Post by Eppie on Oct 25, 2011 23:01:30 GMT -5
I thought a game might be fun, and this seemed like a good one for us.
The Directions
Pick up a book. Any book. Turn to page 123. Find line 4 on that page. Take the sentence that incorporates that line. If there is more than one sentence on that line, you're lucky and get to pick between them! Connect it to the existing story with a sentence or two of your own devising.
I figure I can keep updating this first post to reflect the growing story.
I'll start this off right by beginning with the sentence from line 4 on page 123 of Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera (Perennial Library, 1987 edition):
"It was at this moment that Raoul passed in front of the funereal masquerader, who had just happened to turn in his direction."
---
The Story So Far
It was at this moment that Raoul passed in front of the funereal masquerader, who had just happened to turn in his direction. Or rather, I had just happened to turn in his direction. I needed to break the habit of referring to myself in the third person--it was number four on the newly installed Goal Whiteboard in my lair. Then Raoul spoke, and I drew up sharply, almost stumbling over the edge of my overly long red cloak. That quiet, unthinking little comment completely shattered my composure and my newfound resignation. Away with goals! Away with white boards! Raoul had inadvertently hit on a sore point, and now it was war. He said, "I think some of my flea bites will leave scars, you bastards!" I'd managed to forget it while I was the Red Death, but now the impudent boy had to remind me of the unpleasant infestation that Ayesha had brought into the lair while I'd been distracted working on Don Juan Triumphant. With that reminder, the innumerable red bites all over my skin began itching unbearably again. Which opened up a whole new can of worms. The worms, in themselves, were an entirely different story. One deals with these sorts of afflictions in the flesh. It's not as though I can just call up an exterminator and have them, well, exterminated, for lack of a better word.
The various pests were a source of contention between myself and my beloved Angelique Celestine, Carlotta's understudy and scouge of the deep. She had been markedly cold to me since she found the rash. I put the question to myself, in third person: how should he get her warm again?
A fumigation of the lair seemed in order, followed by a flea bath for myself and Ayesha. Surely my demonstrated commitment to personal hygiene could not fail to woo her! I knew it was meant to be... The sparks jumped between us, weak but still there.
The Directions
Pick up a book. Any book. Turn to page 123. Find line 4 on that page. Take the sentence that incorporates that line. If there is more than one sentence on that line, you're lucky and get to pick between them! Connect it to the existing story with a sentence or two of your own devising.
I figure I can keep updating this first post to reflect the growing story.
I'll start this off right by beginning with the sentence from line 4 on page 123 of Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera (Perennial Library, 1987 edition):
"It was at this moment that Raoul passed in front of the funereal masquerader, who had just happened to turn in his direction."
---
The Story So Far
It was at this moment that Raoul passed in front of the funereal masquerader, who had just happened to turn in his direction. Or rather, I had just happened to turn in his direction. I needed to break the habit of referring to myself in the third person--it was number four on the newly installed Goal Whiteboard in my lair. Then Raoul spoke, and I drew up sharply, almost stumbling over the edge of my overly long red cloak. That quiet, unthinking little comment completely shattered my composure and my newfound resignation. Away with goals! Away with white boards! Raoul had inadvertently hit on a sore point, and now it was war. He said, "I think some of my flea bites will leave scars, you bastards!" I'd managed to forget it while I was the Red Death, but now the impudent boy had to remind me of the unpleasant infestation that Ayesha had brought into the lair while I'd been distracted working on Don Juan Triumphant. With that reminder, the innumerable red bites all over my skin began itching unbearably again. Which opened up a whole new can of worms. The worms, in themselves, were an entirely different story. One deals with these sorts of afflictions in the flesh. It's not as though I can just call up an exterminator and have them, well, exterminated, for lack of a better word.
The various pests were a source of contention between myself and my beloved Angelique Celestine, Carlotta's understudy and scouge of the deep. She had been markedly cold to me since she found the rash. I put the question to myself, in third person: how should he get her warm again?
A fumigation of the lair seemed in order, followed by a flea bath for myself and Ayesha. Surely my demonstrated commitment to personal hygiene could not fail to woo her! I knew it was meant to be... The sparks jumped between us, weak but still there.