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imported_SaltWrench

Slightly bored and stoned right about now. So I've decided to start a story. I noticed that there was a 'pass it on' story elsewhere in the forum, and I actually intended to continue it, but I didn't feel any inspiration to continue that particular one. So I'm going to start this story, and if anyone feels an urge to add to it, feel free, otherwise I'll add to it eventually (next time I'm high and bored).

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"Oh God, did I just do that?"

Stephen stumbled away from the dumpster that he had been leaning against for the past ten minutes trying to regain his composure. He took a deep breath and left the dark alley behind the bar. The brick on either side of him seemed to stretch to the sky and the dim light from the street lamp ahead of him barely lit the shallow puddles beneath his feet. The rain had left the air clean and cold.

He emerged onto the street and went to his right to go back into Ernesto's Irish Pub. He kicked himself everytime he came here, as it was the least authentic Irish establishment he had ever been a patron at, and yet the beer was cheap, the women were attractive, and the music was good; so he kept coming back.

The door of the place was of heavy oak, and it caught him off guard as it always did. He walked back to his table as people stared at him in wide eyed disbelief. He sat back down in front of his beer and took a drink. His head hurt slightly, but he wouldn't feel that very much until the morning so he didn't let it bother him.

A young, brown haired woman approached him, and he looked up at her. She had radiant blue eyes, fair skin, and a slender figure. She was about five and a half feet tall, with her hair going to just below her shoulders. She should have seemed plain, but there was something about her that was completely mesmerizing.

"Hi, my name is Mattie."

"Hi, I'm --"

All he felt was a sharp pain to the back of his head, then all went black.

__________________
Is journalism the way to go? We'll find out soon enough.

 

Ernesto

did someone say my name?

imported_SaltWrench

Yes, I stole your name. I will give proper credit. Apparently you own an Irish Pub in some nameless city.

Chronic Smoker

Hey man the start sounds good, and so many ways to further the story. When i get stoned and im chillin, i'll add a little to this. Im not big on writing stories, but a blazed mind shows no fear. ....Im going in....and dont know if im returning....a stoned mental state in which i will continue the story.

Pro

imported_SaltWrench

And so the Glorious Host decended upon yours truly and decided that he should get stoned again. And then the Gods of Boredom decreed that he too should be bored. So as promised:

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Stephen's head hurt more than he had expected. His eyes hadn't even opened yet and all he could feel was the pounding pain all throughout his head. He tried to open his eyes, but was confused when he saw nothing but the same blackness that he had seen before.

His eyelash brushed against something, and he tried to swat it, but his hand was restrained to his side. Panic rose in him to the point where he wanted to vomit. He took a couple deep breaths to fight off the gagging. The pain in his head had already sunk to the back of his mind, all he knew was that he was completely powerless. The fear of powerlessness hit him, and he lost his composure. He thrashed against the restraints, and found that all his limbs were retrained and there were straps over his torso.

After several minutes of this, Stephen calmed himself again. Evaluating his situation, he decided that he was strapped and blindfolded, but his mouth was free, there was no gag.

"Is anyone there?"

There was only silence to answer him. He remained quiet to try to hear anything that could hint at where he was. There was only complete silence.

Another deep breath. His mind reeled, trying to figure out how he had ended up here. Ernesto's. That had been the last place he remembered being. Mattie, the last face he remembered seeing. Pain, not only the last thing he remembered feeling, but the only thing he had felt since.

"What did I do before I went back into the bar?" he asked himself aloud, "I didn't drink enough to black out did I?"

More deep breaths as he cleared his mind. The memory came flooding back and he had to catch his breath.

***

He walked into Ernesto's. It was Tuesday night, and most of the regulars were there. There was an unfamiliar face there, and Stephen noticed him watching him. The outsider was tall, with dark hair, wearing a suit and a cashmere overcoat, and drinking Guiness.

He walked to the bartender and ordered his usual Newcastle. He walked to his usual table in the corner, and sat down.

Drinking about half of his beer, he watched as outsider approached him. The man stood infront of him without saying a word. Stephen made eye contact and held it. The man didn't look away.

Stephen finished his beer, never looking away from the man. He walked to the bar to order another beer, bringing his empty with him As he waited for the bartender to bring him his beer, he heard the distinct sound of steel being drawn from its sheath. He wheeled around and landed a left hook onto the well dressed man's chin. The man went down still holded his knife in his hand.

Stephen kicked the man's head repeatedly and didn't stop until his boot was covered in blood. He turned back to the bar and ignored the people staring at him. The beer was already on the bar. He took the beer and walked back to his table. He sat and took a drink. The people still stared at him. Stephen stood up, and walked out of the door. He walked into the alley and leaned against the dumpster.

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That's all for now folks. I don't know where to go from here, I have a couple ideas, but I'll sleep on it and I'm sure by the next time I'm high I'll have figured it out. This leaves you where the story started, so I think its a relatively good place to pause.