chubbsman7
12-19-2009, 07:23 PM
Welcome to the thread I promised in my normal writing in the normal "Story" thread (bleh! I hate using the word: story!). Enjoy!
______________________
What is the purpose of life? Is it to wander aimlessly throughout the world? Is it to pleasure people? Or is it rather, to pleasure yourself? Maybe both can be done, I wonder.
The world isn't the same place anymore. As I stare at these sheet, white walls, I wish I could go in. The doors are shut, the Palace is closed. In massive blue, block letters on the side spelling a word all to familiar to us: THE FACILITY. Everyone in the wastes knows it. The place is huge. No man (or woman) has ever been known to walk around it, fully. Some have tried, but without success. The largest span known of The Facility is over a hundred miles. And that's just trying to go around.
It's like a massive building. Built on the remains of an ancient city, once known as Indianapolis, but no-one uses that name anymore. Rather, we call the places where we live simply: The Wastes. Because they're nothing more than that; wastes. One large society lives nearby, however. It's located just a mile or so south from The Facility. Some have said the population is over ten thousand, but nobody has actually counted. That would take too long, and nobody has the patience for it either.
I turned my back, walking away from the white, metal walls. They gleamed in the blaring hot sun. I looked at the sky (sun) to see what time it was. We've all learned how to read the sky now, the time, predict weather, etc. Right now, it was only 11:00, and it was probably 90º out (Imperial), according to my educated guess.
Let me tell you about myself. My name is Amanda. I've been living in the wastes all my life. I can't say how old I am, because nobody has ever told me when or where I was born. All I can say is that I'm still in youth. Maybe in the old years, about seventeen years, but I can't say for sure. That's a total guess. Maybe I'm fourteen. Then again, maybe I'm twenty. I never know.
What I do know, is myself. My hair is a clean blonde, usually tied into a pony-tail, and about a little longer than shoulder length when let down. My skin is tanned, of course. There's very few people who aren't tan, from the hours we spend outside.
I've measured myself many ways. I've found different gauges and measuring tools. I've measured mysef to be 5 feet, 10 inches, and equally at a meter and a half. I'm skinny, weighing at a clean 110lbs, which is probably about 50 kilograms.
It's never cold. It's always steaming hot. I guess the wars have destroyed the atmospheres, and made it naturally hotter, but maybe then again, the earth is naturally getting warmer, like it did in the Ice Ages, right?
You're probably tired of listening to my ramble, now aren't you? Of course you are!
I'm walking around from The Facility now, as I'm approaching the nearing town. I work there. Doing what work I can, here and there. Including, a place known as "Don's House." You can guess, I think.
It's a bar, obviously. I don't drink though, I find it repulsive. I've had very few tastes of alcohol in this life, and I don't intend to have any more than that, as it tastes bitter and disgusting.
And now I'm walking into the door of the building. It's made out of white concrete, with scraps of metal plastered over it for insulation. The place is suprisingly one of the nicest places in town. I hear it serves the best beer in town, but I think I've already explained my opinion on that to you.
I walk inside to meet the dimming florescent lights. Three or so Pool tables are laying inside, with a group of men playing different kinds of games: Billiards, normal Pool, and other various extensions of the such.
Me? I'm wearing my normal outfit. A tight leather-like jacket over a thin, white tank top with a matching pair of tight, light blue jeans.
"Hey! Barbie!" I heard a man exclaim from behind me, as I was walking into the main part of the bar.
"Don't call me barbie, fuck-face." I replied viciously.
"Whoa, Barbie. Now that's mean... Can't be like that to a customer, now can we?" He replied with a grin.
"No. I said Fuck Off, Andrew." I tried to defend myself.
"Oh, now you know everyone just calls me Andy... With a pretty face like that though, I can understand why your being so..." He paused with a grin. "Is rude the right word?" He added.
"I said... Fuck. Off."
"Okay, geez pretty lady. No need to get... fiesty." He grinned an almost black, toothy grin."
"DAN!" I screamed at him, attracting a lot of attention.
"Yeeees?" He replied, smiling at the attention.
"Fuck. Off. You fucking sick bastard." I angrily replied.
Let me start with Andrew. He's a fucking evil bastard. He kills people for pleasure. And doesn't do just that for pleasure. I know other workers here who were unfortunate enough to... Yeah. His smile is almost as bad as his black, evil soul. He always carries around a 9mm, as I always carry around a .44. You could say we have a mutual agreement to stay away from me, as I'm the best shot (for a woman) in town.
"Don!" I took a seat on the bar stool as a pudgy man waddled my way.
"And how may I serve you, Miss?" He kindly replied.
Don is the kind of guy everybody needs. Kind, sweet, but when pissed off can be the most dangerous guy you could ever fuck around with. Hint: Don't fuck around with him.
"I need drink, just water. Thanks."
"Anything for you, sweetheart." He answered, as he placed a bottle on the bar.
"Anything else?" He asked me.
"Yeah." I thought to myself. "Get fuck-face outta here, next time I come in to work.
"No problem, sweetheart. Might take some work next time, but I'll do it!"
"Thanks, Don. Your a peach." I thanked him.
_____________________________
That's the first part of this part of the Writing; The Facility: Outside.
