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[Akhel]

Just remembered this thread. Did you guys give up on it?

[Mikademus]

I take it upon myself to bring this back.
---


    When I look back at my life, I usually insist that that was a defining moment. An insular occurrence of utter senselessness that nonetheless collapsed so many possibilities earlier open; what once was an intricate network of opportunities and possibilities immediately untangled into a highway of loneliness, escape and persecution.

    Bang. The sound made by chemical combustion projecting a sliver of metal for the purpose of transferring kinetic energy to a target receptacle. Bang. The sound of choice when you want bad people to go away. Bang. An exclamation mark, a grammatical marker signifying emphasis, stress, change. My life changed, Bang.

   A year later I still lived on the run. Since then I had killed again. Most times intentionally, always by necessity. And every time I am even more inextricably caught in the maelstrom first created by that tiny moment. I have gotten to think. I have had the time to. Time to think, time to go mad, time and excuses to ask and ponder those questions that immediately denote you as a headcase or pretentious wannabe deep one. Like, is God omnipotent? He apparently created the world, but did he really will it into being? I created the situation I am in now, but I certainly didn't will it into being. I created my own prison and my own purgatory. Is this world God's? Is He therefore His own gaol, tormentor and Devil? Perhaps Frank was God, the progenitor of the potential I actualised in my act of creation. Or is the answer simply that now I am God, by having created a small Bang accepted the baton of torturous and paltry godhead? I can ask these questions because I have no one to laugh at me--I would even welcome that piece of normality. Instead I hide, hunt and debase myself everyday to keep alive for another day of becoming even more wretched.

    To live to fight another day. Fight my enemies. Fight my inner daemons. They too are alive, within me, perhaps even more alive than those people hunting me to turn me too into that following a Bang. When I sometimes sleep I dream of passing on the baton.

[Inanimate]

So I guess PF is up.

[Mikademus]

I think at this time we can allow anyone who wants to participate to continue the story.

Bring it on, guys!

[Inanimate]

If PF doesn't claim it within two days or so, I'll take the bait.

[PaleFox]

Here.

-----------------------   
   And if I am God, then every gunshot is an absolution, spreading their sins across the panels of the opposite wall. Bang – another soul sent up to heaven. Bang – I take another step towards hell.

It's alright, sometimes, when you can stop yourself from feeling it, but something always happens to bring everything back – like that heist I pulled in Reno. Broke into a corner store, and all I wanted was some money, something to keep me alive another day... but this man, he showed up – and I emptied half a clip into him. Just some old man, half-blind, but he had the same look on his face that Franco had when he died: that half-smile on his lips, like the whole thing was just some damn joke and he knew the punchline. Blood everywhere, but he just kept smiling, damn him. Damn his eyes. I rob a bank near San Francisco.

Question: What the hell am I doing?

Response: Surviving.


   I still have Frankie's gun, but the demons won't let me use it. They whisper to me when I hold it; when I caress it like some cold lover, like a woman; when I put it into my mouth and try to pull the trigger... It doesn't matter, wouldn't do any good. My life ended a year ago, with Frankie's, and it's too much to expect that I can get it back with another bullet.


   Maybe that old man was God. What does that make me?

[Inanimate]

Am I a pawn, or am I a God? Am I something greater? Or is there something greater than me?

There's too many questions, all of them are slipping in between my fingers as I grasp for answers. What was the point of the Bang?

I sit here, holding the gun to my temple, something I have grown used to that has lost all meaning, and just think. Thinking of a world where this has never happened, where Frank never died, where those bullets really were fake. I clench my teeth, and my finger twitches, preparing to pull. I'm no longer thinking of this world, this ideal reality which I have wished for ever since I died long ago, forever, really... I am willing it into being, putting all of my strength into this one world, the real world. This is all just a fantasy, and I'm just going to realize this one day.

Everything here is my prison, built by my dreaming mind, willing forth punishment from nothingness. What did I ever do to deserve this? Why did I ever make this life? I can wake up, any minute. I shall be sleepily opening my eyes to another bright day. But I always find myself sitting somewhere, feet hanging off some edge, with this god-forsaken gun against my head, and just wishing and hoping for this dream, nightmare, punishment, blessing, everything, to end. Somehow, I never really want it to. I never want to stop hurting myself, I never want to set myself free... I just keep the gun against my head, in a facade of denial and control, but I'm not good enough to really fix the world I made. I'm a God chained by my own regrets and sadness, and no matter how omnipotent I believe myself to be, I can never do what I want to do.

I cry to myself, tears falling around me, and I just imagine living. I sob as I struggle to make my lies true, to tear down the walls of reality and just open my arms to fantasy. I want to be insane, that way I can just walk into myself, and shut the door on the truth. Ignorance is something that is too easily lost, and never regained... my chest heaves, my face is wet with tears, and I just mumble incoherently, saying everything I want. I feel the chains wrapping around me, and I don't bother fighting them.

The gun clattered to the floor before I even realized I let go of it.

[Inanimate]

(Don't want to mess with my page, but just wanted to say: I really like your guys' pages, and I just hope mine doesn't pale in comparison. It's an honor to write with you guys!)

[Mikademus]

I like this story

So, I suppose next slot is up for grabs. Also, should the OP be updated to... ah... accommodate the changes in the line-up?

[The Monster King]

hey is it too late for me to join

to show my enthusiasm i'll even upgrade your red to orange which is the next color in the spectrum so it has +1 power

[Seth]

So, I suppose next slot is up for grabs. Also, should the OP be updated to... ah... accommodate the changes in the line-up?

No, the order resumed after that little hiccup

[PaleFox]

Someone want to PM Caio and tell him it's his turn?

[Inanimate]

I can message him on MSN when he gets on.

