Rules of the game:
1. You must begin in the situation the reader was left in at the end of the author's chapter, but you can end where ever you please
2. The end of the reader’s chapter (the one you’re writing) is when the author shows up and resumes talking to the reader.
3. The reader must talk to whatever strange creature the author leaves with them at the end of his chapter.
4. The reader cannot do direct harm to the living
5. A "..." means the reader is interrupting the narrator.
I'm writing supernatural mystery story, told from two different perspectives, the author's and the reader's. I'm the author, so I write the sections from that perspective, but you, the g1's are the reader. I challenge one of you to pick up from where the author leave's off, as the mysterious reader. Tell me the world as you experience it in your predicament, and the one that I like the most will be added to the story, and be picked up on from me. There's no prize for being chosen, just a chance to play a unique game to get the creative muscles flowing.
Here's the author's first passage. You have all the time in the world to respond. There's no point to me writing if no one's reading, after all.
You are reading.
To begin, it must first be established that you are dead. Yes, you, the reader. The person holding the book/kindle/ipad/hell-you-could-probably-be-reading-this-on-a-brick, you’re dead. It’s a miracle of science and/or Satanism that you’re able to read this at all. I don’t know what kind of ghost powers you have; I’m just a guy that was told by this guy that looked like Wilfred Brimley to right a manual for the recently deceased. For you, specifically. Then how am I to right a manual if I have already stated that I don’t know what kind of abilities you possess? Well, apparently it’s a crap-shoot what powers you end up with, and even Mr. Brimley doesn’t know which ones you have. Yet.
For instance; while you were alive (which may or may not have happened, but I’ll get to that later) I’m sure you consumed many media products that involved ghosts and various other forms that were classified as being in a not alive state, at least in the strictest terms. Sometimes they were visible to the normal, living eye, most times not; sometimes they were friendly, though mostly they were just dicks; and sometimes they even possessed the living. Most of that is pure bullshit, except the possession thing; that’s totally possible. Regardless, what ghosts were always shown to be capable of was the passing through of walls… I’m going to stick with that wording.
However, as are the words of every politician ever, that is complete horseshit. As a dead person, you are simply made of non-visible anti-matter, “or something or other science-y term” said Wilfred Brimley. The default method of classifying things (i.e. however you did it when you could see your breath on a cold winter’s day, which reminds me, don’t turn around) was called “optimized horrendously, and looks like it was put together by a horse, in the grand scheme of things” by Mr. Brimley, who claimed to have given up on fully comprehend that system millennia ago and simply speaks it. Like an online video commenter as is to the English language. Getting to the point, basically you are now sentient air. Sentient air that risks exostrophic, explosive expulsion from existence at every second; for as a being made of anti-matter, contact with regular matter will cause decompressed annihilation. Like a tiny black hole.
That’s bad. For everyone.
So don’t try to phase thru walls. Walls bad; very, very bad. But your sixth grade math teacher with the really awesome rack that you always wanted to motorboat, but was always to much of a pansy to try when your equipment actually worked? Totally fair game. Yes, the hills of happiness are still as perky as they were back then. She was married to a plastic surgeon, after all. She’ll die at 92 with the tits of a spunky 22 year old. And yes, I do realize that you could very well have been female in your life, or at the very least, at that time, but you have no form now so how was I to tell. I can go off of are the strongest feelings and urges, repressed or otherwise, you had that Mr. Brimley told me about. When this is done, I’d appreciate it if you could try to explain to me what the driving force behind the whole “Peanut-Butter and Crabapples Incident.” Mr. Brimley seemed to disturbed by it to go into greater detail. Anyway, moving on from your possible Lesbian tendencies; yes, you can interact with people. You were a people after all, most likely, so of course you can touch them.
Will they survive? Six to twelve percent maybe possibly sort-of? Humans, and to a lesser extent certain breeds of algae and maybe a politician if they devour enough orphan, are driven by “tricky stuff.” “Something the Big One came up with somewhere around the 80’s, but has lost the recipe too,” said Mr. Brimley. And no, not the 1980’s. That “tricky stuff” was in abundance in you, and that’s why your now able to read this in whatever non-living form you take. Whether, you classify yourself as poltergeist, specter, or my sex life, you are still a thing that is made of “tricky stuff” but would not be classified as being alive. At this point in time, at least.
Are you confused? Good. So am I, and so is the Squirrel.
What do you mean, what squirrel? She’s sitting right next to you, plain as day. His name is Tony.
Yes, I know I used both genders.
No I’m not a hack.
NO! YOUR MOTHER! Look, squirrels have both genders, because they have no genders, because they are not really real. That’s why you say (sorry, said) “someone’s acting squirrely” when they were obviously trying to trick you. Squirrels are tricksters, liars, and there greatest lie is convincing you that they’re actually there. Well, scratch the “you” part of the last sentence. They don’t need to fool you, you’re dead. And therefore not actually here, or anywhere for that matter, and neither is Tony. Therefore, you both exist in the same plane because you do not actually exist in this plane anymore. That’s why Tony’s able to look over that blue light that I guess is supposed to be a shoulder and read along with you.
No, Tony, I don’t have a peanut. You can’t even eat them, your mouth isn’t real! Darnit! Now I’ve lost my train of thought. Quickly, go hop on that train while I regain my place. Don’t worry, I’ll catch up.
GO! No Tony, get back here- oh! He followed you.
I am on a train.
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