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Post by mangosherbet on Aug 7, 2014 16:26:10 GMT
this is not my contest, it's three's! she's unable to post it, but will be judging. FAQCan we specify a gender for the protagonist? yes, you can c: What do you mean by Dynamic Protagonist? And by identity of protagonist you mean like the name of the dream kia? "dynamic protagonist" is used to refer to a character with a clear personality/identity, giving us more of an idea who your protagonist really is. yes, a name or identifying feature that will allow us to tell your protagonist apart from any other characters you might include. |
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Post by curious on Aug 7, 2014 16:28:57 GMT
In memory of my uncle, who died of myelofibrosis this year. - CS Username: Curious - Protagonist Identity: Hope [First Person] - Story:
You approach a Kiamara. You have been looking forward to meeting her. She was just on the news--for being alive. You’re surprised to see that she is knitting, in spite of her youth. She looks up, smiling. You know for sure that this is her, just by looking into her tired eyes. “Have you come to hear my story?” she asks, tilting her head. You nod. “Well, look who’s eager,” she chuckled. “You’re not the first who’s wanted to hear. Alright, I’ll explain everything…” “It hasn’t been that long, a year or two, maybe. I was just a normal Kiamara, except for the fact that I preferred knitting over playing and reading over eating. The kids my age left me alone to continue with whatever I was doing. But the truth is, I was actually shy. You see, I got very tongue-tied and awkward when I tried to talk to anyone I didn’t know back then. But all that changed after I got so sick. “It was a typical, sunny day. I was heading to school when I tripped and fell on the concrete, scraping my knee. I shrugged off the pain and ignored the blood, and went to the nurse before class. She said it would be fine, so long as I kept a bandage on it. After a boring school day of school, I headed home and decided to see how the scrape was healing. When I took off the bandage…The thought makes me shudder even today. It was gross! To my horror and disgust, I found a ginormous purple and brown bruise on my knee where I had scraped it. A few seconds after the pressure of the bandage was gone, blood gushed out.” She chuckles to herself. “Grossed out?” She winks at you, eyes sparkling. “I hope you have a strong stomach! Illness isn’t pretty.” She laughs again. “Sorry about being so crude. I guess I’m used to this sort of stuff now.” She continued… “I didn’t know what to do, so I told my parents about the injury. They decided to take me to the doctor and see if I was alright. I had a lot of tests, and the results weren’t exactly the best. I had to go to a professional doctor. A-K-A the hospital. By the time we got to the place, it was midnight, and I was getting pretty shaky. Just before we were about to be escorted out of the waiting room, I fell asleep. “When I woke, all I could see was bright light and my parents leaning over me. I felt a paw squeeze my own as they saw I was awake. They told me that it was morning, and we were still at the hospital. I immediately knew something was wrong, considering there was some sort of medicine-filled bag plugged into my arm. And the fact that we had stayed there literally all night. “Then they broke the news to me. “I had a disease called myelofibrosis, a bone marrow disorder. Apparently, I had not had it long, and I was lucky that we found out about it so soon. My body was no longer able to make red blood cells because my bone marrow was turning into fiber. It is a rare and deadly disease. There was no way of telling how I got it. “I stayed at the hospital for days. Then weeks. Which turned into months. I was getting weaker and weaker. I never wanted my parents to leave me. I was so scared. I couldn’t walk, and because of the medicine I couldn’t hold any food down in my stomach, I just barfed it all up. The doctors tried to help me, but nothing seemed to work. I was losing myself in the drugs. Forgetting things. Sometimes I even forgot who my parents were … “This went on for a year. But one day…One day I felt a tiny bit stronger than usual. I told the doctors how I felt and they told me I could try walking if I wanted to. It was hard for me, and pretty painful, and I failed. The next day I felt a bit stronger, and I tried again. And failed again. But the next day, I took my first steps since arriving at the hospital over a year ago! Nurses and doctors crowded around to watch as I began picking up pace. I felt less and less pain with every step. By the next week, I was running down the hallway. Everyone was saying it was a miracle. “I was cured. Cured!
