Short Story Pt. 2 (long)

If some of you remember, I wrote a short story for my English class a few months ago and felt pretty darn confident about it. Well, after some suggestions from here and from friends and family, I continued to write it so I came out with a Pt. 2 (I know you Muscletang have been waiting for this :thumbsup: ) I paid a little more attention to detail here, hopefully didn't ramble too much.


Here's the original, and I hope you read it if its your first time because Pt. 2 is a direct continuation of the first story.

http://www.automotiveforums.com/vbulletin/showthread.php?t=522082

Anyways, here's part two. Enjoy :)

I was awakened by a strong vibration in my right pocket with the clacking noise of heavy rain on the glass windshield and could feel small vibrations on my head. I had fallen asleep at the scenic point and was leaning against the window. My eyes opened to see the lights of lower Manhattan and the World Trade buildings squished together from the streams of water on my windshield. Squirming in the seat trying to sit up, I pulled out my cell phone, reading “Mom Cell” on the display and answered with a sullen hello.

“Rob, where are you,” the strong and toned voice of my dad ran around in my head.

“I’m in Edgewater,” I replied rubbing the dirt out of my eyes and peering at the clock on the dash, 3:22 it read out in the orange lit and themed LCD display, something BMW was famous for.

“What the hell are you doing in Edgewater? It’s 3:30 in the morning.”

“I wasn’t feeling too good so I went for a drive and fell asleep at the scenic point,” remembering I had also left a note on the kitchen counter.

“Regardless, it’s too late to be out and about. Get your ass home,” he said with a strong tone. Every time I heard that tone of his, in the back of my head it just annoyed me. I hated it when he got worked over the smallest things; I’m a senior in high school and one of the more responsible kids out of the four kids in my family. But there was that other side of mine that said: he had a right to be angry, it’s 3:22 in the morning and if it was my kid, I’d be worried. It’s like the typical thing you would see in the movies where they have the actor, then a devil version forms on one of the shoulders whilst an angel version forms on the other, both voicing the “what’s right, what’s wrong, what you know you want, what’s logically correct and rational.”
I shifted on my seat and fixed my pants from that uncomfortable feeling you get when you slouch back in a seat. I turned the key fob in the ignition and the dashboard came to life with BMW’s usual orange lighting and a consecutive beeping, held the clutch and started the car, but this time I was too tired to be enthusiastic about the V12 start sound. I studied the dash as the tachometer showed the engine idling at around 800 RPM and watched it as the on-board computer did the usual systems check and diagnostic, to make sure all the electronics were working; the traction control light, check engine light and others illuminated, then turned off once it was complete. I shifted into first, moved the pedals with my feet accordingly, and slowly drove through the parking lot onto the main road. Usually, knowing I had a pretty powerful car, I would have sped off with a heavy foot, taking advantage of every bit of horsepower in the engine; I was an aggressive driver and I openly admitted that. But feeling so tired, I wanted to just sit back in my seat and go back to sleep. My fatigue however wore off as I drove on.

The overhead road lights on the Jersey City section of I-95—the New Jersey Turnpike to us New Jerseyans—caught my attention involuntarily as I drove down the straight stretch of motorway, the rotten egg smell of the Meadowlands coming through A/C vents. It was raining quite heavily as I cruised along at 80 mph, the wipers whipping themselves all over the windshield, trying to keep up with the rate of water that fell onto it. I was attentive because I was driving, yet I was thinking about the events that plagued me in the last two weeks. Sarah was all that came to my mind, and that instant message conversation with her friend, Megan. I kept thinking about it continuously, it was passing in and out of my head, like it was literally circling through my head, out the ears and around the back and into the other ear in one direction. I couldn’t think of it anymore; it had only made me lose my hope and self-confidence more. For every second I thought of it, the more I felt degraded as a person. I slapped myself in the face in my mind and hit the radio to “A Horse with No Name” by the 70s classic rock band, America, just so I could get my mind off of Sarah. The bold, deep sound of the bass line and the guitar playing the two chords took advantage of the acoustics of the quiet cabin, with a slight touch of wind noise. I made my self sing to the lyrics so that I could keep my mind off of Sarah.
Being on the hungry side, I stopped at a 24-hour McDonalds on Route 17, about 15 minutes from my house. I crept slowly around the drive-thru and pulled up to the menu, already knowing what I wanted. About six minutes passed until another late night driver pulled behind me, which led me to briefly tap the horn. Somewhat of an eternity later…

“Good morning, welcome to McDonalds, can I take your order,” the mono speaker projected the voice into the open window of my BMW.

“Can I have a sausage, egg and cheese McGriddle?”

After having trouble trying to understand what the woman was saying through the low quality speaker, I finally pulled up to the service window, which was vacant and lit by a smidgen of fluorescent lighting. The woman, a quite young and Caucasian blonde, probably not much older than twenty walked up with my bag of munchies. Her blonde hair, straighter than I’ve ever seen before, fell behind her and on her shoulders. Her vibrant blue eyes were easy to see, minus the lack of lighting. Her name on the tag: Sarah. Of course, it wasn’t Sarah Linley but she was hot, and I mean hot. I gave her the grand total of $7.89 and watched her punch the keys on the register with her long and fake nails, then drove to a parking spot. It went through my mind that she probably was there for a reason. High school dropout, the whole bit, just by judging the way she looked. I could’ve related her to an amateur porn star, but that would have been a bit cruel. But I couldn’t help noticing her name: Sarah. It made me think of Sarah Linley…it was aggravating because I only felt like I was degrading myself more. I turned up the radio, listening to “Eminence Front” by The Who and munched away at the McGriddle, which got my mind off of it. After finishing, I ran through the heavy rain to the dumpster and tossed my garbage, and continued my way home.

I pulled into the driveway expecting to see lights on throughout the house, but they weren’t. I guess my dad was upset, but not that upset, because he knew I would come home. He usually stayed up late at night because he works at home. Fortunately, it was not one of those nights. I slowly pulled into the garage, thinking that the slower I went, the more quiet I was. I parked with the auxiliary light from the garage door motor illuminating my side of the four-car garage, noticing its reflection on my mom’s black Infiniti on the corner of my right eye. I quickly tapped the garage door button and slowly opened the door. Our pup, Scooby, could be heard right above me in my sister’s bedroom moving about to the sounds of me creeping through the house. The night light that runs on a timer in the TV room was off, remembering that my dad had set it to turn off around 2:30. The stairs creaked horribly as I ran up the side stairs in a quick, quiet and agile manner, remembering the things that my mom had said about how old our house really was (about 15 years). Scooby began to growl viciously like I was a trespasser.

