CAST - Continue A STory. In which a story is begun on a blog, and then continued, bit by bit, by the people who leave comments.
I've done
this before, but that was back in the Haloscan days. (Heh. So funny.) The "rules" are slightly different this time. Original rules were:
1) You may add on a section up to 3 times - but you need to have at least two other people put entries between yours.
2) Don't end the story. That's for me to do.
The only difference this time is that there is no limit on how many times you may contribute. But! No double posting. You must wait for at least one other person to put up a section of the story before you continue. Don't want anyone story-hogging.
As for the (most likely) inevetiable possibility of double-posting (people putting up sections at the same time)...I don't know how to deal with that, actually. I'm hoping that it just dosen't happen.
Lastly, the "challenge" part is for you to start your own CAST on your blog. You can use the same story beginning (if you want) but it would be more ...creatively expanding for you to come up with something original. If you do, though, I ask that you please link back to me crediting me with the idea. (Only because I want more traffic and possible people adding to the story)
Okay. With no further delaying, onto the acutal story...
*****
Paul Washington was woken up by the ringing of the telephone. A beam of almost-noon sunlight sneaked in his bedroom window between the thickly drawn curtains. Groggily, he reached for the phone, willing the hangover away. "Hello?" he answered.
The voice on the other end shouted something in German. Paul didn't understand it, but there was no mistaking the urgency, whatever the message may have been. "Sorry, dude. Wrong number." He hung up and fell back into a deep slumber.
Ten minutes later, the door was kicked in. Paul sat up instantly, heart pounding. The adrenaline raced through his body and he was sweating as three men in dark black uniforms and brandishing machine guns surrounded his bed. The men were all yelling at him, obviously irate. Paul stuck his hands up, terrified.
Well, at least my hangover is gone, he thought mindlessly as his brain attempted to understand the bizarre situation he found himself in. The leader of the men poked the nozzle of his machine gun into Paul's ribs and barked some sort of question. Paul shook his head and said, "I...I don't speak German."
The leader said the same phrase again, and again poked Paul with his weapon. Paul's vision blurred and he feared he would faint. He willed himself to stay conscious and said, "Take whatever you want. Just don't hurt me. Please." The leader grabbed Paul's arm roughly. He looked at his forearm, but obviously didn't like what he saw - or as Paul quickly determined, what he did
not see. All three men had a barcode tattoo on their forearms, and they were expecting Paul to have the same. One of the other men asked a question - most likely, "Where's his tattoo?" - and the leader barked angrily at him. Paul was hoping was ferevertly wishing this was all a horrific nightmare that he'd soon wake up from.
Paul protested as the leader placed a pair of handcuffs on him, but these men did not seem to understand English any better than he spoke German. "You've got the wrong guy!" he yelled, as they forced him to get out of bed. He had on his jeans, but no shirt.
Realizing that dealing with these thugs wasn't going to work, Paul decided his best course of action was to get help from a neighbor. As the men started to march him out of his apartment, he screamed, "Mrs. Johansen! Mrs. Johansen, call 9-1-1!" His yells brought his next door neighbor to her door. Mrs. Johansen had been Paul's neighbor for the past 4 years. They attended the same church. He knew she'd help. The woman opened the door, and Paul nearly did faint when he saw that Mrs. Johansen had a barcode on her forearm...