“The hospital had a party for me. Tears were shed, and the ward was full of laughter, and I was happy because I knew it was finally over.” “And now I know,” said the Kiamara, looking at me with a warm gaze, “There’s always hope to pull you through. You always have to have faith in yourself, and never give up.” - Word Count: 827/1000 |
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ijellybean
New Member
Fall - Sweat Shirts, Winter - Sweat Shirts, Spring - Sweat Shirts, Summer - Sweat Shirts
Posts: 9 
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Post by ijellybean on Aug 7, 2014 16:30:46 GMT
Mark
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Sadbloom
New Member
Really wants coffee
Posts: 2
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Post by Sadbloom on Aug 7, 2014 16:49:24 GMT
Mark
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Vintage
New Member
attack on titan
Posts: 43
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Post by Vintage on Aug 7, 2014 16:50:39 GMT
 Hello there, my username is Vintage on CS and here. ^^The main character in all of the characters views is "Molly Aceman." However, that is her alias given to her by the police. Her name is Mikasa, after a Japanese Battleship. She is hardy and strong, but silent as well.  Reconnaissance pushed open the door to her next class, Calculus. She slid into a desk near the back, pulling out her compact mirror, and ruffling her hair ever so lightly, twisting her head this way and that, a view from all angles. Looking up, she flashed a smile at the admirers who were always there, but then noticed that no one was surrounding here. There were no lovers or haters, it was strangely quiet.
Pink eyes skimmed and scanned the room, resting on a group of people surrounding another. Jealousy quickly welled up within the leopard printed Kia, and she gritted her teeth, holding back screams of anger. She had worked for years to get this reputation where everyone would pay attention to her, and it was all take down by one student. Who would ever even attempt to do this, anyone who knew anything knew that she was at the top of the food chain, she was the boss, and attention was paid to her and not anyone else.
Reconnaissance quickly and slid out of her seat, pressing the mirror back into the bag. The click of her heels echoed on the tiles as she walked towards the cluttered desk. Others backed off, still somewhat respectful of her reputation, making a path straight towards the culprit of attention thievery.
Vibrant eyes rested on her, but no words came out. At the same time, Recon remembered that she never actually heard the culprit’s voice speak to Recon’s former admirers, only that the admirers would speak to her.
The principal of Covent High School skimmed and scanned through the newer student’s information. CHS was known for being extremely expensive, but the academics that were provided were top of the line. Most families couldn’t afford it, and every once in a while there were strange cases.
The principal’s eyes skimmed over one of those strange cases. This student, her parents were… Dead. They had lived out in a wood cabin, nice and comfortable with nature. One day, thieves showed up at their door, killed her mother and father, leaving the girl. Originally going to be sold on the Black Market, Erin, another Kiamara, helped her escape, and Erin's family took her in.
The Government Police, taking note of the girl’s background, gave the family money for the girl’s education, and turns out they decided CHS would be a good school. Hey, the principal wasn’t complaining, but it still brought her a lot of unwanted attention. They simply told the principal that her name was Molly Aceman, but it was obviously fake, as she never responded to it. It also didn’t help that everything about her was so secretive. He couldn’t deny that the girl preferred to work quickly and quietly, without anyone staring at her. But the students knew something was up, and wouldn’t leave her alone.
Titus watched the new girl, the one who was different. She had something about her, an aura that was unique. It attracted others, compelled them to find out what was so different about her, and hence, Titus’ reason for his investigation.
Titus gazed at her carefully with flickering blue eyes as she walked out of the bustling double doors, obviously making an effort to not attract attention, but failing quite horrendously. She was so quiet during class, unwilling to put forth an answer in class, doing partner work by herself… But why?
Once she was 5 yards ahead, the PPS Kia slinked out from behind the dumpster, casually following her, while keeping his eyes on the ground to divert attention. So many boggling questions rocketed in his mind, and he had to get an answer to at least one of them.
As they exited the main road, and the streets became darker, Titus looked up, only to realize that the girl was gone. Shocked and confused, he scanned the alleys around him, searching for just a glimpse of that quiet face. Nothing.
But soft hands gripped his shoulder, and he turned to see her staring at him. It was an angry glare, just very… Emotionless.
“Stay away from me.” She said simply, and backed away into the darkness of the alley. Taking her advice, Titus went the opposite direction, towards his own home. Whatever this girl’s secret was, he needed to respect her privacy.