“It’s ok Scooby, shhh,” I whispered.

Her choker collar then began rattling behind my sister’s closed door and the growling stopped; she was going back to bed. I tip-toed back to my room, down the long hallway that was slightly illuminated from light that shone through our big windows from the neighbor’s exterior house lights. After quietly closing the door, I stripped to my boxers and threw myself across the bed, forgetting about pulling the sheets, then passed out.

* * * *

The obnoxious mimicking noises from my African Grey parrot in the kitchen and the warm bedroom woke me up. I smelled bacon and eggs, which was the normal routine for my dad on weekend mornings if we didn’t go out for a traditional Chinese brunch. My room was warm, but received a nerve-racking wave of cold air while I walked down the hallway to the bathroom. I put a t-shirt on and sweat pants and hopped my way downstairs; Scooby was roaming around the kitchen smelling for the bacon. My sister, Shannon, was munching on the overcooked bacon while sitting at the island in the kitchen in a baggy sweatshirt, plaid pajama pants and her dark brown hair in a bun; dad was facing outside at the sink. Chills immediately ran down my back as I glanced at his stocky back and his thick, black and gray roughed-up bed hair. I was slightly nervous because there was a gut feeling that he was going to begin questioning my whereabouts in that tone of voice that aggravated me. But, all that was moving through the kitchen was the sound of my parrot, the claws of Scooby with the rattling of her choker collar, the sizzling of the eggs and vegetable oil on the non-stick pan, and the auxiliary stove fan. Rubbing my eyes and cleaning the dirt out again, I walked to the big porch sliding door and took in the view of my big backyard that sloped downhill away from me, which led to dormant Chrysanthemum bushes and my neighbor’s backyard, his closed pool and tennis court in full view with dormant, leafless trees that looked like they were dead. It was a dreary day. Overcast skies made the day gloomy in addition to the grayness of the leafless trees and dead, yellow grass.

“Here’s your eggs Rob,” my dad said, interrupting my study of our backyard view.

“Thanks,” I replied in a calm, low-voiced response.

I took the plate and sat to the left of my sister on the high-rise chairs at the island. I took the Heinz ketchup and put a solid lump next to my pile of scrambled eggs and bacon.

“Where’d you go little big brother,” she asked lightly punching me in the right arm. Being a goofy sister, she sometimes called me “little big brother” because whenever I stood next to her, my 6’3 height towered over her 5’2 height.

“I went to Edgewater, I needed sometime to myself,” I replied with a sigh.

“Ohhh….that’s cool.”

“How was the concert dad,” I asked trying to spark a proper conversation without having to put him into an arguing state, which was common since he had a short temper.

“It was good, Steve Perry was back.”

Mom and dad, along with some old-time friends went to see Journey live at the Meadowlands after hearing Steve Perry, the lead singer joined back with the group.

I finished my eggs and gave my remains to Scooby, who engulfed it in no more than five seconds. I put my dishes into the dishwasher and ran upstairs, recalling that I had to go with my mom to look for a new car. Our first trip was Land Rover. She considered that I soon was to go to college and with my sister already turning into a sophomore in college already, she needed a bigger car. Her FX45 wasn’t big enough for the haul. I changed into a collared shirt and jeans and put on a PennState hat that my brother had given me and went to the garage.

The clock struck 1:30 and the day read “Saturday.” I jumped into the Infiniti, looking for the keys. But I realized that she had “Keyless Go,” which was a feature that didn’t require the key to be in the ignition port in order to be started, it just had to be somewhere inside the car. I remembered when my mom worried about the feature because she thought it was faulty and it made theft easier. But I explained to her that it’s convenient and the keys are coded so there’s only authorization from the keys that belonged to the car. I turned the knob on the dash and the car roared to an idle. The exhaust and engine sound always won my heart over the BMW. It was a nice, deep, yet hollow and articulate V8 sound that no other car could match. I waited as she strolled through the garage and walked to the passenger side and jumped in. We drove off, listening to WCBS news on the radio.

We pulled into the Land Rover dealer on Route 17 about fifteen minutes from my house. I glanced inside the showroom to see if they had any special Defender 90s on show, which was a classic Land Rover that was declared as the best off-road vehicle in the world and was not sold in the US as of 1997. But something else caught my eye as I parked; a blonde haired girl in a pea coat and jeans. I thought Sarah Linley, but then considered that my eyes were deceiving me and it was just a coincidence that someone else dressed up like her. I walked my mom to the receptionist desk so she could talk to a sales representative. I looked around the marbled floor, white walled showroom, studying the Range Rovers, Discoveries, Freelanders and LR3s. The same girl caught my eye. She was standing next to the bonnet of a new LR3, on the opposite side away from me. I was able to see what looked like a blonde hair, pale white skin combination. Her hands were in the pockets of her black pea coat. I could see through the windows that someone with her was out of sight behind a pillar of the tall SUV and was talking to a sales rep. I made sure my mom was with a sales rep, and slowly strolled toward the LR3 at the other side of the showroom. A new Range Rover Sport was next to the LR3 that the girl was standing next to; so it was a perfect setup for me to check if it really was Sarah Linley. My stomach began to twist, but not much. I tried to fight it off and was winning. I approached the Range Rover Sport and looked through the windows of both the Sport and the LR3 to see if I could catch a glimpse of her face. I walked around the tailgate, looking through the tinted rear windows; another better cover-up, similar to wearing sunglasses and being able to check out as many people as possible, with the insurance of them not seeing your eyes through the dark tint of sunglasses. I was at an angle in which I saw her full face but she didn’t notice me. It was her, Sarah Linley. I couldn’t help thinking: what a coincidence. Does God truly think I should be with this girl? Or was it just chance with mathematics and probability? I walked around to the driver’s side of the Sport, looking at the window sticker and pretending not to see her. I was testing to see if she would notice me. But I could hear through on ear that she was busy listening to the sales rep talk to whoever was with her. I opened the door of the Sport and jumped in, trying to look her way, and closed the door. The windows were closed and it was totally silent; the new Range Rovers were known to having one of the quietest cabins on the market. I studied the English styled oatmeal cream white leather with green trim. Soft, but not glossy wood lined the doors and the dash; the leather steering-wheel was a joy to feel. You could tell that it was well built. Every detail inside proved it that the Range Rover was an experience worth while. I continued studying and began fiddling with all the interior features…

I was interrupted by a light, hollow knock on the window. Stunned, I turned to see Sarah’s blue eyes, pale white skin and beautiful face peering through the window.

“Hey Sarah,” I said as she backed away while I opened the door.

“Hey Rob, what brings you here?”

