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WindingArrow

Six Sentences

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This game is sort of like a mini writing challenge. You write a story, but you can only use six sentences to tell it. This game was inspired by the blog Six Sentences (M) which I am rating M for content. Most of the stories are simply humorous, some include mature language, and some edge into some pretty mature topics. (The blog hasn't been updated in about 2 years from what I can tell, but the current story on the home page has the F word, so, yeah.) Not only can you peruse there, but I'll kick it off with my own example.

 

 

 

The waiting was painful. His legs were sore from crouching and he wanted a cigarette, but noooo. He had to wait and hide in a room full of veritable strangers. Finally, the door swung open and he sprang up from behind the couch. "Surprise!" he shouted with all the others. His daughter, thirty today, looked suitably surprised so he headed for the fire escape, reaching for his Camels.

 

 

 

You have only six sentences! Go!

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She couldn't look at first. Even though she'd waited so long to shed the weight off her shoulders, she had to steel herself before she opened her eyes. Finally, she braved it. "It's lovely," she whispered, as her eyes filled with tears. Except it wasn't. She hated her new haircut with a passion.

 

Edited because I can't count :P

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Yay! A new game :D

 

She watched as he walked away, the distance between them growing with every step he took. Her face was streaked with tears; this wasn't how things should have ended. But life was cruel, and that was the reality she had to face as she saw the man she had loved gradually shrinking to a dot on the long, twisted road. She had to forget he had ever existed and move on with her life. There were plenty of other men out there she could find. He was history now; she would never see him again.

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Damn! Blast and damn! The cat's escaped again. My wife's gonna have my guts for garters and I'll deserve it. Here, kitty, kitty! Good kitty!

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I can't sleep, and it's almost three in the morning. I toss and turn, flinging my duvet to the ground, but it's no use. Eventually, I give up and climb out of bed, creeping down the stairs and into the kitchen. I grab a handful of Pumpkin Pasties, shoving them down my throat; they're so good. Suddenly, there's a crack and Mum's standing in front of me, her ginger hair tousled from sleep and giving me her full-on glare. Damn it.

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I cower in the cupboard, breathing as quietly as I can. She's coming; I can hear her. Armed with a weapon of the most horrific kind, her snickers cruel and her heart cold. Seconds pass... and then the cupboard door is flung open and a triumphant crow erupts through the kitchen. She pounces, a single baked bean skewered on a cocktail stick to pierce me in her hands. I scream.

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Fred and George have stolen my Prefect badge- again. They are so annoying; you'd think they'd want to follow their brothers' examples but no. As I chase them up the stairs, they smirk at each other and I suddenly feel myself tripping over a thin string and cold water splash all over me. It's another of their stupid booby traps they're always setting up around the house, and I'm getting totally fed up with them. I hear Ginny and Ron joining in the twins' laughter as I pick up my precious badge Fred- or George, I don't really care anymore- tossed onto the floor in front of me. Feeling furious and totally humiliated, I push past them and storm into my room, slamming the door behind me.

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Oh, such a great game! may I? :) (ok, these sentences, do not count... :P)

 

Snape stopped pacing the room, only centimetres away from one of the walls, completely covered in books. He picked one bound in old black leather and opened it. There was a letter inside, with neat handwriting and tiny letters. It was dated from two weeks ago. The letter was in code. She said she was reading Quidditch Through the Ages − that was a good sign.

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She stretched her arms and shook her hands in the air and swung them down. Then she breathed in deeply and began singing. Her voice was small at first and it got louder as she continued. Her pronounciation was accurate and its beautiful soprano attracted the gallery, most of them happened to pass her by on the street. When she finished, people couldn't stop clapping their hands. She looked very surprised to see so many audiences had been listening to her practice.

 

(I remembered my friend and tried describing her. :) )

 

Now it's your turn. NaNo month is coming soon.

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He was my Brother. Not through blood or marriage of family, but through love. And now he's dead. Never to smile or laugh again. They say it's not my fault. But I wonder if it would have turned out different, if my last words to my were not, "I hate you."

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How many miles did you tread,  sisters and brothers? 

Will this long journey end someday?

Looking back the path your ancestors walked, what do you think of ?

Oh, hear the wind roaring.

Keep walking on a rainy day or on a windy day.

Believe in the day when you will find a way home.

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