'Molly Aceman' walked away, eyes down and shoulders hunched as to evade prying eyes. She had gotten the sparky nose out of her business, but there were still so many others. They had crowded around her during school, relentless, determined to find out anything and everything about her. What was with them? Couldn’t they understand that she didn’t want to talk about it?
It was quite obvious that some of the more popular members of the school held a certain distaste to her, stealing away their ‘followers.’ However, she would easily shove them back, disliking the congregating around her.
Eyes flickered about to watch the surroundings, and her eyes rested on a knife. It was just plastic, a butterknife, but it was almost as though it was a full on butcher knife, the way it carved into her.
She let out a gasp, collapsing on the ground, locked in memory. The last time she saw a knife was then, with her parents. Memories fluttered through that wall she held up to block them, smashing and causing a hole where they leaked through
and entered her thoughts.
A knock on the door. Father opens it, only to just stand there, frozen. Mother gets up to look at who it was, but she’s scared, shocked. Father falls down with a clatter. They smash Mother’s head, and she falls down as well.
I am captured.
They had knives. They wanted to sell me. A girl, Erin, saved me from that, helped me escape. I had to fight to get out. After that fight, I have complete control over my body, able to handle anything. And I have a family.
[995/1000]
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geier
New Member
Posts: 10
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Post by geier on Aug 7, 2014 16:57:47 GMT
username on CS: geier identity of protagonist: Judas, he also narrates the story story:
"Forgive me, Father...
for I have sinned."
That was part of my father’s job; listening to the wrongdoings the weak-willed wanted to cleanse themselves of, whilst they were masked by anonymity. For my father was a ‘father’ in more ways than one; he was Father Brunet, or as he preferred to be called due to his casual nature, Father Samuel. He was the priest of our local Anglican Church and a mighty good one at that. He was idolized, loved, trusted, adored, and cherished by all for his friendly and fair nature. I don’t believe I would be stretching the truth too much if I labeled him one of the best priests that ever existed; he sure tried his hardest to be.
I, Judas Brunet, also looked up to my father and yearned to follow in his footsteps for as long as I could remember. I was a good kid for the most part; I complimented on the dresses of the ladies who attended the Church, helped other kids find fun in studying the Bible, and performed other good deeds. The people of our church knew of my wish to become a priest and fully supported me. I shared my father’s approachable, kind aura and combined with the fact that I was his son in the first place, many placed their trust and love with me as well, endearingly calling me the ‘Little Father’.
However, it seems I have yet to completely justify my personality. I’m sure you’ve been told by your parents, some other adult or by some sort of cartoon focused on morals not to judge a book by its cover. This saying usually applies to those who are made out to be a bad individual, whereas they’re actually good. This is not the case for me. Sure, I was originally that good kid I described previously, but please recall that I did say ‘for the most part’. Even during my early life, I had always been greedy, always wanted more. I relished the attention and gifts I got from those good deeds more so than the positive feeling of actually doing them. Of course, my father took note of this and chided me for it, but I just learned to keep this trait of mine more under wraps.
Consider it like a seed. This seed of cunning and gluttony sprouted and grew as I became older; its water being every time I successfully got what I wanted. As it continued to branch out, my wrongdoings became more frequent, more devious. I knew it was wrong, but with what I was able to get, I didn’t want to be right. As I learned from the passing of my mother, life is too short, so make it count. My father was never able to stump the growth of this plant of greed and as time went on, he began to notice this negative trait less and less until he became completely oblivious to it. It was better that way for the both of us; my glorification of my father had never faded away, and now I could go on with no remorse while he remained in the state of blissful ignorance. He had been the only one that could ever cause that pang of guilt within me, even if it had never been strong enough to make me change.
My dream of becoming a priest had never faded away either; in fact, I believe the desire strengthened. With becoming a priest, I knew people would trust me all the more.., and I could get what I wanted all the more. I went to a university, got my degree in the Anglican priesthood, contacted the Bishop of my Anglican diocese, received the Sacrament of Holy Orders, and became Father Judas of the Church I was assigned to. My father and everyone else who supported me along the way had never been prouder.
Now, you may be wondering whether I’ve ever been caught by someone other than my father. The answer to that question is yes. Luckily, we are all imperfect beings on this planet and a simple bribery will usually switch that answer to a ‘no’. There are those who hold purer hearts in their chests though, although smaller brains in their heads. A rumor to rip their reputation to shreds often does the trick to shut them up or at least, causes no one to believe them.