“Oh, I’m with my mom looking for a new car,” I said with a little bit of a stutter.

“No way! Me too,” she replied with excitement and surprise.

“Haha, what a coincidence to see you here.”

We began discussing which ones our moms liked. My mom liked the new Range Rover while Sarah’s liked the midsized LR3. It was probably the most productive conversation I’ve ever had from what I can recall. But I was still nervous…I couldn’t relax. Every word I spoke, which was related to cars—my main hobby and the topic I’m the most comfortable talking about with anyone—still came out a bit stuttered. I felt like I was fumbling over my own words; my heart was racing. All this was happening, my both our moms were with sales reps and we were just strolling through the showroom.

We walked up the Sport and began asking her which one was her favorite.
“I’m really not a fan of SUVs, or cars in general as a matter of fact, only a few though,” she replied.

“Is that right,” I acknowledged and nodded, “Well this one is my favorite, the Range Rover Sport Supercharged,” I began rattling on about the specifications of the car…it probably was an awkward moment for the both of us. She wasn’t a fan of SUVs or cars in general, yet I was rambling on about my favorite one. I only continued because it made me feel smart; I wanted to feel smart, I wanted to show off what I know. “It’s got a four and a half liter supercharged V8, capable of about four-hundred break horsepower…” I rambled on. We stared into each others eyes while I rambled on. She smiled and looked interested, but it was a mere grin. I had a notion that she was only acting interested just to be considerate and not rude, and she was. I could tell that she had no interest in what I was saying, let alone she had no idea what the heck I was saying. That idiot feeling then began to come along…

“Sarah,” her mom called.

“Oh crap, that’s my mom, I will be right back,” she interrupted me.”

I leaned against the Sport, then sat back in the driver seat and began fiddling with the interior features. What seemed to be five minutes, I later saw her stroll out of the showroom with her mom and into her Honda Civic. I felt hollow, I felt like that idiot again. I didn’t even say goodbye. Why didn’t she come to me and say goodbye? Was I supposed to go to her and say goodbye? I probably bored her out of her mind and didn’t even take the time to look for her again to say goodbye. I sat in the driver seat of the Sport and just circulated the thoughts over and over again. I had this odd feeling and thought process. It made me feel like I see Sarah just about everywhere I go now or see something that is in somewhat related to her...That McDonalds girl, now her at the Land Rover dealer. It's like you hear an old song on the radio that you find out you like alot. But then you hear it again and again repeatedly on the radio and think that the song is overplayed; why didn't I notice it earlier if it was played this often? I don't remember it being played this often...or when a family member gets a car that you think you didn't see on the road too often, but then you see them everywhere.

I needed a break from Sarah, so I tried to the best of my ability to hide my thoughts about her and take in the superb quality of the Range Rover.



That's it so far...I kinda rushed the ending again but I'll probably fix it eventually. Hope you liked it!

Nice job. Put it into a book and i'd read it.

Pretty good...

Very good start to a story man. I am an amatuer writer too, and have two different stories in the works, although mine are both fiction, and have to do with outerspace. But hey, like you said in your first thread. Write what you know. I look forward reading the rest of your story. :grinyes:

cool......always wanted to write like that but all i can think about is engines and i still can't write a 1 page story about them

THanks y'all. I'm all fresh out of ideas on what to write about next lol...But I don't think I'll have too much of a problem

where's muscletang...I know he was lookin foward to the part two...:confused:

where's muscletang...I know he was lookin foward to the part two...:confused:

I'll let TS know the PM feature is on the fritz....

where's muscletang...I know he was lookin foward to the part two...:confused:

Don't worry I'm here. I've been out all day but I'm here now.

Anyway, after reading the story...

WTF man!?! I thought you were writing part two? I read it but all I get is a cliff hanger!?!

Really though I liked the story. As I've said, very good, it flows well, connects easily, and is very simple to understand and process. I've noticed the new attention to details and that is great. I don't think you cake them on too much, just enough to let the reader know where the character is at and what's going on. There are no side stories that take you different direction. They are tied into the main story just fine.

If I were grading this I'd give you a nice grade...but that cliff hanger man. I feel like I'm watching Simpsons again and trying to figure out who shot Mr. Burns. Just don't give us a Maggie Simpson ending.

My one problem though is the cliff hanger! I feel as if I only got half of part two. I think you should fix it up BUT give us something to look forward to in part three :thumbsup:

If you need help with ideas or anything feel free to give me a PM. I'm no master in creative writing but I can lend some help if you need it.

ahhh there he is :lol:

PS, Sorry Ray :(

Short stories are supposed to be short you homo....








:p

Well, after some advice and disapproval of how I left a major cliffhanger, I decided to continue part 2 and not make it part three. I hope this isn't much of a cliffhanger as it was before, I still want to make this a somewhat of a cliffhanger. I know this is somewhat of an old thread, but might as well revive it rather than make another one just to keep it simple.

Again, I hope you all read it because I put alot of considerable time into these short stories just so they could be read. Again, most of it was fictional except some of the first part. However, alot of my personal views are portrayed in this story.

So I hope you all enjoy ( I know Muscletang will) this continuation.

__________________________________________________ _____________

I walked around to look at the full-sized Range Rover and heard my mom in the distance talking about the numbers and figures for a 36-month lease. At around this point, I started to get bored. I had the sullen feeling of what just happened with Sarah which wasn’t helping at all. The one thing I hate about car dealers, especially when you go to look for a car that’s for someone else, is that you get so enthusiastic to see the cars in the showroom; but then after a while, you’ve seen them all. All that enthusiasm is gone around the time the person you’re with begins to talk with the sales rep and it gets boring. However, since my mom wanted to make it short, due to the fact that we had many places to go, we left with a quote and a brochure and headed to the next dealer.

After we looked at cars for nearly three hours, which entailed BMW, Porsche, Volkswagen, Chevrolet, and Mercedes-Benz, in addition to Land Rover, we called it a day.

“So which car did you like the most,” I asked my mom.

“Out of all, I liked the Range Rover the most. It’s a bit pricey though.”

And when I thought I had forgotten about Sarah, my mom’s mentioning of the Range Rover had made me think of those few minutes I talked with her. That awkward moment, forgetting to say good bye and the previous events all plagued my mind again. I turned up the news on the radio to try and rid of those thoughts, causing my mom to give me an awkward look.