[Mikademus]

So any luck raising him? Otherwise BlademasterBobo is up.

[Inanimate]

Sorry, forgot to post the report! He has a draft in progress.

[Akhel]

Hey, sorry for taking so long. I'm not too happy with it, but I don't want to keep you guys waiting!

* * *

And if Franco's death had been my birth, the envelope was my coming of age.

I was sitting in my room in a cheap hotel in Columbus. I had nothing planned for that afternoon and didn't feel disposed to leave the hotel. I found myself yet again in the middle of what had become my personal ritual - holding my gun and replaying in my mind all that had been going on in my life for the past few years - when the envelope slid under the door and landed neatly by my feet. I laid the gun on the bedstand and picked the envelope up. On the front were written the words "Mountain Man (AB17)". There was no stamp or return address.

Mountain Man. That name being there could be just a coincidence, but it brought memories I'd rather not have.

I opened it and took the post card that was inside. It was from Hong Kong, a cityscape portrait that showed the upper part several very tall modern buildings, more glass than concrete. It seemed to be trying to show that that city was a place where people work and make money.

I flipped the card. The handwriting on the back read "Mama Pidgin is dead."

I put in my jacket pocket and went down the stairs to the lobby in a hurry. There was nobody there but the receptionist (and, perhaps, owner).

"Ma'am, someone just slid an envelope through my door...?" I asked her.

"Oh, yes", she said, and dropped the newspaper on which she was doing crosswords. "Mister Selick, right? A man was just by to drop it for you. He insisted on doing it personally."

I went to the door and looked outside. It was a busy enough street that the man could easily lose himself amongst the passersby. I turned back to her. Nobody was supposed to know where I was. "What did he look like?"

"I don't know? Very slim, dark-haired."

"Did he say something? His name?"

"He said he was a close friend and wanted to surprise you. Look, is everything okay?"

I put my hands on the counter and reached forward. "Listen, if this man ever comes here again, call my room immediately. He is very dangerous." It was most likely true.

She raised her eyebrows. "Should I call the cops?"

I forced a laugh and a smile, and leaned back. I didn't want anything to do with cops. "No, sorry. I was kidding. Just let me know if he comes by."

I ignored her wide stare and went back up to my room. Sat on the bed.

Mama Pidgin is dead.

It was time to call some old friends.

* * *

I have also made a list of characters and plot points. I included every character named so far (plus the mysterious man from my chapter), even the ones that seemed fairly minor, in case anyone wants to develop them more. Each plot point currently corresponds roughly to a chapter, but feel free to change that. You can use this as a base for your own chapter; even if you don't, I ask you to keep it up to date with it, so that other people can.

Characters

• Selick is the protagonist. He has an unclear relation to Mama Pidgin, and was assigned by her to be her nephew Franco's "babysitter". Killed Franco in what seemed to be a bizarre accident a year ago, and ever since has been on the run from, presumably, the authorities and Mama Pidgin's people. Has since robbed a corner store in Reno and a bank in San Francisco, and killed more people ("most times intentionally, always by necessity"), including a half-blind old man who "just kept smiling" after having been shot. Has been shown to engage in deep, introspective internal monologues about his condition, and has contemplated suicide several times, although he seems to have ultimately decided against it.
• Mama Pidgin is a powerful figure about whom little is yet known. She is possibly some kind of mafia leader. Has many nephews, all of whom compete for her attention. Her favorite is Franco, who she holds in high esteem. According to a post card given to Selick by an as-of-yet anonymous character, she is dead.
• Franco Garnini was Mama Pidgin's favorite nephew, "part-time gangster and stooge for [her]". Describes himself as a "physical manifestation of the world’s inherent chaos". Seems mostly unambitious and somewhat childish, showing a great appreciation for movies and comic books, which he quotes often. He was killed by Selick after handing him a gun loaded with what he believed to be blanks and asking Selick to shoot him with it.
• Donnie is the person who sold Franco the real bullets that Franco believed were blanks. That eventually got Franco killed.
• Jordan Aleph and Sandra Zapati are a couple who has some relation to Selick, Franco and Mama Pidgin (possibly members of two mafia families). Their families "still give [Selick] dagger-eyes at meetings" ever since he got into a fight with Franco at Franco's own request during Jordan and Sandra's wedding.
• A still unidentified man left Selick an envelope in Selick's hotel room, even though "nobody was supposed to know where [Selick] was". The envelope read "Mountain Man (AB17)", something that "brought memories [Selick] would rather not have". Could be one of the characters above, or one not yet introduced.

Plot points

• Franco's death is what started the plot. He went to Selick, gave him a gun and asked him to shoot him with it; it seems he meant it as a prank for Selick, having loaded the gun with what he thought were blank cartridges but were actually live rounds. He had gotten these from Donnie, who sold them for cheap.
• After killing Franco, Selick runs away, presumably from the authorities and Mama Pidgin's people.
• A year passes, during which he seems to have become a robber. He has killed more people since Franco, "most times intentionally, always by necessity".
• Selick often questions the events that led him here and contemplates suicide.
• One day, an unknown man leaves Selick an envelope containing a post card from Hong Kong. On the envelope are written the words "Mountain Man (AB17)", and the post card claims Mama Pidgin is dead.

[Akhel]

 

We should just forget about that list. Anyone who wants to continue the story, go right ahead.

[Mikademus]

Could anyone mail those that signed up and say it is free to post?

[Akhel]

So apparently PF is having some personal issues and won't be involved with this anymore. Bobo can't write his chapter right now, so I'm messaging Lokijki. I'd urge everyone to send a PM to the next person on the list when your chapter is done. If you have been messaged but don't want to write your chapter, post here and PM the next person.

[lokijki]

I'm to busy to write anything write now; I've already PMed Lazer about his section.