--
I sat down at the desk in the study room of my dwelling, a box holding the donations given by generous people this morning at Church. Of course, they had happily handed over their funds under the impression that it would go to aiding the Church or some other charitable thing, but I suppose this was close enough. After all, I was the priest and deserved all this for all my hard work and dedication.
As I counted the bills and coins within, I chuckled to myself:
“Forgive me,
for the father has sinned.”
word count: (833/1000 w)
notes; i apologize for any errors; i am not anglican, but i did do research.
i also ask that there not be any crosses on the design if i win; i've gotten the okay to request this from three. |
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Post by lunapuppy on Aug 7, 2014 16:57:58 GMT
Marking <3 <3
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Post by Cerulean on Aug 7, 2014 17:06:58 GMT
username on CS // CeruleanRush identity of protagonist // the narrator; simply "they", as there are no other major characters story // The last thing I see as I take my final, struggling breath is the full moon; it dances in the sky as choppy waters grab at my frantically treading limbs. My lungs struggle for one last breath of air before I am finally dragged under the river's current for good. Closing my eyes only adds darkness to the already growing darkness around me; however, as much as I do not wish to watch myself drown, I keep them open. I count the time until my air is gone and consciousness fades away
3 minutes.
I recall the first time I visited here: my family stood on the riverbanks with hundreds of others, that same full moon staring down at us. My lookout was my father's shoulders, and I watched eagerly in hopes to catch the same glimpse of spiraling red flame that everyone else did. They were called the Naga Fireballs, and nowhere else on Earth could you see such a spectacle. Every year at the same time, under that same moon, orbs of dancing red fire would emerge from the depths of the river only to share a brief dance in the sky before flickering out altogether. As the first one floated up out of the river, I wriggled down off my father's shoulders to get a better look. Being short, I weaved through the forest of legs relatively quickly, and emerged at the very edge of the river just as a fireball floated up to greet me. My first instinct was to reach out and try to grab it, but just as I managed to cup my small paws around the flame, my father caught up to me and pulled my paw back into his so he wouldn't lose me again. As he dragged me back to where the rest of the family stood, I saw a brilliant flash of red and green dart out of the water, and disappear once more.
This is the first time since that I have been back, now an adult, now quickly sinking to the bottom of the Mekong river as the same fireballs I saw as a child float through the water. They dance just beyond my reach, taunting me as I wait for death to take my hand the same way my father did all those years ago. As the fireballs grow closer, my mind takes to wandering even further down this path of my life.
2 minutes.
I remember how the encounter stuck in the back of my mind, how the colors seemed to get brighter each time I recalled the moment. It was after listening to local talk that I finally understood the rumors surrounding the fireballs and finally connected the dots. According to local legend, the river was guarded by a creature called the Phaya Naga, a giant serpentine creature that would breathe the balls of fire as they swam once a year. As a child, I was sure the Naga was what I had seen in the water; there was absolutely nothing else it could possibly be. I practically worshiped the Naga, and asked every year if we could return to the river. The Naga became my obsession.
My vision begins to get blurry, and I blink slowly. Darkness that isn't from the low light of the river has begun creeping into my vision, and I can feel my thoughts growing further and further from me. The fireballs are close now, dancing where I can see them up close before they move up to the surface. I relax and outstretch my limbs, letting myself drift in the flames.
1 minute.
It was only when i became a teenager that the obsession of the Naga left me. I never truly realized when it left me; it was as if I had suddenly awoke one morning only to find the looming thought gone. It was a realization so simple it casted no more thought upon me except for a simple "oh". From there, I went on with life. I went on to do so, so much, but this didn't matter now. I was drowning, and no precious childhood Naga could save me now.
30 seconds.
I remembered the moment before they threw me into the water. Before they watched me struggle to keep my head above the dark, dark water. Why had they thrown me in here? Nothing could make me care anymore. My eyes began to flutter closed.
A flash of red and green. I open my eyes once more in a panic as something races past me in a flurry. My mind cannot understand this, and I can feel the last shred of my consciousness dying. The fireballs are floating up quickly, even more quickly, racing around me until I feel like I'm sure this is the path to wherever death takes me.
Until one of the fireballs hits me dead center; it's the largest one I have ever seen and it completely consumes me.