Reviews are accepted, just don't be a douchebag/dick and flame, because nobody likes flaming douchebags/dicks.
______________________
What is the purpose of life? Is it to wander aimlessly throughout the world? Is it to pleasure people? Or is it rather, to pleasure yourself? Maybe both can be done, I wonder.
The world isn't the same place anymore. As I stare at these sheet, white walls, I wish I could go in. The doors are shut, the Palace is closed. In massive blue, block letters on the side spelling a word all to familiar to us: THE FACILITY. Everyone in the wastes knows it. The place is huge. No man (or woman) has ever been known to walk around it, fully. Some have tried, but without success. The largest span known of The Facility is over a hundred miles. And that's just trying to go around.
It's like a massive building. Built on the remains of an ancient city, once known as Indianapolis, but no-one uses that name anymore. Rather, we call the places where we live simply: The Wastes. Because they're nothing more than that; wastes. One large society lives nearby, however. It's located just a mile or so south from The Facility. Some have said the population is over ten thousand, but nobody has actually counted. That would take too long, and nobody has the patience for it either.
I turned my back, walking away from the white, metal walls. They gleamed in the blaring hot sun. I looked at the sky (sun) to see what time it was. We've all learned how to read the sky now, the time, predict weather, etc. Right now, it was only 11:00, and it was probably 90º out (Imperial), according to my educated guess.
Let me tell you about myself. My name is Amanda. I've been living in the wastes all my life. I can't say how old I am, because nobody has ever told me when or where I was born. All I can say is that I'm still in youth. Maybe in the old years, about seventeen years, but I can't say for sure. That's a total guess. Maybe I'm fourteen. Then again, maybe I'm twenty. I never know.
What I do know, is myself. My hair is a clean blonde, usually tied into a pony-tail, and about a little longer than shoulder length when let down. My skin is tanned, of course. There's very few people who aren't tan, from the hours we spend outside.
I've measured myself many ways. I've found different gauges and measuring tools. I've measured mysef to be 5 feet, 10 inches, and equally at a meter and a half. I'm skinny, weighing at a clean 110lbs, which is probably about 50 kilograms.
It's never cold. It's always steaming hot. I guess the wars have destroyed the atmospheres, and made it naturally hotter, but maybe then again, the earth is naturally getting warmer, like it did in the Ice Ages, right?
You're probably tired of listening to my ramble, now aren't you? Of course you are!
I'm walking around from The Facility now, as I'm approaching the nearing town. I work there. Doing what work I can, here and there. Including, a place known as "Don's House." You can guess, I think.
It's a bar, obviously. I don't drink though, I find it repulsive. I've had very few tastes of alcohol in this life, and I don't intend to have any more than that, as it tastes bitter and disgusting.
And now I'm walking into the door of the building. It's made out of white concrete, with scraps of metal plastered over it for insulation. The place is suprisingly one of the nicest places in town. I hear it serves the best beer in town, but I think I've already explained my opinion on that to you.
I walk inside to meet the dimming florescent lights. Three or so Pool tables are laying inside, with a group of men playing different kinds of games: Billiards, normal Pool, and other various extensions of the such.
Me? I'm wearing my normal outfit. A tight leather-like jacket over a thin, white tank top with a matching pair of tight, light blue jeans.
"Hey! Barbie!" I heard a man exclaim from behind me, as I was walking into the main part of the bar.
"Don't call me barbie, fuck-face." I replied viciously.
"Whoa, Barbie. Now that's mean... Can't be like that to a customer, now can we?" He replied with a grin.
"No. I said Fuck Off, Andrew." I tried to defend myself.
"Oh, now you know everyone just calls me Andy... With a pretty face like that though, I can understand why your being so..." He paused with a grin. "Is rude the right word?" He added.
"I said... Fuck. Off."
"Okay, geez pretty lady. No need to get... fiesty." He grinned an almost black, toothy grin."
"DAN!" I screamed at him, attracting a lot of attention.
"Yeeees?" He replied, smiling at the attention.
"Fuck. Off. You fucking sick bastard." I angrily replied.
Let me start with Andrew. He's a fucking evil bastard. He kills people for pleasure. And doesn't do just that for pleasure. I know other workers here who were unfortunate enough to... Yeah. His smile is almost as bad as his black, evil soul. He always carries around a 9mm, as I always carry around a .44. You could say we have a mutual agreement to stay away from me, as I'm the best shot (for a woman) in town.
"Don!" I took a seat on the bar stool as a pudgy man waddled my way.
"And how may I serve you, Miss?" He kindly replied.
Don is the kind of guy everybody needs. Kind, sweet, but when pissed off can be the most dangerous guy you could ever fuck around with. Hint: Don't fuck around with him.
"I need drink, just water. Thanks."
"Anything for you, sweetheart." He answered, as he placed a bottle on the bar.
"Anything else?" He asked me.
"Yeah." I thought to myself. "Get fuck-face outta here, next time I come in to work.
"No problem, sweetheart. Might take some work next time, but I'll do it!"
"Thanks, Don. Your a peach." I thanked him.
_____________________________
That's the first part of this part of the Writing; The Facility: Outside.
Reviews are accepted, just don't be a douchebag/dick and flame, because nobody likes flaming douchebags/dicks.