View Full Version : Add a paragraph, make a neverending story


Dmitri
01-10-14, 08:51 PM
ADDF Neverending Story

prologue After seeing so many similar threads I have been inspired to make one of my own. This one will be a new concept, we will make a never ending story where each person adds one paragraph

Basically there's not really any rules just kinda make sure it transitions well.

Here we go:

Part I: The Beginning

It was a cold thursday night, not a star in the sky. It was a long and cold winter but the pilgrims finally pulled through thanks to the help of Squanto and his indian tribe. This was one of the greatest examples of putting aside your differences for survival. Anyways they were celebrating their first thanksgiving ever when all of a sudden John Wayne came out of nowhere. "Happy thanksgiving pilgrims" said Wayne. Then all of a sudden out of nowhere...

Alex_Huntington
01-15-14, 02:44 PM
John Wayne opened fire. This actually wasn't all that shocking or unexpected, since John Wayne is known to be less-than-fond of the native peoples of America. The pilgrims scattered, scrambling for their blunderbusses while Squanto tried to wrestle the bolt-action rifle from Wayne's hands. Thankful, the only casualty so far was the turkey in the center of the table, which was now leaking stuffing onto the hardwood. Wayne eventually wrestled away from Squanto and raised his rifle. As Squanto looked down the barrel of the rifle, he saw a strange green glow begin to form around it. A burst of energy shot out of the rifle and engulfed Squanto. Squanto leapt back, sputtered for a second, and then disappeared. The acrid smell of ozone floated past, dissipating in the evening sky. "Well I'll be d*mned, this time-teleportation rifle actually DOES work. Who'd a thunk it?" Wayne thought to himself.

Dmitri
01-15-14, 03:32 PM
John Wayne opened fire. This actually wasn't all that shocking or unexpected, since John Wayne is known to be less-than-fond of the native peoples of America. The pilgrims scattered, scrambling for their blunderbusses while Squanto tried to wrestle the bolt-action rifle from Wayne's hands. Thankful, the only casualty so far was the turkey in the center of the table, which was now leaking stuffing onto the hardwood. Wayne eventually wrestled away from Squanto and raised his rifle. As Squanto looked down the barrel of the rifle, he saw a strange green glow begin to form around it. A burst of energy shot out of the rifle and engulfed Squanto. Squanto leapt back, sputtered for a second, and then disappeared. The acrid smell of ozone floated past, dissipating in the evening sky. "Well I'll be d*mned, this time-teleportation rifle actually DOES work. Who'd a thunk it?" Wayne thought to himself.

30 minutes ago, at least from John Wayne's point of view

It was 1978. John Wayne was at the low point of his life. Once a symbol of American pride and bad-assery, beloved by rednecks everywhere, now people would see him walking down the street and see nothing but a tired old man. And really that's all he was. He passed his time using his millions he had saved up from movies to make an impressive gun collection, but money could not buy the emptiness inside him. He was in Plymouth hearing of a rifle that was like no other. He walked into the store...
"So what's so special about this here rifle" said Wayne.
"Well" said the 5'5, plump, middle aged man at the register "reckon this here rifle can take y'all through time."
"Now what in sam hell makes you think I'm gonna believe that?" said Wayne.
"You don't have to believe it, you can try it for yourself!" said the man as he handed Wayne the rifle.
Wayne eyed the rifle skeptically. It was an old, modified M1917 Enfield. It had several wheels that you supposedly wound up to choose where, or when rather, you wanted to go. "So how do I work this thing?"
"Ye shoot yerself in the head!"
"You're ****ting me."
"No trust me it works!"
While Wayne wasn't convinced, he really had nothing to lose. He would give anything to go back to the 50s where he was at the epitome of his career. If this gun was a fake, at least he wouldn't have to deal with this cruel world anymore. He asked the man to adjust the gun to send him back to the fifties. Unfortunately the man was dyslexic and couldn't read the numbers on the wheels. He wound it up praying he was right and gave it to Wayne. "Oh, this gun also causes severe amnesia. You might want to write something down so you remember where and who you are" Wayne wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention. He took the gun, put it to his head, prayed to god, and pulled the trigger. The man at the register didn't set the date to the 50s, he accidentally set it to 1621. Wayne found himself dazed, surrounded by native americans and pilgrims at what looked like a set of a movie about the first thanksgiving. He looked at his belt and saw his trusty rifle. He looked in his hand and recognized a m1917 Enfield... a World War I rifle isn't really fititng for a thanksgiving movie. Then he noticed an inscription and several modifications, including several wheels on the rifle with numbers on it. The inscription read "Time Travel Rifle." **** I must have dozed off! Thought Wayne. Then he realized he didn't remember any of his lines! That was fine as Wayne was too drunk most of the time to read his script so he just improvised. He stood up and prepared to improvise.

Alex_Huntington
01-16-14, 10:55 AM
Squanto got to his feet, a gingerly touched his face. He was relieved to find that it was intact. He slowly looked around, trying to understand his surroundings. Above him, glowing orbs spread sunlight trough the room, and beneath him the smoothest stone he had ever felt tiled the floor. Squanto silently wondered what strange afterlife he had found himself in. Though he was in what appeared to be a building, it was unlike any he had ever seen before. Beyond the glowing orbs embedded in the ceiling, there were long cases built out of what appeared to be solid air. He placed his hand on the glass, and found it cold to the touch. He pulled away, not wanting to be infected with the black magic that was clearly at work. From a doorway in the back, a corpulent white man waddled out. "Who in the hell 're you?", the gun store clerk wondered aloud. Squanto stared intently at him. Was this what the god he spent his life following truly looked like? The clerk pulled a handgun out from his waistband, figuring that when it came to crazy people it was better safe than sorry. As he raised the gun, Squanto's warrior instincts kicked in. He leapt over the counter, uttering a war cry, and grabbed the handgun. It went off, and one of the ceiling orbs shattered, causing its light to go out. Squanto realized he was wrestling with a demon. His fear gave him strength, and he yanked the clerk's head down into he counter. The glass gun case shattered, and he man's body went limp. Squanto grabbed the gun and began walking away slowly. Blood began pooling beneath the clerk's head, and Squanto felt a modicum of relief. Human after all. He opened the door, and cautiously walked out into 1970s New York.