Route 17 traffic was heavy. The Jets game had just ended, which was the cause of the traffic according to WCBS. While we were slugging down the highway in the left lane, I took a moment to move about in the comfortable, supportive seat of the Infiniti and glanced at the analog clock, which read 4:34. Leaning against the window, a familiar set of taillights had caught my attention. It was a Honda Civic in the middle lane, one of the newer models. It refreshed my memory of Sarah getting into her Honda Civic, which was of the same color: dark blue. The other side of my head was telling me that it was absolutely absurd to have caught up with Sarah. But I recalled that once, I was on the Parkway with my parents going to see some family one weekend. It was stop and go traffic because it was snowing heavily. I was in the driver seat while my dad was nearly falling asleep and my mom was in the backseat. A license plate of a GMC Sierra read: “Miles 3,” which was unique to me because one of my good friend’s family always named their license plates after their last name, followed by a number signifying which car it was. I had a chance to pull up next to the Sierra and it happened to be the parents of my good friend, heading down to check on their beach house in Long Beach Island. Of course it was absolutely random. It was a Friday, a normal weekend, no holiday, and nothing special. So I wasn’t ruling out the possibility of the Civic being Sarah’s.

I was beginning to get nervous, anxious, and eager. I wanted to see if that was Sarah. I wanted to glance at her pretty face again, but still pretend I didn’t see her. I wanted to test if she noticed me so she could approach me in school and ask me about it. I forced the Infiniti into lanes left and right, trying to gamble and figure which one was moving faster in relation to that Civic. But I was still questioning the possibility. The Civic is a very common car and it would be a huge coincidence if it was Sarah. But I was convinced that it was possible and not a coincidence after the events at Land Rover and the McDonalds. The front wheel was nearly at the driver’s door of the Civic and I saw blonde hair, but it didn’t look like Sarah’s…

“ROB, WATCH OUT,” my mom screamed.

I instantaneously looked forward and saw the rear of a big rig approaching very rapidly. I hit the brakes and everything that was loose in the Infiniti jerked forward. The seatbelt tensioned for both my mom and I while hitting the brakes as hard as I could but the tall, white rig kept coming closer, red LED lights blaring in my eyes. I saw on the corner of my right eye that my mom was holding onto her brochures and her handbag, but they still went in total disorder. The car finally jerked to a stop to what seemed to be a few inches if not less. I look over to see how my mom was managing, noticing my hand was in front of her (what we both call the “mom thing” when a mom is driving, then suddenly finds that she needs to brake suddenly and reaches across to the occupant in the passenger side to keep the person from going into the dash with the best of her ability). I put all the force on the brake pedal to make sure that the car wasn’t going anywhere and surveyed the cabin. The only thing we had to worry about was the falling of my mom’s car brochures. I looked forward to resume moving slowly with the traffic, feeling like a total idiot and very embarrassed. I forgot about the Civic and pulled onto the Parkway and headed home.

After we pulled into the garage, I hastily jumped out of Infiniti and ran to my room to change while I totally left my mom behind in the garage. I was anxious to get to a party that Tom was hosting at his house. He had given me a call when my mom and I were at Volkswagen about an hour ago. Before changing, I decided to grab a quick shower and recalled my conversation with Tom so I would know what to expect at the party. The key things I looked forward to were the booze and the girls. The parties he always hosted had a huge abundance of booze and girls from Saddle River High, and the towns and schools surrounding within a good distance. I could remember a few weeks ago, the last time Tom had a party; he had about four kegs and at least 45 people at his house. But knowing he was rather wealthy and lived in a large house just on the outskirts of Saddle River, bordering Franklin Lakes, which was one of the wealthiest towns in Northern New Jersey.

What seemed to be the quickest shower I had ever taken, I grabbed the towel and wrapped it around myself, dismissing the thought of taking the time to thoroughly dry myself. I reached for a pair of Diesel Jeans in my closet and threw on a black collared-shirt. I ran back to the bathroom to spike my hair with the usual American Crew. I looked at myself in the mirror while grabbing the brown American Crew bottle and squirting a nickel-sized amount into my palm. I studied my hands by looking at them through the mirror and feeling them run through my hair, working it around my scalp and my short, spiky black hair; my mom cooking dinner and my parrot making obnoxious noises in the background. I hurried out of the bathroom, shutting the light on my way out and ran into my bedroom again where I picked up my usual necessities: my wallet, watch, cell-phone, keys and pocket change.

I hopped my way downstairs, fiddling in my pockets just to make sure I had everything. On my way out, I made sure I yelled a “goodbye” while running through the door. I started up the BMW and paid no attention to the excitement of my car again, realizing how much of a rush I was in. In reality, there was no rush for me to be there on time. I was so focused on getting there; I also disregarded the radio and the air conditioning. I just wanted to be with my friends, just wanted to see every one of them and meet new people.

I was an intersection away at a stoplight, and I checked my glove compartment to make sure I had condoms and a packet of Listerine sheets. While glancing at the digital clock, which read 5:48, I pulled onto Tom’s street and immediately saw a line of cars in the dark distance; the reflectors on the rear of fenders and in the taillights refracting the beams from my BMW. I pulled about a block away from Tom’s driveway, behind what seemed to be Rickey Newman’s Chrysler Crossfire, in front, Jesse’s Tahoe. I pulled the handbrake to lock it in place and switched the car off, vibrating to a standstill. As I stepped out, I glanced at the grey slab of road that was illuminated by the interior and door lights. Since the heat was on in the car, I received a chill down my back as I began walking to his house in the cold, winter night while closing the door and hitting the lock button on the key fob; the car tweeting in the background. I slowed down while walking so that my footsteps weren’t so apparent and listened to the silence around me. I thought to myself: it could be considered silence, but you could hear wind from moving cars in the distance. There was no ambient wind from the atmosphere, just a light whirr from the distance, which definitely gave me more chills because it signified that I was indeed alone. Always having a vivid imagination, I got thrilled and excited whenever I was alone and by my lonesome at night. I felt like something was either behind me or ready to jump out at me when in reality, it was just me. But I always managed to stay calm because there was that part of myself telling me that I was alone, and it was just me.

I walked along the line of cars and took in the view of the massive building that was supposed to be Tom’s house. It was surrounded by a modern and squared black iron fence with a simple gate in the center that was open for the party guests. His driveway moved straight up his property for about a hundred feet before meeting a large central square, with a 15-foot lit and heated fountain in the center. His parents’ black Mercedes S600 nowhere to be seen, as I recall every time they’re home it’s parked in the front. The beige and white stucco house stretched across the acre and a half land, lit by several dozens of exterior lights pointed upwards from behind bushes and trees, surrounded by fresh mulch and brilliant landscaping. The driveway continued around through some tall, towering trees and around the back to the right where his six-car garage was. It was so grand, so extravagant, with a large open window in front over the lacquered double wood doors that had the top half of the stairs showing through in addition to the rest of the foyer and a very large, crystal chandelier. It had a lot of windows and was very modern, yet nostalgic and had a classic and original feeling to it. It curved in his front yard toward the street, similarly shaped to how President Lincoln is sitting in his memorial in the nation’s capital. The sides of the house came around like arms, embracing or grabbing the fountain and central square. Other than the trees surrounding the boundaries of his property outside the fence, it was wide and open. The only trees were small pines right beside his house and small weeping trees evenly aligned and following his driveway up to the square, all individually lit by an exterior light. His piece of property was also perfect for the house. It was perched on top of a very smooth hill whose inclines just rolled away from the house, like it was looking down on the street. I began trekking the small, round incline, up his custom brick driveway that put together intricate designs on his driveway. As I approached the house, it got bigger and I felt smaller, with every step I took.