And
I
can
breathe.
word count //
833 |
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Little Fish
Junior Member
Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?
Posts: 55
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Post by Little Fish on Aug 7, 2014 17:09:32 GMT
CS Username;;
• Little Fish
Identity Of Protagonist;;
(Told from her P.O.V as well)
• Rumer (Ru)
Extra Characters;;
(I got permission) • Avielle (Avi)Story;;
The morning sun blasted its way through my sideways shades hitting my eyes directly. I blinked before turning over into the mass of hair that had become tangled during the night. Pulling out a few strands from my mouth I slowly rose out of bed and looked over at my alarm clock. Staring at it I let the numbers sink into my mind while I tried to dig up what I was supposed to do today. Then it hit me like the Saturday morning bus last week. Shooting out of bed I ran straight to the bathroom to fix my hair and redo my makeup. After attempting, once again, to wash the old make up that had sunken itself into my fur over the years leaving grey smudged trails below my eyes I smiled, not really caring, then worked hard on my hair to make it look more like hair and less like a rats nest.
Finishing my bathroom routine, quickly for once, I snatched up my phone going through the billions of messages that Avielle had left on my phone since eight-thirty that morning. I was supposed to meet her outside the mall at nine for a shopping spree; instead I once again let it slip my mind and decided to sleep. It was noon now and I snagged my white knitted bean and threw it over the top half of my head, flatting out some of the curls along with it, I slid my glasses on and tied my tattered feather around my neck before calling Avielle.
The phone ringed a few times before Avielle answered with a half angered tone; through the years of our friendship she had gotten use to my scattered brain and laziness. “Rumer! Finally!! Where are you!?! I have been texting and calling you all morning and standing in this ass freezing parking lot for hours!!” “Ahhhhhh, Avi I am SO sorry it just-” “Yea, yea it just slipped your mind. I get it. Just hurry up before I get frost bite?” *click*
Arriving at the mall, over an hour late, I walked up to Avielle. My face was covered in a thick blush from not only embarrassment, but also the freezing cold wind that blew harshly across my fur. “Glad you could make it, *mumbling* three hours later, let’s go inside the tip of my tail hair has frozen a little already *disgruntled look*.” I gave a lazy half smile, knowing she was throwing her usual attitude toward my carefree self. Following her inside I watched as she shook with each step, still cold even with her long hair. I simply gave a small shiver to shake the cold off of my fur and giggled at her funny walking. “Avi, your attracting attention with the way you walk, do you want my coat? Why didn’t you just stay in your car until I got here?” I asked with a concerned look as she slowed her pace, still shaking, to match mine. She looked over at my coat I was wearing at the moment. “I’d love to borrow it, thanks Ru. *shaky smile* and it would have been a waste of gas to sit in that parking lot and wait for you.” She stuck her tongue out as I apologized with a giggle.
Once we finished our shopping spree, and went back to crash and try on our new clothes at my place, I finally talked Avielle into coming out and partying with me for once. It was normal for me, almost an everyday thing, and I had been asking her for months. I picked out some ripped u clothes for me with no under shirt and gave Avielle a see-through shit with an undershirt, just in case she didn’t feel as comfortable as I did half naked. I pulled up my booty shorts tight and attached a few shiny accessories to my tail to draw some attention away from me. I did the same to Avielle’s tail as she gave me a funny look. “What on earth are you doing?” “This will draw some attention away from us, if you know what I mean. Now are you ready?” “Sure just let me freshen up first.” “Okay I’m gonna have a smoke on the balcony, come get me when you’re done.”
Stepping out on the balcony it was raining gently making the pitter patter noise as it usually did above my head. My gaze softened as I stared over the horizon and took another drag. Breathing out I felt that burn that always accompanied my terrible smoking habit. I didn’t do it for stress, on no; I did it because I felt like it, because I could. Pondering dead thoughts in my head, a soft knock came from behind me, turning around I saw Avielle giving me the signal to come on. Dropping the cigarette on the cold wet ground I simply snuffed it out with my foot and gave another lazy smile as I followed Avielle out the door.
After a long night of partying I was glad to lay across my bed, super clean of course, with Avielle and talk the night away. We had both gotten tipsy along with gathering a few numbers. Avielle of course didn’t have a clue what to do when she got her first, the look on her face was priceless. I felt myself start to doze as the buzz of the night slowly wore off. I gave Avielle a funny half smile as usual and she giggled before turning off the light. A few minutes later she was lightly snoring the night away as I gazed upon my ceiling that I had speckled with glow-in-the-dark stars. The vision started to slip slowly away as my own need for sleep drowned out every other thought in my mind. Except for one, one that never seemed to want to leave me, one that kept me awake and afarid.
If I fade away now…will I fade away forever?
Word Count: (1000/1000)
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Post by rivkah on Aug 7, 2014 17:17:57 GMT
username on CS: Rivkah identity of protagonist: Ezra Miller
story:
The two Kiamaras sat across from each other in a stony silence. One was drumming her fingers impatiently on the arm of her chair, a flash drive clutched in one fist; the other was sitting in his own deceptively dangerous aura, slightly beaten and sipping tea she had laid out for him. His mannerisms screamed impeccable and intelligent, and yet she still couldn't figure him. Growing irritated, she broke the peace in a way that made him eye her distastefully. "Mr. Miller, could you please tell me what prolonged your completion of my assignment?" He frowned at her, giving her a look that made her feel as if he were regarding a particularly foolish child. "Fine. I will give you an account," he quipped in a bored tone.
Getting confidential information from the Russian mafia was not an easy task. However, infiltrating the office of the Pakhan - leader of all the Bratva - was an outrageous suggestion, and quite nearly an impossible feat. At least, to anyone who wasn't Ezra Miller, master criminal for hire. He would have sent one of his lackeys to fulfill the task in his stead, but this was a delicate matter and he didn't trust the ex-military men he employed to keep from killing themselves.
Ezra was always difficult to employ due to unique reasons. His temperament to start is hardly dangerous; calm, collected, and rational. These traits make it easy to employ him and cancel out most risks that you would have with other parties. However, what he lacks in unpredictable personality is made up for in quirky habits and money. He is not dependent upon his clients as he is a great aristocrat of England, and chooses cases based off of how unique and entertaining he judges them to be. Ezra despises cliche, which means he will most likely deviate from boring strategies and nearly ruin the mission because of it. Never underestimate this impeccable man.
Now that you have background, we'll move on.
Pain. Lights. Angry Voices.
It had been a simple task to distract the bumbling bodyguards and slip into the room - which needed a better pin combination for its lock, apparently. It just took a little noise as far as possible in the opposite direction and you were golden. Once he had the computer booted up, hacking into the mainframe was nearly instantaneous; digital infiltration was, after all, his specialty. His fingers were nimble and his figure like pure shadows as he placed the information he needed onto the flash drive and stuck it in his pocket. He sent a quick text to the man waiting with his helicopter to be ready to fly, and then coyly asked if he was interested in tea together after this was over. No harm in a little flirting; everything was going smoothly. What hadn't gone according to plan, however, was a burly bodyguard retracing his patrol and smashing the overconfident intruder's skull into the nearest wall as he slid from the room.
He blinked his eyes as he stared up at the towering form of his captor, leering, with his shirt covered in slight bloodstains that the mastermind immediately deduced to be his own. He was tied to a chair, arms behind him and his suit in tatters at his feet. Gaping at the sight of it, he sputtered indignantly in Russian, "<That was Anderson & Sheppard, you blundering fool! It was a fortune to get that custom tailored and embroidered.>" This seemed to amuse the man in front of him and the two oafs at the door. While they turned to chuckle at one another menacingly, he began twisting his wrists in the hopes of finding - ah yes. Slack. They had used too much rope.
He stilled his squirming as the captor turned back to him, holding out the flash drive for him to see. "<You steal from our brothers, our leader? You don't get to go back home.>" Oh that would be a shame; who would feed his bengal tiger? He blinked at him, feigning stupidity from the blood loss - and yes, he had identified that caked substance on his face to be blood.
There was a thrilling moment of success when the rope fell from his wrists, and he waited patiently for one of the brutes in the back to turn and offer the interrogator a smoke before he leaped to his feet, clad in what was left of his suit, and jumped on the back of his captor. He grabbed his throat until he could feel him knocked unconscious from breath and beginning to topple; he then snatched the flash drive from the bear of a hand and leaped aside, locating his discarded phone in a corner.
The next few minutes seemed to freeze, and the chill that went down his spine made him wish to cuddle up to his pet tiger with a nice cup of tea and a book of mythology. Call him the stereotypical Englishmen, but that sounded preferable to this at the moment. The two door guards were staring, dumbfounded, at him; wondering how that bloodied thief had knocked their interrogator out cold. Time stood still and he scoped out what he could remember of the room without breaking eye contact, and then both parties surged at one another. He used his momentum to jump, each foot landing squarely on the chest of an unsuspecting barbarian. The collision caused them to fall backwards and Ezra to go flying likewise. He reached out, catching a bar from the ceiling and swinging, legs retracting and then slamming upwards into the weakened roof. Once this acrobatic trick worthy of its owner had been completed, he swung up onto the roof and unlocked his battered phone.
"Yeah, I got it," he said smoothly as he eyed the drive in his hand. "Get the helicopter ready for me, and keep in mind that you are now going to order me a replacement Anderson & Sheppard in coal black." word count: exactly 1000
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nörth
New Member
Posts: 19
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Post by nörth on Aug 7, 2014 17:21:08 GMT
Username on CS: nörth
Identity of Protagonist: The protagonist in this story will be referred to as A.
Story: WIP
Word Count: (__/1000 w) |
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Post by purecrazy on Aug 7, 2014 17:22:34 GMT
Marking! <33 this sounds like a lotta fun!
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Post by hobbitgeek on Aug 7, 2014 17:25:14 GMT
Hobbit Geek  The monstrous beast 
You're walking deep in the forest when you come upon an old abandoned house. Curiosity overwhelms you as you walk inside the building, darkness being the first thing to greet you. Only a moment later you notice how dreadfully cold it is. The door behind slams, causing you to jump from fright. Shivers run down your spine as you hear a voice, sounding calm and cheerful, yet something about it made you nervous. “It’s rude to just walk into someone’s house without knocking.” The voice said.
“I-I didn’t know anyone lived here...” You reply, searching for whoever was speaking.
“Well next time make sure before you go inside.” He said, the words echoing around the room.
“Who are you?” You ask, but there was no reply.
“Hello?” You question, feeling antsy.
“Yes, yes. I’m still here.” He said, sounding a bit more irritated. “What’s your name?” He asked, seeming to be walking around you. You say your name, and he pauses, seeming to take a moment to think the name over.
“I guess it’s alright, but it’s not as great as my name.” He mused.
“What is your name?” You ask, wondering if he would tell you.
“My name matters not. What intrigues me though is why you’d be so far in the forest. Not many people come here in fear of the monstrous beast that is said to live here.” He said.
“What monstrous beast?” You ask, not having heard of creature living here before.
“You’ve never heard of the beast?” He said, sounding surprised. “Well I’ll tell you his story then.”
“This creature once lived with others, believe it or not. He was kind, gentle, and loved just about everyone, and everyone loved him. But soon that all changed. The creature fell in love, you see, with someone who seemed just as caring. They were happy, and the creature spent every moment with it's love. He gave her everything she wanted or asked for, because her smile was all he needed. But one day the beast found it's lover with someone more handsome than he. He went to his lover and asked what was going on, but even though he hoped it was a misunderstanding, his lover confirmed his fears. She had cheated on him, and he was left with a broken heart. He was distraught, but furious at the same time. His one and only love had only played him, used him like an old tool then tossed him aside when he had no more use. He ran off crying, he wouldn’t, couldn't, stop until he was deep within the forest. He made a home for himself and stayed there. Something inside him changed that day. His heart grew cold and it's said he had lost his mind. He grew bitter and hated everyone he came across. They say he kills those who are unlucky enough to come across him, but no one knows for sure because no bodies were ever found. “
By now your eyes had adjusted enough to see a little, but the only thing you could see was his eyes. The eyes of which were not human at all.
“Y-You’re the beast, aren’t you?” You ask with a shiver, suddenly feeling a slight breeze. There was no reply, only a cruel laughter. You felt fear seep in as you stared into his cold, dark eyes.
(571/1000 w) |
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Post by Shaynn on Aug 7, 2014 17:34:54 GMT
mark - form here hopefully
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vocal
New Member
Posts: 16
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Post by vocal on Aug 7, 2014 17:38:54 GMT
--ignore--
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What do you mean by Dynamic Protagonist? 
