This is a writing site, so let's start the new forums with a ficlet. I know what you're thinking, What's a ficlet? A ficlet is a portion of a story that is between 64 and 1024 characters, not words, characters. One person starts the story and everyone else writes a prequel or sequel to this portion of the story. So what you write can happen before or after. This one is sort of a serious one, so no stupid antics please. If you want a silly one, start your own, I'd be glad to help on that.
Anyway, be sure to indicate whether your addition is a sequel or a prequel. Also, if possible, try to answer some of the questions raised in what is written already, if possible. And don't be afraid to leave questions open to be answered by others.
Since we're all writers, I trust this won't dissolve into stupidity. Let's try to make an actual story.
Here's the story:
He shouldn’t have gotten on the plane. He had one of those uneasy feelings in his gut before he boarded. Had he paid heed, he wouldn’t be where he is now; sitting on a raft of debris and drifting toward a distant island.
He’s at a loss. He doesn’t know what to think or how to act. He just sits there, cross legged, staring out at the water.
Someone is crying behind him. He blocks her out. It seems so easy to block things out now.
There are eight of them on the raft, a collection of plane seats and suitcases tied together with chords and ropes.
Hope for rescue is not on their minds just yet. For now, all they can do is cope.
“My baby!” the woman cries out again. But Jones just stares out at the ocean.
Anyway, be sure to indicate whether your addition is a sequel or a prequel. Also, if possible, try to answer some of the questions raised in what is written already, if possible. And don't be afraid to leave questions open to be answered by others.
Since we're all writers, I trust this won't dissolve into stupidity. Let's try to make an actual story.
Here's the story:
He shouldn’t have gotten on the plane. He had one of those uneasy feelings in his gut before he boarded. Had he paid heed, he wouldn’t be where he is now; sitting on a raft of debris and drifting toward a distant island.
He’s at a loss. He doesn’t know what to think or how to act. He just sits there, cross legged, staring out at the water.
Someone is crying behind him. He blocks her out. It seems so easy to block things out now.
There are eight of them on the raft, a collection of plane seats and suitcases tied together with chords and ropes.
Hope for rescue is not on their minds just yet. For now, all they can do is cope.
“My baby!” the woman cries out again. But Jones just stares out at the ocean.
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