I walked up the shallow stairs to the tall solid wood doors; the light from his chandelier shining through the big, front window and the Monticello-style windows on the sides of the door. I let myself in as he instructed to over the phone. The first crack of the door I received a wave of warm air which smelled of marijuana. As I closed the heavy door behind me, I looked up and around, studying the light beige walls with white moldings in the center. The stairs, wide at the base and then curving narrow as it led up to the second floor. The white and natural wood-trimmed railings that became circular at the bottom lined the curved stairwell and connected to the railings on the second floor walkway, leading into the walls and into the dark, unlit hallways of countless bedroom doors. The crystal chandelier and the exterior lights through the windows were all that illuminated the foyer and surrounding rooms, but the light beige walls helped accentuate the light. The light had shone through the wide door frames to the left and the right walls, which led into two dark rooms: what appeared to be a sitting room to the left with large couches, bookcases built into the walls, a fireplace and a grand piano, surrounded by a subtle, dark red wine color walls with white moldings in the center; and a grand dining room with a large glass table, surrounded by futuristic, square-shaped chairs that looked really comfortable but had no armrests.

I walked around the staircase to the right, heading to the basement stairs behind the main stairwell. The smell of marijuana grew stronger as I walked closer, the room got darker as I walked behind the stairs since the chandelier was the only source of light besides the light that cracked through from the basement stairs. The white door, with a gold door knob was cracked open; a crystal wall light illuminating the stairs was in view. I open the door and closed it behind me as I walked down the pinkish white marbles stairs; the light being accentuated by white walls. I turned to my left while running my hand along the solid wall to my right and a closed door at the bottom of the stairs made me retract it. There was a large crowd, probably estimated around 30 people, girls and guys alike. Many I recognized, many I did not. The basement was long and was well lit by ceiling flood lights. It was a clean, finished and well maintained basement, unlike some others which are unfinished or are gloomy and musty. But the smell of marijuana didn’t help signify how clean the basement was. The pinkish white tile led to a full beige carpet, which stretched out through the rest of the basement when the walls opened up. As I walked to the left of the staircase, people were sitting on the couches, facing somewhat towards the stairs; some were staring at the 62-inch plasma TV on the wall with Bose Acoustimass satellite speakers hanging from ceiling mounts. Below the TV was a gas fireplace, which was turned on, but not enough to warm the basement. I looked pass the couches and saw the bar, which was built when the basement was finished. Dark wood and dark blue-greenish marble lined the surface of the bar with high chairs surrounding it. It was in a hemispherical shape as it curved for about ten feet, then cut off at the walls which marked that end of the basement. Halogens mounted above shined on the bar and on the dark lacquered wood bookcase where all the booze was placed. Tom was in the back doing shots of Hennessey. Everyone else seemed to have a red cup filled with beer or just a bottle or can of Budweiser. I followed the streams of marijuana smoke, to the couches, and into the auxiliary vent that pushed air out of a chimney on the roof.

“Lee,” Jesse and Colin screamed.

“What’s up guys,” I replied as they approached me with a blunt.

“Want some of this man,” Jesse asked handing it over to me, the smoke billowing in my face as it tried to pass me and flow into the vent.

“No thanks,” as I replied immediately, staring at it in his dark, Italian hand that was nearly covered by a long-sleeved cream white sweater.

“What’s going, who’s who,” I asked trying to spark a conversation.

“Well, you know everyone from SRH, then some from Franklin Lakes, that’s about it,” he said. It was apparent that the marijuana hadn’t gotten to him yet because he spoke quite clearly.

“Cool,” I acknowledged and began walking towards the bar.

“Hey Rob,” a suave voice called out. I looked to my left and it was Jessica Martens. Before saying anything, I studied her supermodel-like body. She was wearing tight, blue Juicy sweatpants and flip-flops. A tight, red American Eagle t-shirt covered her upper body. Her natural and literally perfect breasts stuck out while the shirt outlined her bra. It was short enough to expose the bottom half of her perfect stomach with her shiny bellybutton charm refracting the light from up above in contrast to her dark, Italian skin. I looked up at her face and smiled as I saw her great smile. Her face was absolutely perfect. It wasn’t too rounded, nor was it too skinny. Her nose fit perfectly, although slightly pointier than other girls. Her dark brown and highlighted hair, as straight and neat as could be, dropped to her shoulders. Her arm was up and her hand was moving, giving me a suave wave while she was sitting on Drew’s lap.

“Heya Jessica,” I replied with a big smile. As hot as she was and as much of a sweetheart she was, she still had a slut-like characteristic to her; the way she dressed, the way she moved and she hung around boys, the way she was a flirt, gave everyone that impression.

“What’s up Rob,” Drew said.

I replied and recalled the times we had during football season. He was the best quarter back Saddle River High had seen for seventeen years. He threw a football like a missile and had the reactions of a cat. He was a total jock, however. But despite that, he still was a great guy to hang around with and had a really good side to him.

I approached the bar and Tom gave me a smile and fixed me up my usual Grey Goose on rocks.

“About time you came,” he said with sarcasm.

“I was with my mom, looking at cars with her.”

“Sweet dude, where’d you look?”

“Land Rover, Volkswagen, Porsche, you know how she wants an SUV.”

“Yea man, my dad just got the new Cayenne Turbo S, it’s a fucking rocket ship.”

Weezer began blaring out the Bose Acoustimass system. It’s 7.1 digital surround delivering a proper balance of sound in each of the thirteen speakers in the ceiling and walls around the whole basement. I looked to the right and saw a bunch of my other girl and guy friends hanging around the billiards table. Jesse had the blunt in between his lips and a Budweiser in this hand and a pool stick in the other; Megan, Sarah’s best friend was leaning against Jesse, watching Colin try and make a move on the 8-ball.

