CAUTION: before reading this, realize that I'm retarded. This was for English class, hence the lack of profanity. She said make sure it's believable. I made sure not to, you'll find out as you read on. I love how she defaced my art with my name, as if it wasn't already on there. It is clearly written in red ink, duh, large. Here's how I was rated (she has absolutely no idea how to add, but that turned out in my favor):
Lead: 10
Trait: 7
Dial: 10
Belief: 7 (I think it says -7 though)
Conf: 10
Desc: 9
Gram: 8
Susp: 10
Ending: 7
Artwork: 10
92 (that should be an 88)
"Bizarre! but entertaining!!"
She probably crapped herself while reading this, and it's not even that graphic. Well, enough BS, let's go!
"Nice one," said the father as his son sunk the ball into the hole. It
was Saturday, his only day to time with his child. He had decided to
take him mini-golfing, one of his son's favorites. It was 1995, and there
wasn't a care in their world.
The chile reached into the hole and pulled out his freshly shined blue
ball. The father still had to get his in, so he stepped up to his yellow sphere
and began to concentrate. He eyed the distance between, calculated the
wind direction, and settled his legs for a good stance. Slowly and carefully,
he raised the putter slightly. Lining it up, he swung, and got it in.
"Not bad, Dad," said the child, and the father went over to the hole
in the ground, and reached his hand down. He felt the bumpy surface, and
prepared to lift it out. But as he tightened his grip, a clawed hand reached up
and grasped his wrist. The father was jerked to the ground, screaming and
squirming, as the son stared in frightened amazement.
"Don't just stand there watching, help me!" screamed the father, and
the boy came over. He grabbed his father's shoulder and tried to pull him
up, He pulled with all his might, and felt the opposing force stop abruptly.
"What was it Dad?" asked the lad, relieved it was over.
"I don't know," he said, feeling faint.
The boy's heart was racing, and he was sweating. "Are you all right?"
The father turned his body, revealing where his arm should have
been...
"April Fool's!" yelled the father as he pulled his arm out of his shirt.
"Did you forget that it's April 1st?"
But then the son ripped off his face to reveal a horrible disfigured
monster, saying, "No, April Fool's!" and he ripped his father's arm off.
"Cut, cut, cut!" yelled the actor playing as the father. "How much am
I making on this movie?"
"500 million dollars an hour. This will be a hit!" yelled the director,
offstage in a darker area, sitting on his cheap little director's chair, yelling
into his cheap director's bullhorn, wearing his cheap director's beret.
"Only 500 mil?!" yelled the frustrated actor. "This movie has
absolutely no plot at all! If he could reach his hand into the hole, and the ball
was sitting there, where did the hand come from?"
"I don't know, maybe it..."
"I've had it!" interrupted the selfish performer. "What's with the
cheesy plot changes? It sounds like a ninth grader wrote this!"
The actor and the director both looked at the camera, showing that a
cheesy joke had been made. "But seriously, I can't take it!"
He stormed off into the door that said "Restricted: Fictional Story
Characters and Other Persona Developed For This Story Need Not Enter
(But Do It If You Have To, To Ensure A Lengthy Story)", as the director
yelled, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO...
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
and returned to his business.
The man looked around as he walked into this dark hallway he was
unfamiliar with. There was an eerie series of noises that seemed to never
end, comprised of tortured howling, evil laughter, cracks of whips, and a
loud hissing noise. It sounded like it was coming from below him...
He looked down to see that he was stepping on a cat's tail.
"Hello? Is anybody down here?"
"Down here... down here... down here... down here... down here...
down here... Mrs. Large is a fucking bitch!" echoed back his voice.
(Note: the echoes gradually decreased in size, until the last one, which
was too small to clearly see unless you were looking for it.)
"Hello?"
"Hello?... Hello?... Hello?... Hello?... Hello?... Hello?... Hello?..."
"Anybody?"
"Body... Body... Body... Body... Body... Body... Body..."
"Echo!"
"Echo... Echo... Echo... Echo... Echo... Echo... Echo..."
"Blah blah blah!"
"Okay, it's just getting old now," said a voice, which startle the man.
Noises began brewing in his head, making him paranoid, as he looked
around in the dim light. The noise was getting louder... He felt a sharp pain!
He looked down to see that he was stepping on the cat again. He kicked it
in the stomach and it ran away, hissing and growling.
"Who's there?" asked the man, sweat pouring down his brow. He
was wondering if maybe it wasn't the best idea to go into a restricted area.
He heard a small clicking noise, coming from in front of him. He peered into
the darkness, craning his neck towards the sound. He squinted, to see a
velociraptor, staring right back at him. He screamed like a little girl and ran
in the other direction, but he was surrounded. "All right, this is really going
nowhere. Yes, I'm a famous actor, and yes, there just happen to be extinct
dinosaurs living in the storage room." He slapped himself across the face a
few times, hoping to wake up. But he realized that this really was his life,
and he had lived it for years. And he realized that there really were raptors
living in the storage room as he felt sharp teeth dig into his tender throat.
He knew now that he was awake, and that this was real. Six-inch claws dug
into his stomach, tearing at the soft flesh and plunging through his rib cage.
He screamed, but was cut short as blood ran up from his stomach into his
mouth, and he wondered why he wasn't dead yet. They were playing with
him, he realized, and there was nothing he could do about it. Even if some
sort of miracle were to happen, his wounds were far too severe for survival.
But don't worry folks, this isn't the kind of story where miracle happen, this
story has a sad and depressing ending.
The claws continued to rip at his chest, drawing three wide streaks of
blood, and the raptors began to laugh. A deep, throaty laugh, which the man
quickly realized was a call for help. Several more raptors showed up, and
the man laid his head back and gave up...
And so, children, the moral of this story is... Well, I don't know the
moral. It was just fun to write about. Maybe it has something to do with not
going into restricted areas. Or not stepping on cats' tails. Yeah, I don't
know.