Are you bored? So this is how it works: the first person writes a random story then gives a challenge for the next person to do, and then the next person does that challenge and then makes another challenge etc...
So I had an idea. A chain of challenges for bored writers. I'm going to write a random story then give a challenge to the next person. Whoever completes that challenges gives another challenge. The cycle then continues. I'm bad at explaining things, so tell me if you have any questions. If you were writing a response to a challenge, but then someone already posted while you were writing, just make a branch of the story or however it works. If you have a challenge for someone in particular, give them the challenge and then a challenge for anyone in case that person doesn't want to do it. Make sense? Okies. I hope so. Feel free to pitch in at any time.
There are no requirements on post limits or lengths unless the challenge states that there is. Prose or poetry. Please refrain from challenging fan fictions, because not everybody has read that story. Feel free to ask any questions.
The Daily Life Of A Gang Member
“Who’s there?” his nervous voice called out as he glanced around. That’s when he shivered, most likely from the light sound of my slow footsteps. “I have a gun!” he shouted, grabbing a small pistol and holding it firmly in his shaking hands. The man’s muddy eyes scanned the abandoned parking lot. To be killed or to be the killer: they both most likely seemed horrifying to him.
Stepping out from a round the corner, I smirked. That was when I got a full view of him. His wide eyes said it all. His trembling jaw. His jittery arms. A completely normal reaction. Well if there was a possibility you were about to be killed, I’m sure you’d begin panicking like a young kid who’d lost his mother. Almost anyone would. Except for me. Or practically anyone in the gang.
“Drop the gun, I’m smart enough to know it ain’t loaded. I might be a criminal, but I’ve lived sixteen years. Had enough time already to know just how scared ya really are when losers like you walk around on the streets at night. You begin carryin’ things around to threaten people just like me,” I began. The smirk on my face was still in place. It probably would stay there for a long time. Scaring people just sent a thrill through my spine. “You know who I am. I don’t even gotta explain anythin’ to ya, do I?”
The weapon fell out of his hands. His face turned pale at my knowledge. He shook his head at my question. It was obvious right from the start that people like me meant bad news for him. A knife was quickly pulled outta my pocket, yet the blade wasn’t released.
“Be a sweetie and don’t scream for me, makes the cops give me too much attention, and that wouldn’ be any good, now would it? Let’s make this quick and as painless as possible. I’m gonna try to be the nice guy and make this not very painful for ya. I’m givin’ ya a great oppreetunity here,” I advised him, stumbling over my words. The man didn’t say anything. Raising my eyebrows, I released the blade from the knife. “Any last words?” I asked calmly, figurin’ it’d be some sad story about why I should let ‘em live.
He was shivering, although that wasn’t very unusual. I was just surprised he wasn’t screaming for help by now. “Please don’t kill me! I have a wife and kids!” he insisted, raising his hands up as if I was a cop who was threatening him.
I spat on the ground for no real reason. “Ya know what I think about your wife an’ kids? I don’t give a damn about them. For all I care, I’ll just kill ‘em off too! Don’t worry though, I won’t do that for your sake.” The man shivered at my words. Had I gone too far? If I had, I didn’t really care.
“Don’t kill me!” he begged, falling to his knees with his hands folded as if he was praying. Tears were draining down from his closed eyes, forming a small puddle in the ground. He quickly opened his brown eyes, looking up at me pleadingly.
At his words, my smirk grew larger. I was like the Cheshire cat, cruel and unforgiving. “Don’t worry. I won’t kill ya. I’ll just make it hurt so much that it’ll suck all of the life out of ya,” I hissed, pushing the dagger into his chest. With a gasp, he fell to the ground. “Now let’s see what’s in that wallet,” I muttered, reaching into his pocket and flipping through everythin’. It looked pretty decent. A few credit cards, a whole lot of cash, and a driver’s license.
“Help!” he cried out. An’ loudly too.
It only took me a glance down at him to realize that he wasn’t dead. Yet. “Crap!” I shouted, pulling the knife out of his chest and running back towards the streets. His shouts of help grew quieter as I ran further away. If someone was yelling at midnight, people would probably come rushing to help ‘em.
“Hey watch where you’re going, kid!” some guy yelled as I shoved passed him. I didn’t pay him any mind though. That was when I realized I was holding a bloody knife and a wallet. Wow. That was incredibly stupid of me. That must’ve been horrible, ‘specially when there were screams of help in the background. Although I didn’t have any time to put anythin’ away, partially ‘cause I was too lazy.
It was a few minutes before I reached the house. Ambulance sirens slowly faded away. I was wonderin’ if they were from what I’d just done, or from somethin’ else. There was a fifty-fifty chance there. My mother looked up from the magazine she was reading and smiled. “Look who’s finally home. Where’ve you been?” she asked calmly.