About a few feet back, I saw Sarah. Her blond hair and pale-white skin had really shown with the lighting the basement had. She was standing around in a long, casual white skirt and a magenta Ralph Polo collared shirt with a bottle of Heineken in her hand next to her boyfriend, Rickey Newman. They were chatting happily and then out of nowhere, the kissed each other on the lips. I immediately turned my head and looked at the floor. I didn’t want to see that, I had no desire to see anything of that nature. It just disappointed me, it degraded me. I lost more of my self-confidence every time I thought about it. I chugged the rest of my Grey Goose to get my mind off it; the cold and bitter taste definitely helped.

“Where are your parents Tom,” I asked leaning on my elbow on the marbled bar.

“They drove to Atlantic City for a week, to stay at the Borgata. I got the whole place to myself.”

Despite all the things Tom was doing at the moment: the party, the booze, the allowance of weed at his house, he was still a very good kid. He received straight As since he was in 5th grade and had been accepted to Brown University on a full scholarship. It was puzzling on how he did it since his parents were young, rich and very irresponsible at parenting. His siblings were the same way. His older brother just graduated with a PhD in engineering from MIT and was going to work with several construction companies. His sister had just got a raise and was being promoted to the Vice-President position of sales and marketing in a Phillip Morris division after being out of college for four years. Tom’s family was insanely smart and responsible with business and academics, but weren’t when it came to parties such as the one Tom was hosting. They were always punctual with bills, appointments, classes. But in the social life, they weren’t as responsible.

After a few games of pool and three Grey Gooses, I sat down to play some Halo 2 on the Xbox. I quit drinking, as I needed someway to get home without being drunk or getting caught. I had a low tolerance of alcohol, which came from mom’s side of the family. Mom and dad just said I had to be home by three, the latest. Beyond that time was when they got disappointed. But I remembered that it was irrelevant because they were going on a weekend getaway to Boston.

Tom later came down with about five pizza pies from our local parlor when I glanced at my Seiko, which read 8:49. In the distance to the right, I saw a bunch of people doing the bong and a 3-foot keg next to them. Rickey and Sarah were still in their original spot, chatting away. I couldn’t figure out what they could be chatting on about for so long. I couldn’t’ figure that out with any couple. But then again, I couldn’t because I’ve never had a girlfriend before. After thinking about never having a girlfriend before, came a chain reaction of other thoughts which made me more depressed. I stared at the floor as I thought: I’ve never had a girlfriend before. I also passed sixteen without ever being kissed, a joke that was common around teenage years. I was a senior in high-school and I’ve never been with a girl before. I wanted a girlfriend; I wanted a girlfriend, who I could sacrifice myself and my time for. But I just couldn’t get one. It only made me more depressed.

The Xbox controller vibrated in my hands which got my attention back as Tom had killed me with the Energy Sword. I continued playing and peered to my left to see Colin, who was vomiting into a garbage pale.

“Haha, Colin is shit-faced,” Jesse yelled and pointed. Everyone, including me began to laugh and Colin himself was trying to laugh, but he was vomiting too much.

“He took down at least half of the keg, if not more,” Megan said.

I was about to get up and check if he was alright, but sat back down when Steve Freeman, an old friend from last year’s pre-calculus honors class, went to check on him. I surveyed the people surrounding the basement after watching Steve help Colin for a few minutes. A bunch of girls and guys, people I had already said hi to and people I didn’t know were all standing around. All the girls there were quite attractive. Many of them had the same appeal: wearing Juicy sweatpants or tight jeans with tank-tops or tight t-shirts. Only a few had hooded sweatshirts on. There were more guys than girls but there were at least thirteen girls at the party.

The Halo 2 round ended and had to give up my controller since someone else called “winner;” I was too lazy to see who it was. I walked over to the pizza to see that a pie and a half remained, so I took two slices. A pale white hand then came across me to grab the napkins on my left. My head jumped and my heart began racing as I followed the arm to see Sarah’s beautiful face peering down at the napkins and her hair partially flipped and falling delicately on her shoulders and covering part of her face.. My head jerked upwards in surprise that she was so close, which caught her attention.

“Hey Sarah,” I blurted out.

“Oh hey Rob,” she said, her breath smelling strong of beer. I stared into her vibrant blue eyes and noticed her pupils were dilated. She was drunk. She didn’t act like it however. “What’s up?”

“Just chillen’ and enjoying the party.”

“Oh that’s good,” she said with a smile, but stuttering over her own words. It ran across my mind and made me wonder if she was alright.

“Are you alright Sarah, drink too much booze?”

“Oh haha, no I’m alright, I just had a little bit.”

And what a lie that was. It was apparent that she was drunk. She either did the bong or had too many Buds, but didn’t pay attention to what she had been doing the last four hours.

“So what are you up to,” I asked.

“Rickey...eh…Rickey is supposed to take me to his upstate house for the weekend…”

“That’s cool, your parents gave you permission,” I asked.

“Yea, they’re cool with it.”

It was probably one of the most productive conversations with Sarah and I didn’t know what to make of it. Yea, I knew they were dating, but it’s cool. She should be fine, Rickey is a good guy and I’ve known him all my high-school life. I just never hung out with him much. I began getting a protective feeling around Sarah. Since I was madly in love with her, I cared more for her than other friends even though we weren’t dating. I felt like I was more obligated to look after her as if I was really close to her, as in dating. But again, we weren’t dating. It was just instinct for me. We smiled at each other and went back to our previous spots.

I sat down at the couches and decided to grab a Heineken as I thought, one beer wouldn’t hurt. It was Nick, Jesse, Colin, Megan, Tom, Drew and Jessica and I on the couches. They were all sitting back in the comfortable, white, and suede couches, except for Drew and Jessica, who were making out on the couch to the right of me. We rattled on about the newest gossip that went around our school community: the latest hook-ups, the most recent relationships, everyone’s school grades, and sports were all included in the conversation. It lasted for an hour and a half, just chatting and drinking my one Heineken slowly. Afterwards, I challenged Jesse to a game of pool since he said he would beat me. After proving him wrong, getting all my balls in while he only had gotten three of his due to the fact he was so drunk, a bunch of us sat down at Tom’s poker table and played a bit of Texas Holdem with the jackpot exceeding $400. In the first few minutes of the game, I wondered where Sarah was since she loved playing poker. I looked around and saw her at the bar; sitting in the high chairs with Rickey, holding hands and another Bud in her other hand. How much can she take, I thought. I turned around and continued to concentrate on the poker game.
I later glanced at my Seiko, which read 1:36 and looked around. A number of people had already cleared out and only about 14 of us remained with an equal ratio of girls and guys. After keeping the $20 I had put into the game and winning an extra $30, I walked away to either head home or for a bathroom break.

