep your fucking guard up!!!!!" I backpedalled quickly and held my arms tightly in front of my face as Carlos moved in on me. The pounding he was laying on my ribs and stomach was quite excruciating. I grabbed onto him, momentarily halting his flurry of blows. As the ref separated us, Carlos laid a dirty jab square on my nose, and I felt like I had just eaten three pounds of top quality horse radish. I could feel the swear pouring down my forehead, but it was no longer cold sweat. I felt as though I was on fire, just as I had fifteen years ago, on that wednesday morning snack break. Carlos winked to the audience as he skipped a few feet backwards. I was furious now. I felt the urge to start swinging wildly away at Carlos. One of my blows would surely land, even if by accident, and the fight would undoubtedly end in that split second. I remembered what my coach had said about my accuracy..
"can't hit the side of a fucking barn bfactor... hahaha"
After reconsidering, I decided to hold back on my power, and try to disarm my stealthy opponent. I had to give him a false sense of security. He doesn't know yet whether he can take a solid hit from me, so he is playing hard to get. I need to make him comfortable....
I steadily made my way over to my opponent's corner, and threw a few quick jabs at his face. He easily deflected all of them, and countered with a strong right cross to my forehead. I stood my ground and continued attempting to jab him with my left hand. Suddenly just as Carlos seemed to want to begin a flurry of blows onto my body, I realized I had an opening. I prepared my right arm to unleash the hardest punch I could possibly throw... but I thought the better of it. I couldn't risk it. If I missed, I could end up lying flat on my back. I gritted my teeth into my mouthguard, and put on the best oscar performance I could as I gently sent a right hook into the side of Carlos' head. I grunted, just to add to the effect that I was putting everything I had into the punch. Carlos seemed a bit surprised that I had actually managed to lay a blow on his head, but he laughed, mouth wide open as he skipped around me, shrugging the blow off. Clearly he was no longer intimidated in the least. Thud thud thud. Ten seconds to go. We exchanged a couple more jabs, and concluded the first round quietly.
Coach said nothing to me at all. He could see I had gotten over my nerves. The cutman smeared grease all over my face, and I spit out a bit of bloody saliva into the bucket.
Carlos strode quickly straight towards me. I could see it in his eyes now. Carlos wanted to end the fight, and he wanted to do it right now. Just as I expected, I could see Carlos' neck muscles tense -a split second from now he would be unleashing a flurry of blows onto my face and upper torso. I took one quick setp backwards, just in time to watch as Carlos' shining left black glove whistled by my face. I ducked immediately as his right glove sailed just over the back of my neck. The timing couldn't have been better. I sent a strong left into his stomach. Carlos stumbled backwards a few feet, seemingly stunned. I lunged towards him. I delivered a left jab square into his face. His head snapped back dangerously, his gaze momentarily skyward. Two more rapid jabs achieved similar results. He was bleeding from the left nostril now. Time seemed to slow down, as Carlos attempted to bring his arms back up to cover his face. He didn't have nearly enough time. My right glove was moving straight towards his right eye, as if bound to railroad tracks. Carlos' right eye began to squint, preparing for the blow. The sound of my glove hitting his right eye was not pleasant in the least. Carlos was on the ground now. Blood pouring all over the canvas. Trainers and doctors were swarming to him now like ants to a wet candy.
The anouncer's voice was loud and clear over the loud speaker...
"...by way of knockout in the second round... the NEW Heavyweight champioooooooooon of the woooooooorld ... BEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeefactorrrrr!!!!"
yeah, there is no way in hell im reading that
Tucson still sucks!!!!!!!!!!!!!
i also did not read very much. i stopped at "craphead" because it made me laugh too much.
stfu u poo poo head
lol, i was serious about craphead being funny. reminds me of beavis and butthead, you dillhole.
i have actually saved both of your writing attempts. i may get around to reading them one day.
thanks fart head
Honestly though, I dunno what I want to write for my book this summer. I am not going to be trying to write anything great or anything like that this summer (since I suck at writing, and don't have any practice at it yet). I just want to get some good practice for the future, when I finally un-n00bify myself in 5 or 10 years at writing.
The shitty thing is, about 6 months ago I decided that the book I wanted to write this summer would be about a guy who discovers a remote control that can control time. Like be able to pause time, or go back in time, and such, at the click of a button.
You can probably imagine what my mouth did when I first saw the preview for "Click" during some TV commercials.
So Now I dunno wtf to write about for my book. Lolz.
heh oh well fck it, I mean deep impact came out like at the exact same time as armageddon, and nobody cared. Yes, fck it. I will just write it anyway. Click can smd.
something you might not know is that they have had teasers for click for about 6-8 months. Maybe subliminally saw them and forgot they were attached to a movie.
Actually that was a pretty good story and well written. Nice job. Funny too.
I won't rule out the possibility choco (although I'll put it at right around 0.000000000000000001% since I really know for a fact that I never saw a trailer for that movie until very recently).
The point really isn't who came up with the idea of time control though. In various forms, that is a well known topic that has been played with for ages.
The important thing is what creative things you DO with the idea. For example if they key point of my book is that I go back to the third grade for the sole purpose of being able to pee on my english teacher's shoe, the book would suck. The important thing is what things u make the character do with his abilities, and how entertaining u make it and stuff. Imho.
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