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Story called antachrist

michaelp3000 · 2004-03-02T20:09:43

This is. . . City is darkness, electric lit; glistening wet streets reflect flickering neon, between the grit and shadows. Half-bent, half-buckled, rain-coated figures hide themselves from the wind; protected behind their coats and pulled-down hoods. Swarms of plastic packets and other bits of wind-battered debris accost them lightly. It seems to be a cloudless night, yet there are no stars. Lively guts of red spray-paint - splashed passion on bleak walls. Rusted iron buildings, haunted by smashed glass, chipped paint. Architecture coated with layers of grime-thick oil stains, from the exhausts of voluminous motor-herds; which at this late hour seem mostly sheltered in their quiet lairs. A pair of boots grind their way over the tarmac. Hands are thrust stiffly in the pockets of a tall coat; but his head is upright and steadfast, confronting the wind. In all directions hair protrudes blonde with long unbending spikes; menacing like the thorns on a cactus. Sallow skin - and the look in his luminescent ocean eyes focus intently forward, yet strangely unbalanced in a fixed stare. Chains on leather pants are in rhythm with his stride. A yellow police van crawls up the side of the road, its occupants scanning the pavements for a likely suspect. Zero Tolerance Crime Prevention. Nail the small offenders - drunks, whores, pushers, users, beggars, punks. Then the murders and mugging and rape will decrease. Well, that''s the theory anyway. The van comes slowly to a halt, next to an unmoving body lying face down in the dirt. One of the cops gets out and walks over to it. He prods it with his truncheon, and it stirs with a low groan. The face that looks up to his, has a bloodied eye - which startles suddenly, and is awake at the sight of a Yellow Uniform. She kicks and screams, and pushing him aside, runs lopsidedly on one shoe, black and brown down the street. The cop gathers himself, and grinning at the challenge, takes off after her. The engine revs to action, and she is pursued by both of them now. The van cuts off her run at the next corner, crashing into trash cans, and as she slows undecided on her next move, is then crash-tackled from behind by the full force of a flying full-back. A bottle of wine is flung from the collision, spinning through the air at the force of the impact, and shatters as it hits the ground; the scarlet liquid of its contents spilling darkly onto the hard tar. Amidst the crash of glass and the dull crunch of the tackle, they hit the road together, and her breath is expelled with an anguished moan as her meagre form is crushed beneath him. Tell me what you all think about it, good for a story? If you are nowhere are you somewhere?

Writing for Games Game Design

Started by michaelp3000 February 24, 2004 08:02 PM

10 comments, last by michaelp3000 20 years, 4 months ago

robirt

127

February 29, 2004 07:31 PM

I dont get it. What was the point of him even saying that he wrote it? What is the motivation?

Rodger

michaelp3000

122

Author

March 02, 2004 08:09 PM

Wooooo stop stop just a second me and the author are tring to get publisity at his site come on I DIDNOT say that I wrote it come on were just trying to get publisty to his site once he got 20 hits in a day thats is what he conceders a major hit ( i condseder 200 a slow day) that is all it is the oringnal plan was to type it and tell you all to go to his site.

MAn get the whole story first and if you dont belive me his name is Beyan, So come on.

Just get the whole story before pointing fingers all over the place!!!

If you are nowhere are you somewhere?