“I’ll be right back,” I said to everyone walking towards the basement stairs and to the left of them, next to the solid wall and into a dark hallway that led into several guest bedrooms. I looked around to see if Sarah was still hanging around, but didn’t see her or Rickey and thought they had left. Drat, I thought, I forgot to say goodbye again; and that feeling of idiocy plagued me once again. I continued to walk about fifteen feet down the carpeted hallway where all the light was drowned out and the lights in the hall weren’t on. The music played from the Bose Acoustimass was being absorbed by the sheetrock walls and could be slightly heard. I turned to my right and flicked the bathroom switch on as the crystal wall lights illuminated and the fan began whirring. The bathroom had a Mediterranean feel to it. The walls were a gold-like brown color and the brown-marbled sink was in the shape of a bowl on top of what looked like to be a brass nightstand. A small-piped chrome faucet came out of the wall at 90-degree angle with two chrome knobs; below, a mirror that appeared to be hanging out of the wall and angled downward with two of the crystal wall lights at each side. It was very modern, yet the colors made it feel nostalgic. Next to the sink was a standing towel rack that had brown colored towels to match with the theme. The toilet looked very sleek compared to the older ones I’ve seen and it was an automatic and had a sensor. This kind of modern interior styling always intrigued me and obviously portrayed to me that it was the bathroom of a very wealthy family. Everything was either expensive marble or porcelain. Enjoying and taking in the interior styling, I closed the door and did my business.

I exited the bathroom after washing my hands thoroughly and using some of the Listerine that was in the bathroom. I passed the first door on my right and thought I heard whimpering. I stopped for a second and considered that it was from a movie they were probably watching up ahead. I concentrated harder and heard it through my right ear and not my left. Something was not right. The whimpering became more apparent and I could easily distinguish that it was a girl’s voice. I looked at the crack under the door and a dim light was showing. I reached the door handle and found it was locked. At the rattling of the door handle, a slightly louder yelp could be heard. It then came across me to bust the door open because it truly did not sound like a proper thing was going on. I rattled the door and asked who was in there, but no one answered and all I heard was the whimpering. I stood back, rather infuriated, and kicked the door where the handle was and it flew open with a huge bang of wood breaking that echoed through the basement and over the music. I looked straight and to my right, following the light brown walls and beige carpeting to a half naked girl laying on the full-size bed with a guy with his pants down on in front of her. His buttocks were sticking straight out as if he was ready to do something…and that something was sexually related. He still had is shirt on and I looked at his stern face which was looking over his shoulder: it was Rickey Newman. I looked at the girl’s face on the bed: it was Sarah Linley. Her face was pointing in my direction to the side and I looked at her, whimpering in fear, streams of tears running down the sides of her face, her eyes shut and squinting; her arms at her sides, pinned down by Rickey’s and her legs nearly wrapped around him. Her skirt was wrinkled all the way up to her hips; the upper half of her body was entirely exposed with her breasts showing. I saw on the other side of the room where her magenta polo shirt was thrown, her bra in pieces and her thong ripped apart. I turned to the night stand where I saw three unopened condoms with a fourth torn open and a blank medicine bottle with black writing from a permanent marker on it.

“Rob, just turn the fuck around and walk away,” he said furiously.

I just stood there in silence, taking in what my eyes could see. It was only infuriating me more; it angered me so much it pushed me to take action. I thought Rickey was a good guy and he didn’t have this side to him. But then again, I only new of him and didn’t hang around him too much. He totally seemed like a down-to-earth guy who would never do such a thing, which continued to make me think…but I slapped myself in my mind.

“Rob, turn around and walk the fuck away,” he said with much emphasis.

It drew the last straw for me. Before I knew it, I began charging Rickey, who was only an inch or two shorter and not much stronger than me. I grabbed his T-shirt at his shoulders and he began coming around with a slug aimed at my stomach. I attempted to block the incoming swing, but it erratically changed direction. I then felt the left side of my face crack and become numb, my jaw cracking. It sent a shock through my face, but could tell it wasn’t hard enough to break my husky bones. I then took every bit of strength I had and everything I knew since my 8th grade karate classes and threw a punch square at his nose and right in between the eyes. He squinted and felt my knuckles crack and become wet. It was hard to distinguish whether it was my knuckles cracking or his nose breaking. That one punch sent him to the corner and onto the ground, lying on his side, half naked and his nose beginning to bleed on the beige carpet and his eyes closed. He was out for the count.

I faced Sarah, who was still whimpering and lying on her back, arms at her side, but couldn’t move. Her eyes still spewing streams of tears down the sides of her face. I walked over to the nightstand and picked up the bottle, shook it, heard pills and tried to read the label under the dim lighting from the floodlights above. It read “Ketalar,” a brand name for ketamine, which was known around the black market as a date-rape drug. I turned around as I heard commotion from the doorway behind me. I looked over my shoulder and first saw Tom standing in the doorway with Megan covering her face, Jesse standing behind and others. I motioned him to leave for the moment and close the door so Sarah could have her privacy. I set the drug bottle down on the night stand and moved to wrap Sarah in the down comforter on the bed. I then walked around to grab her clothes, her magenta polo and her purse and held them in my hands. I made sure she was wrapped securely in the comforter and walked away for a minute. I cracked the door open and called Tom.

“Make sure, none of this is going around your house right now,” I said to him strongly and infuriated.

“Alright,” he nodded with anger and seriousness. With a few of the guys he ran down the hall and up the basement stairs. I heard their feet moving about above me. I glanced at Rickey who was still unconscious and shot a few pictures of him and the drugs with my Nokia just incase someone was to press charges.

I made sure her stuff was in my hands. I picked up Sarah and held her limp body. She was sweating cold and still whimpering, but motionless. Her 5’4 figure wasn’t too heavy in my arms and I moved my left arm just so her head wouldn’t lean back, her hair falling lightly on me arm, in someway giving a tickling sensation. Everyone watched me as I walked down the hall and started up the stairs carrying Sarah. I thought to first bring her home, but I couldn’t. Her parents were expecting her to be in Upstate NY by now and not at this party. Plus I didn’t want to give them the impression that it was me who had done this to her. I was confused on what to do.

I continued walking up the stairs and Tom opened the door for me as I began walking out carefully, carrying Sarah wrapped in the thick down comforter in my arms.

“All the rooms are clear,” Tom said to me with Jesse, Colin, and Drew standing behind him.

“Just be more careful when you have your parties Tom and Rickey is still in the room downstairs. I’ll come clean the blood up later.”

Megan came with a warm facecloth and laid it on Sarah’s forehead before I walked out.

