She again took my arm, and we proceeded.

“These vaults,” she said, “are extensive.”

“The Maidens,” I replied, “were a great and numerous family.”

“I forget your arms.”

“A huge human foot d’or, in a field azure; the foot crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs are imbedded in the heel.”

“And the motto?”

“Nemo me impune lacessit.”

“Good!” she said.

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[Good to see we're back. Here's another story where nothing happens.]

"Does it get internet?"

"Uh, no."

"Can you get apps on it?"

"Dude, no, I've gone over this."

"So it can read books," Ray said, rubbing his hands together through his gloves. "That's it. You can't check Facebook with it. You can't watch porn with it. You can't even fucking play Angry Birds with it. You just read books."

"Uh, yeah," I said. "That's why it's called an eReader."

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>>307
.... lol so random. This needs to be developed a bit more, and add a plot twist (everyone needs a twist). Overall, has potential to be great.

>>306
Must admit, I didn't read it, since I am annoyed by the TV show you parody. Can't keep from hearing the Opening run through my head.

>>311

Hah, CN Tower was meant to be a scene in a day, moreso than anything with a plot. I was more concerned with painting a picture than telling a story.

And Fresh Prince was our Happy Days, man. That show was legit :P

[Birdget asked me to write something about a harpy, a little bird, and a window. This happened :V]

This is Ava's dream.

Every night, when Ava sleeps, she dreams of being a bird. Only not exactly a bird; closer to a harpy, but without the man-eating conotation, and not ugly, if you were using the later Greco-Roman tradition. Her whole body is still intact and rewound back to the days of her post-graduate diet and exercise regimen. So basically her, but with wings, and younger. So not a bird or harpy in any sense of those words.

For ninety to one-hundred twenty minutes out of her six to eight hours of sleep every night, she was a not-bird not-harpy younger winged Ava. For ninety to one-hundred twenty minutes every night, she was free.

A bird wakes her up. The bird, rather. It is the same bird that wakes her up every day. The same bird that was always on her windowsill. The same bird that would sit there and chirp at her every morning until she woke up.

This is Ava's alarm clock.

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Ava finds an open seat on the train. The seats are never open. Today, though, she got to rest her weary legs by placing her ass where hundreds of thousands of asses have sat, farted, and scratched themselves. The janitors don't even bother anymore. I don't blame them. If she saw just how dirty they really were, she wouldn't either.

Every day she goes further and further away from her little apartment on top of Mark's Indian restaurant. She has a bag full of resumes and a map of all the local businesses. First, she'll stop by last week's Xs, then she'd move on to this week's Os. She'll go through them all, door to door, handing out her resume and talking to the manager and/or most senior employee. Most of them were high school kids. If she had less education, less experience, maybe she'd be able to land a position as a dead-eyed cashier or stock boy.

But she had education, and she had experience. Ava ran away from her home in a sleepy suburban town at the tender age of eighteen and made her way to the big city, where she was going to be free. She arrived with just the clothes on her back, two pennies in her pocket, and eyes gleaming with hope. Four years of studying <UNDECLARED> later, she went on to land a position she loved in the aforementioned field.

She made her rounds through the shops, the restaurants, the shops again. Racks and racks of clothes, each one different enough from the last to justify having to buy them both. Somewhere, three thousand miles from her and her bag of resumes, in the middle of this jungle of clothes, an Indonesian child was sewing the next season's fashions. She gets one cent for every dress she packs. The bus from her shack to the factory is thirty-three cents one way. When she's finished for the day, she may have finished one hundred dresses. She will pay sixty-six cents for the priviledge to make gaudy salmon-pink dresses and neon blue tights that an American teenager will wear four times this season, then throw in the back of her closet and laugh about twenty years later. The other thirty-four cents goes to feeding her sick baby brother. In two years, he will die anyway, and she would have wasted one hundred sixty-four dollars and twenty-five cents American feeding him for three years.

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slowclap

Actually we should make this whole thread all "Let's comply with Rena's erotic fanfic demands". I'll go next. :3

<%Rena_Ryuuguu> rubbrchikin: You MUST write erotic fan fiction between Alyssa Searrs (My-HiME) and Saya (Saya no Uta). It should take place in the Lower Ninth Ward (New Orleans). feet-hands must also be involved.

Alyssa searrs was walking through the lower ninth ward of new orleans one day when suddenly she suddenly heard a voice calling out to her. She turned and saw that it was saya. Her voice caught in her throat and she couldnt speak as she realized that ITS HANDS WERE FEET. She was totally entranced by it. "I want to touch your feet-hands" said alyssa. "OK" said saya. Then alyssa thought "I wonder what would happen if i put the feet-hands on my delicious flat loli chest" and she did and it was wonderful. Saya started to moan and they went into a building and saya took of hers and alyssas dresses. But then saya put alyssas dress back on because that little black frilly dress is awesome and then they started to have hot lesbian sex. THE END
epliogue: After a while saya got hungry so she ate alyssa.

>300 get

Nope. 300 get is Crab Nicholson get. But nice try.

And these works are classics, no question about it.

>>299

>1984

Own it, and O'Brien is pure terror

>Brave New World

Own it, kick ass, and all lolifags/ agree.

>Fahrenheit 451

Don't own it, but read it in skewl back in the day. Book-burning, people-burning, dog-burning...

Didn't you already post this? It was shit then, too.

Minor Writer:
Sythou
Genre: Modern Fantasy, Fantasy
Notes: If lolijoke has little up but shows talent, Sythou has even less up and shows not much more than an average person attempting to write. Lacking a style of his own, in the eyes of his pseudo-mentor Rinkou, he is like a chalkboard. Currently working on a project that has a strange (almost identical) feel as that of Fate Stay Night, his talent is his imagination. If only he wasn't so damn lazy, he'd surely be training his Writecraft to be better.
Link: http://soulr34ver.deviantart.com/

:V holy shit

this makes me want to write again

<3

Last edited 09/09/20(Sun)09:10.

Do Eeeet.

Bump this shit. This is important.

Shit, wait, I think this through. I don't think any of us are left, and I'm probably going to end up disappearing after this >_>

Last edited 11/03/11(Fri)04:40.

i wish we all still hung out, man. irc is just so meh these days. i miss 2008.

The Girl in the Photograph

One school day, a boy named Tom was sitting in class and doing math. It was six more minutes until after school. As he was doing his homework, something caught his eye.

His desk was next to the window, and he turned and looked to the grass outside. It looked like a picture. When school was over, he ran to the spot where he saw it. He ran fast so that no one else could grab it.

He picked it up and smiled. It had a picture of the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She had a dress with tights on and red shoes, and her hand was formed into a peace sign.

She was so beautiful he wanted to meet her, so he ran all over the school and asked everyone if they knew her or have ever seen her before. But everyone he asked said “No.” He was devastated.

When he was home, he asked his older sister if she knew the girl, but unfortunately she also said “No.” It was very late, so Tom walked up the stairs, placed the picture on his bedside table and went to sleep.

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You know, I love this story, too, but Cassandra Claire took it off the Internet for a reason...

I came so much.
EDIT: The ending was so heartbreaking though.

Last edited 10/10/27(Wed)06:42.

>>288
nobody had said the author's name in the thread so far.
Bravo.

Aside from being set in the HP world, the characters are actually believable.

Where might someone find more writing of this quality?

Ginny is a bitch.

That is all.

>>282 Perhaps, but I will merely take little glances at it to see if anyone gave a shit about it.