I quickly shoved the knife and wallet into my jacket pockets and made the most innocent-lookin’ face I could. Lyin’ wasn’t really my strong point ‘ough. “The mall,” I lied casually. “I didn’ buy anythin’.” At least the last part was true. Although my mom wouldn’ really care that much about where I’d been or anythin’ like that.
“Alright, go on to bed. You have school tomorrow,” she replied, turning a page. I didn’ look to see what she was readin’. Although that wasn’ really important to me.
After a few seconds, I was in my room and plopped down on the bed. My room was full o’ guitars and posters. Just the way I liked it. Pullin’ the blade outta my pocket, I wiped it clean wi’ my shirt. My friends told me ‘at was disgustin’. But I didn’ pay it no mind. My shirt would be washed ‘morrow anyway. I pushed the blade back into the knife and pulled out the wallet.
Well ‘at was a borin’ name! Lookin’ at the picture in ‘is license , I smirked. He was forty-three. ‘At wasn’t too damn old. That’s when I began fingerin’ through the good stuff. Justin had quite a bit o’ money in ‘ere. After countin’ everythin’ cash and coinwise, I came up with ‘bout two-hundred bucks. ‘At seemed pretty reasonable. What would I be doin’ with my money anytime soon? I ‘ad no idea. Perhaps I’d buy me somein real nice. Maybe a better phone. Nah. I already ‘ad an iphone, curtsey of some man who was now dead. Half the crap I had in ‘ere was from either dead folks or folks who’d been lucky enough to live. Well ‘en there were the ones who either a: committed suicide ‘cause I beat ‘em so damn hard. Or b: The ones who wished ‘ey were dead since I’d beat ‘em so hard that they’d never one a live ‘gain.
For some reason other jerk’s pain made me feel good. Importan’ or somethin’ I guess. It’s not like I really cared ‘ough. My sister was always complainin’ about how I spoke funny. I ‘old her to not be involved in everyone else’s business. If I ‘on’t ‘are what she does, why should she care ‘bout what I do?
“‘O is it?” I asked casually, still flippin’ through the wallet that belonged to Justin.
“David,” a cool, casual voice stated.
David was my best friend. He always stood up for me and stuff. Alough’ unless ya really knew ‘em. I mean, really knew ‘em, he wouldn’t hesitate in breakin’ ever stinkin’ bone in ya body. “David! ‘ome on in!” I replied.
A tall figure stepped in the room. He ‘ad black hair ‘at came down a bit past his shoulders and brown eyes. His skin was dark and tanned. David lived on the ‘ol Indian Reservation on the other side o’ town. He’d insisted on goin’ to the public school for some reason. He glanced down at the knife by my side and the wallet in my ‘ands. “Rob somebody today, Rose?” he asked, callin’ me by my last name.
“That ain’t my name and get over it!” I insisted, shooting an icy cold glare at ‘im.
He blinked a few times, looking down at me with a smile. “Kill him?” he asked eagerly, since it was obvious I ‘ad robbed ‘im. Killin’ was pretty regular for our gang. It wasn’ like we really cared ‘bout anyone other than ourselves. Me bein’ the leader an all, I cared for my gang and my gang only. It was our gang law.
Glancin’ up at ‘im from the wallet, I couldn’ help but smirk. “Nah. I stabbed ‘im, but I didn’ stay to show ‘im how I really felt. He was such ‘n idiot, thinkin’ I wouldn’ hurt him an all. He started beggin’ on ‘is knees, just like nearly everyone in this stinkin’ world! ‘Ave you ever cried?” I inquired for no apparent reason at all.
“Yeah. When I was little and stuff. But now...Now I don’t cry at all. It’s one of the gang’s rules!” he insisted, tryin’ to be the good guy. David was always tryin’ to impress me, so I’d keep ‘im in the gang. Maybe ‘cause I’d kicked a few guys out in the past. I hadn’t though ‘ey was good ‘nough. Or the broke the gang rules. ‘Ince ‘en David’s always been followin’ the rules. Well, the gang rules at least.
“I know you ‘on’t, David. It’s ‘alight!” I replied, pullin’ out a small box from my pocket. I pulled one o’ the sticks out and tossed it to ‘im. “Have a smoke, will ya? You’re actin’ all tense ‘bout it,” I advised.
David gladly took the cigarette and pulled out ‘is own lighter an’ lit it. He quickly placed it in ‘is mouth and blew out some smoke. “Thanks,” he said with a smile, blowin’ out another puff. “So what’s up?” he asked casually, sittin’ down on the bed next to me.
“Besides committing attempted murder and stealin’ a guy’s wallet? Nothin’.”
That was it. A borin’ week for me.
I challenge somebody to write a poem at least fifty words long, none of the words having the letter 'e' in them. And you can not just write down random words that don't have that letter in them. Please make sure it makes sense please.