Skywalker
Space Jump
- Joined
- May 7, 2006
- Messages
- 2,317
Yep, I've decided to write.
5 hours sitting of at the computer does not mean a long or entertaining story. (At least for me)
EDIT: Holy crap, that is short. In all seriousness, I hope the judges will still critique my entry.
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The taxi slowed to a stop as it reached 4436 Holtry Drive. “So that’ll be a pretty penny—29 dollars, please. Fein Rebell, is it?” The cab owner relaxed in his seat, taking a couple of fries from the large meal he had bought the previous evening. After finishing off some the spiced food, he asked again for the payment. “Almost have it?”
“Yes,” the passenger said curtly. Crimson moonlight shone through the cab’s windows and lit Fein Rebell’s face: His scarred cheeks, prominent chin, and magnetic green eyes. Rebell shuffled through his pockets and realized that he didn’t have a cent.
Carefully lifting his great bulk out of the driver’s seat, the man turned around and shook his fist, as if ready to punch Fein in the shin. “You do have the money, right?”
Fein’s eyes lit up at the thought of what he planned to do. “Why yeah, of course I have it,” he fibbed in a friendlier tone. A cacophony of car horns screeched from behind; the nagging sounds nearly deafened Fein. A slight grin crept upon the passenger’s face. “Ya know that guy behind us—he just threw crap at your cab,” Fein lied. The man grumbled and stomped out of the cab, shouting obscenities at a confused driver.
Snatching the cab owner’s food, Fein ate a few fries and, like a burglar carrying valuables, threw the whole bagged meal over his shoulder. Fein’s hand skimmed the door until it stumbled upon the handle. A small amount of the dinner glided from the open bag as he pried the door open and tip-toed away from the scene, where a small fisticuff had begun. Lady Luck had saved the day.
Ducking into the depths of an alley, Fein snatched a small object from out of the paper bag. Its head shone in the bloom of a nearby torch, with three small holes symmetrically etched in the metal. Its cold, glossy body rounded itself near the bottom. Its bleached powder trickled from the end, leaving a trail of white behind him.
The object began to crack in Fein’s firm grip. He threw more of the substance behind his back and shoulder; he then casually dropped it, cracking it into dozens of shards. As the remnants of the powder lay on the ground, Fein scooped up several pellets and devoured their salty goodness.
A tuxedo-suited man rounded the corner to the alley, a large briefcase grasped by his gloved hand. Another scheme unraveled in Fein’s head. “Amen to Sweet Salted Lady Luck,” he whispered.
5 hours sitting of at the computer does not mean a long or entertaining story. (At least for me)
EDIT: Holy crap, that is short. In all seriousness, I hope the judges will still critique my entry.
---------------------------
The taxi slowed to a stop as it reached 4436 Holtry Drive. “So that’ll be a pretty penny—29 dollars, please. Fein Rebell, is it?” The cab owner relaxed in his seat, taking a couple of fries from the large meal he had bought the previous evening. After finishing off some the spiced food, he asked again for the payment. “Almost have it?”
“Yes,” the passenger said curtly. Crimson moonlight shone through the cab’s windows and lit Fein Rebell’s face: His scarred cheeks, prominent chin, and magnetic green eyes. Rebell shuffled through his pockets and realized that he didn’t have a cent.
Carefully lifting his great bulk out of the driver’s seat, the man turned around and shook his fist, as if ready to punch Fein in the shin. “You do have the money, right?”
Fein’s eyes lit up at the thought of what he planned to do. “Why yeah, of course I have it,” he fibbed in a friendlier tone. A cacophony of car horns screeched from behind; the nagging sounds nearly deafened Fein. A slight grin crept upon the passenger’s face. “Ya know that guy behind us—he just threw crap at your cab,” Fein lied. The man grumbled and stomped out of the cab, shouting obscenities at a confused driver.
Snatching the cab owner’s food, Fein ate a few fries and, like a burglar carrying valuables, threw the whole bagged meal over his shoulder. Fein’s hand skimmed the door until it stumbled upon the handle. A small amount of the dinner glided from the open bag as he pried the door open and tip-toed away from the scene, where a small fisticuff had begun. Lady Luck had saved the day.
Ducking into the depths of an alley, Fein snatched a small object from out of the paper bag. Its head shone in the bloom of a nearby torch, with three small holes symmetrically etched in the metal. Its cold, glossy body rounded itself near the bottom. Its bleached powder trickled from the end, leaving a trail of white behind him.
The object began to crack in Fein’s firm grip. He threw more of the substance behind his back and shoulder; he then casually dropped it, cracking it into dozens of shards. As the remnants of the powder lay on the ground, Fein scooped up several pellets and devoured their salty goodness.
A tuxedo-suited man rounded the corner to the alley, a large briefcase grasped by his gloved hand. Another scheme unraveled in Fein’s head. “Amen to Sweet Salted Lady Luck,” he whispered.