“Don’t worry about it, I got it covered,” Tom replied and closed the door.

I walked passed the lit fountain and felt the steam come out of the water and into the below freezing air. I continued walking along the line of vehicles and approached mine. I laid Sarah on the bonnet of my car while I reached for my key fob and hit the unlock button without taking it out of my pocket. The interior lights illuminated and the car tweeted twice and the locks clicked. I opened the passenger side and lifted Sarah, who had appeared to stop whimpering and began mumbling, but was still shedding tears. I made sure she was secure in the bucket seat and clicked her seatbelt as I closed the door. I turned to my right to see Rickey’s Crossfire. It infuriated me more and I wanted to throw a large rock at it but decided not to. I ran around the front and jumped in and started the car. The dash again came alive and the hide-away headlights flipped up but I had no enthusiasm of the car again. I just needed to get her somewhere safe. But I was confused on where to take her. If I took her to the police, they would have caught us all drinking underage and under the influence, something that I did not want to risk at the moment. If I took her to the hospital, they would contact the police and thus risk us all getting in trouble again. Her home also was not a feasible option.

I continued my way through the back roads of my town to avoid the main roads where the police hid for speeders, flooring the car with every chance I got like I was in a professional race. While I was deciding where to bring Sarah, I finally decided to bring her to my house. I was home alone. My parents were in Boston and my sister went back to college. I turned into my driveway and parked the car in the garage, again the auxiliary light from the motor illuminating my side of the garage and the spot to the right was vacant, from mom’s Infiniti, which was used for their trip to Boston. I closed the garage door and ran to get Sarah out of the car. I heard Scooby barking from inside and motioning about, like we were trespassers again. I grabbed all her stuff and grabbed her limp body and closed the car door.

I kicked the door open since my hands weren’t free and used what ever fingers I had to disengage the house alarm. I then turned right and went to our guest bedroom and laid her on the king-size bed. I moved the sheets, then laid her down in the down comforter onto the bed and covered her with the sheets in the dark. Scooby kept sniffing and licking her arm but I pulled on her choker collar and told her to go. She put her tail between her legs, sagged her ears and went towards the kitchen. I took the face cloth and ran it under hot water and replaced it on her forehead; her cold sweat stopped. I looked at the clock beside the bed and it read 2:40 on its LCD display. I stood back and studied Sarah’s near-unconscious body; her head was all that appeared from under the bed covers. The rest of the bed was smooth, but then showed a lump which was Sarah’s body still wrapped in the down comforter from Tom’s house.

After recapping the events, I began getting tired myself. I motioned for the door and looked back to make sure Sarah was alright. Her condition seemed to be improving as she was showing a little more movement. I ran and grabbed a cold bottle of water and set it on the nightstand next to her in the dark. The only light that shone was from the kitchen down the hallway. I continued out the door, closing it behind me so that Scooby wouldn’t bother her. I hopped up stairs, Scooby following behind. I took a quick shower since I smelled of marijuana smoke and threw my clothes into the wash. I threw on some boxers after my shower, put on some gym shorts, jumped into bed and covered myself with my sheets and dosed off.

What felt like hours of sleeping, I was slightly awakened by Scooby growling, then shaking her tail while lying on my bed. She shook herself and I heard her breathing hard to clear her sinuses. I was too tired to turn around and see what the commotion was. While sleeping on my side in my full-size bed near the edge, I felt the other side of my bed sink and shake and I heard it creak some more, as if someone was moving to come sleep next to me. I didn’t know what to make of it. I was half-asleep and too tired to wake up. I felt my sheets move some more and all I thought of was Scooby. I could feel my own heavy breathing that came natural from sleeping. I then felt a warm body move next to me from under the sheets. I moved my feet slowly to feel another pair of feet next to me. I then felt a warm, smooth arm come under mine, which was over the side of my body that was facing upwards, as if they were hugging me in bed. I didn’t know what to think of it because I was so tired and willing to go back to sleep. But as I began to doze off again, one person came to my mind, the only person it could possibly be: Sarah.

u sure can write a story. this one wont leave mustletang somewhat though. sounds write a book or something. its very good. i might need to use this for english. haha i would never do that. keep on writing on about what u know and this will be great.

:thumbsup: :thumbsup: :thumbsup: :thumbsup: :thumbsup: :thumbsup:

Damn good story!

The cliffhanger is a bitch because what happens next? You left several things open for the next story...and there better be a next story or else heads WILL roll.

To Chiquae: Hehe. thanks dude. What I have in mind, next year at my school is to start a short story writing club, and then compile all the work that people have done and put it into a book for all the students to buy at the end of the year

PS, to all the others, I know it's long and seems daunting, but if you have time, I would really love for you all to read it.

Would love more than just :feedback:

Edit, to Muscle: Yea, I am planning on a next part, however, my brainstormin is gone. I have an idea on what to do with continuing with the same morning, and then going from there. Since part 2, its all been straight fiction, minus the views portrayed which are the ones similar to mine.

Looking good so far. Can't wait for the next installment.

I can see it now in future meetings:
Rob: Hello, Newman
Newman: Hello, Rob



You could have stomped a mudhole on Newman...

I think that was a good ending. Unless it was your sister in bed with you, lol.

I got lost in a few paragraphs full of details. The bathroom was too much. The house description was too much. Other than a little too much attention to detail on a couple instances I must say it's excellent. I liked in part 2 where you explained your collared shirt and the hat your brother gave you. It helped me put a visual to the character.

I'm not sure if your abilities are natural or if you just practiced writing a lot, but there's talent there. The way you mildly distract us for a paragraph then throw the story back at us is great. I think you may have over-used it in part 3, but it doesn't take away from the fact that you're good at it.

Do you go back and read your stories over and over from start to finish? I think it's easy to recognize the lackluster areas of the story. For example; Once you got closer to the climax of the story I was uninterested in the landscaping around the house.



Don't get me wrong. You're talented. I just read all 3 parts right now, and I'm impressed. A great read.

I think your short story is over. You didn't surround yourself in glory but you gave us the idea that glory was coming. It was a very humble ending and I personally think it should stop there.

It was a very humble ending and I personally think it should stop there.

NO! The show MUST go on!

I mean does he get the chick? Does her ex (or will she stay with him?) come back to kill him? Was she a herm and ass rapes him? Does she just give him a "thank you" fuck and goes on? Will she just want to stay friends and move on?

Bring on part 3!

No man, obviously they live happily ever after. It's a short story, not a novel. Do you want to hear what kind of lunch he eats, what job he gets, all his ups and downs for the rest of his life, the year he retires... blah blah blah.

Twas a perfect ending.

oh boy.... :uhoh: :rofl: