Created by Pixel-L
Post Reply CHALLENGE SECTION & What kind of story do you like the most?
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Posted 3/16/09 , edited 3/16/09

This is like a comparison between narrators, not a real competition just a place were have some comments from others. However every month I ll put the story of the most quoted person in the description like a winner (I feel a little contradictory) ^_^
Good Work Everyone

* Narrate here only the kind of stories in the list of the poll;
* If possible give them a title and spoil them so that not fill too much space;
* For any quotes please cancell the story and leave only the name of the narrator;
* Provide a respectful comment of any member;

Posted 3/16/09 , edited 3/17/09
thnx fer putting this up~~
Posted 3/16/09 , edited 3/17/09
My... entry~

Pitter patter…
Hey Sasha, did you notice? It’s raining. The rain’s falling.
The drops are tapping your window.
Pitter patter…
I can see the blinds go up, with your long fingers curling around the string and pulling it down. Your face appears behind that clear glass. I see your troubled hazel eyes flecked with gray. Of course, I can’t see the gray, but I know it’s there. I see your hand moving to tangle itself amongst the soft cascades of your blonde tresses. I see your porcelain white teeth nibble on your cherry bottom lip in worry.
Worry for what?
Oh yes, your date tonight.
Tony, was it? Tony Blackman?
I loath that Tony. I loath him and that picture you showed me of him. I loath his bright blue eyes; clear as day, as you like to call them. I loath his cropped chestnut brown hair, tinged with copper, so you claim. I hate his sinewy and muscular form. I hate his set face and strong jaws. I hate his teasing smirk that always danced on his lips whenever he talks.
Most of all, I hate the way you look at him.
I hate that adoration in your eyes. It causes a sparkle, you know that? Your eyes would widen, then shine with admiration.
I hate the lust in your eyes. He was your sin in your pristine, god-like life. He’s an error; wrong for you.
He’s wrong for you, don’t you know that?
He’s the muddiest swamps and river banks while you’re the white clouds that drift overhead. He’s the darkest, dampest basement shade and you’re the shining golden rays of the sun after the rain.
Except you don’t need the rain. You shine brightly even without it.
So why did you choose him?
Why did you choose him over me?
I want to ask you that, so I look up at your window, which the rain was hitting with a rhythm.
Pitter patter.
Funny rain really, for it is not really rain, but drops of water. Funny window, for it is not really a window, but the reflection of a glint of metal.
I’m outside the house, which is not my house, looking at the window that may not be your window. And I stare at the rain.
Pitter patter.
Of course, there is no rain. There is no you in the window.
There are only the crimson drops of blood falling on the pavement and my hysteric laughs merged with grieving sobs.
And there is your body beneath my hands.
Funny thing though, a ghost of a smile was on your cold, pale lips.
Perhaps it’s for Tony.
Perhaps it’s for yourself.
Or perhaps it’s for me.
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