>>21435
Bubba Sweetley

>>21435
Punished Henderson

>>21546
I served in the English RAF

>>21435
Jonathan Matthews

>>21435
Forrest, Forrest Gump

“Jonathon Matthews, and I was born in a little town in Arkansas. Pleased to meet you.” I look at you dumbfounded. Am I to get your whole life story? To answer your question, no I wasn't a fighter pilot. It was jungle-rot for me. ”There are islands in Germany?” I apologize for sounding dumb but it had honestly slipped my mind that we fought in other theaters as well.

Oh no, I was a Marauder. Served in Burma.

Holy shit! I never really studied much about Burma. I did want that drink but this might keep my mind off that cheating bitch longer. “So why'd you go to Burma? Well that's a complicated matter, son. It's a long story. Would you care to hear it? ”Yes sir.” Well as I said it started in '22…

>I only had a few friends as a kid
>I was pretty popular in school
>I didn't have anyone growing up

Rolled 4 (1d10)

>>21785
A few friends, Bubba, and Punished.

Rolled 6 (1d10)

>>21785
>I didn't have anyone growing up

Rolled 3 (1d10)

>>21785
>i didnt have anyone growing up

I didn't have anyone growing up, and all throughout my school years I was always alone. Except for my brother. In those days medicine was hard to come by. It's rather sad but I don't even remember exactly what took him, all I remember is the fever. He would have been four that autumn. You gaze back down at your glass and look up to the barkeep, asking for another. And one for my friend here, you add. Thank you.

School wasn't that bad, I walked two miles to the schoolhouse because there weren't buses in those parts yet. It was real rural. The biggest thing we had was one of the neighbor boys, Bubba, he was a colored boy. All the kids were pretty excited about that. Some would beat him up when he left for school. I thought he was a bit of an asshole myself. What is he babbling about? Is this war?

It was a lonely life. I had a few neighbors but they weren't close. When pa died in '33 we were hit pretty hard. His business was the only thing keeping us afloat during the Depression. After that I had to quit school to take care of the house and ma. That's about when Margie started coming by. Her family was from Mena and they'd come over because her pa was one of the lucky ones who got a job at the factory, so they started living a couple houses down. I took to liking her immediately.

>We ditched church to play in the creek each Sunday morning
>I asked her out and we went fishing for our dinner
>I wish I had spent more time with her

>>22021
>I asked her out

Rolled 2 (1d10)

>>22021
The big city market crashed

Rolled 2 (1d10)

>>22021
>I asked her out and we went fishing for our dinner

I asked her out and we went fishing for our dinner. I was fifteen by then, she was fourteen. Such a gentle soul. She would come by the house after school and teach me what I missed that day. I didn't care for it, but I really liked having her around. She kept me up to date on the news too. After supper we'd go out back and look at the stars every night. One night she kissed me and said she was afraid of her pa before going home.

She wouldn't talk about it after that but eventually she opened up. Turns out her pa was a mean drunk and had been beating her. But her pa, he was a smart bastard and only hit her where she'd cover it up. And then one day he beat her and beat her and didn't stop there. You grip your glass tighter, so tight it could shatter. You clench your teeth and flex your back muscles a bit. I see a horrible glare in your eyes, a foul rage a maelstrom. You look like you could take any man in here even at your age. He raped her. He raped her and beat her so bad she was in the hospital for a month. She never walked straight again after that. She didn't come over that day, so I went to her place and found her.

>I carried her to the hospital
>I found her pa
>I called an officer

Rolled 9 (1d10)

>>22338
>i found her pa

>>22338
>i found her pa

time for vengeance

I found her pa and beat him. I wasn't the tallest or the strongest, but he was a small man in a small factory. I was so angry I couldn't see but I could feel him crumple every time I hit him. And I just kept hitting him, shaking off floor workers until the officers arrived. I broke his nose, knocked out half his teeth, and bashed his eye in. I'd have done time but it was a small town, the moment word got out what he'd done, they practically threw me a party.

It took Margie a long time to heal. She wasn't very strong in body but she did her best. She probably bounced back better than I did. I was never that angry a child but something in me snapped that day. I was never the same. That wasn't the worst I've ever hurt a person, and I don't think I coulda done it if I hadn't went to find that son of a bitch. But all things in due time. Your anger gives way to a subtle melancholy, I see shame in your eyes and pangs of regret tense across your frame. Before you looked like a wild man, but now I feel a hint of pity. You look vulnerable for but a moment before shrugging it off; perhaps a survival mechanism you learned long ago to hide your pain? Would you even tell me if I asked?

When I was seventeen I asked her to marry me. Of course she said yes, you say, pointing to a weathered old ring on your finger. Do my eyes deceive me or is that not gold? but we were too poor for rings. I had an old, broken lamp I once used to read at night before I left school, but I didn't read anymore so it was useless. I pried off two pieces from the neck and filed them smooth. We were married a few weeks later, just after her seventeenth birthday. We couldn't afford a home so ma let us stay in my room.

A few months after my birthday we got a letter, I was to report for the draft.

>I got I-A and reported for duty
>I tried to dodge it
>I got turned away for a heart problem

>>22652
>reported for duty

>>22652
>I got I-A and reported for duty
Running away is for pussies

Rolled 10 (1d10)

>>22652
>I got I-A and reported for duty

I got I-A and reported for duty. That was really hard on Margie. I was still training when she gave birth. To this day one of the things I regret most is not being there when David was born. She wrote me all the time, I wasn't good at spelling so I'd have some of the men help me write back. I wanted her to get the best looking letters and my spelling was embarrassing.

It looked like I was going to get to come home until Pearl Harbor happened. After that, not a man didn't volunteer. I stayed on despite Margie's pleas to come home. I felt an anger that whole war that's haunted me ever since. Those Goddamned Nips and those Goddamned Nazis, if only I'd had my way with all of them. I was proud of my country, and this was my chance. And I was possessed. I am eternally thankful Margie never saw me like that.

In '43 the call came down for volunteers for a special force. I jumped at the chance and volunteered. We were jungle trained and shipped out to Burma, what a miserable place. You never forget the stench of jungle rot. One of my friends lost his whole foot over it, just rotted right off cause he never changed his socks. Poor fool. It was a rough time there. When it rained it didn't stop, you couldn't keep anything dry. A lot of my letters were ruined. And then there was Walawbum. What a shitshow.

>That's where I lost my foot
>That's where I got shot
>That's where I snapped

>>22997
>That's where I snapped

>>22997
>That's where I got shot

>>22997
>Shot

I see your eyes glaze over, I don't think you're here in the bar anymore. Walawbum was supposed to be lightly guarded, we weren't supposed to encounter heavy resistance. Instead it was like stepping into a minefield. There were 500 Nips in that town when we only thought there would be a few dozen. We had bivouacked the night before, and in the morning we were eating breakfast when this hail of machinegun fire cuts through the fog. I couldn't see my hands for the fog it was so thick. Everybody's screaming and we return fire. Just a scout, but it set the tone alright.

The river was a disaster. We were eventually holed up on the wrong side in a little clearing, all our support on the other side of the river. Heavy Jap mortar bombardment was picking us all off one by one. The man beside me, some poor Chinese bastard was hit. He turned into mist before my eyes, I can still describe the taste. I ask him not to. The guys across the river started laying down heavy mortar fire in return to give us cover to cross over. Most of us made it, but we got charged by some of the crazy suicidal ones. I can still hear Wilmann's screams.

Most of us were in the water already, we had to enter upstream because it was a fast current. I was one of the last to enter the water and everyone right around me was going down, everywhere I turned was just body after body. Hughes was the last one to go. He was such a nice kid, too. That's when I snapped. That Jap fuck had run straight through his back and gutted him. I jumped that Tojofucker and pushed him below the water and I squeezed his neck hard as I could.

He kept hitting me, trying to get away. His eyes were bulging and the water made it look so much worse. It was hideous, but he was even younger than me. He must have still had a sidearm because he shot me from below. Went straight through my gut and out the other side. I fell over and he jumped me, pushing me to the bottom. I was hurting so much but all I could think about was Margie and our kid, how I'd never get to see his face. She said he had beautiful golden hair like me. And like her pa.

As soon as that thought crossed my mind I held onto it and wouldn't let it go. I kicked and screamed as best I could beneath the water and eventually got my hands on a rock. I bashed that kid's face in, his jaw must have been hanging off sideways. I stood up to catch my breath and he was already dead but I kept hitting him over and over still. I stomped and stomped until there was nothing left beneath my boot and his body just floated away. We'd been shelling the Japs hard enough they left the riverbank. We took the town soon after and I was treated for my wounds. From then on, Margie's pa was the face I saw every time I saw red.

>I took a medical discharge
>I jumped straight back in and fought at Myitkyina

>>23442
>medical discharge

>>23442
>medical discharge

>>23442
>I jumped straight back in and fought at Myitkyina

>>23442
>I jumped straight back in and fought at Myitkyina

>>23442
>I jumped straight back in and fought at Myitkyina

AND HIS NAME IS JOHN CENA!

>>23883
Bump

Change my vote to fighting

After wallowing in what passed for a hospital I jumped straight back into action just in time for the airfield fiasco. It took us five months just to march there. We knew it would be a horrible battle but we couldn't have predicted just how fowl a monsoon would be. The route to Myitkyina was littered with supply lines. During our 800 mile trek we took out as many as we could. We pirated what we could. A dead Jap had a watch I wanted, but I didn't bother to unfasten it. I just hacked his hand off and took the watch. I figured he wasn't using the watch or the hand.

Everywhere I went I just saw her pa's face. Every time I killed I imagined it was him. He turned into a ghost for me, haunting wherever I walked, provoking me to such fury. I had stopped going to church much a long time ago, but by then I either forgot what I learned or just didn't care anymore. I think my own pa would have been ashamed if he knew what I was doing.

We did eventually make it to the airfield, which we took. It was a grueling battle on its own but there were so many Nips in the town we just couldn't take it. So many good men died trying. Before long the monsoon hit. Have you ever been in a monsoon, son? ”No sir,” I stammered. It would make the worst storm you've ever been in feel like a light pissing. Everything is so damp it's a breeding ground for fungus. Everyone was dealing with malaria or skin diseases, fungal rot, you name it. Every crack and crevice you own was soaking went and infested with mosquitoes. And we fought in that for three months.

During those months, not a single minute went by without rain. It probably rained more in those three months than I've experienced the entire rest of my life combined. Sustained engagement was impossible, we would have light skirmishes instead. Pick one or two of them off, lose one or two of ours. That continued until August when word came down to finally take the town. Only 130 of us were still able to even fight, we shipped in with almost 3000. The majority of the casualties weren't from fighting but the environment. I don't know how those Kachins did it.

When we finally hit the village it was a wreck, the Japs were a wreck, and we were no better. It was foul and cruel, and I was far more disturbed than anyone else I'd imagine. Cooped up in horrible conditions, one gets angry. Even the calmest man on earth would be angry, and I was far from a calm man in those days. I had no outlet until we got there, and I sure as hell let all that pent up rage out.

I butchered them. I don't recall shooting anyone, I literally butchered them. Every Jap I could get my hands on I destroyed their body. I hacked them apart at the seams. I entered a little hut and my buddy got got, so I was left alone with this Nip. I took off both his feet just to watch him try to crawl away. War makes men cruel, I don't exactly have any new words for that. I am not a wise man, but I have been a cruel man for a time.

>>24209
We slaughtered them all. It wasn't fast, it wasn't pretty. We were all drenched by the end. To me it felt almost methodical. I just imagined her pa and buried my fist or knife in their face. Towards the end I was set on fire by a flamethrower whose fuel pack was later ignited. I put myself out but sustained some good burns under my arm. Just a week later the Marauders were disbanded, we'd done our job. I went home a changed man.

When I finally saw my son it was the most beautiful sight I'd ever witnessed. After years of being away I was finally home and where I belonged, but I'd missed so much. My son's first steps, his first words, and three birthdays. But his next one was coming up soon and I knew I had to make it a good one for his sake.

>I gave him my old baseball bat
>I took him to the movies, a rare luxury
>I gave him a tub of ice cream, an equally rare luxury
>I struggled to find work and was unable to get him a present

I'll be taking a break for dinner and family, I'll continue this first thing in the morning. Hope you're all liking it, this is my first quest.

>>24232
Fantastic first quest, beautifully written.

>Baseball Bat

>>24247
Thanks anon, I'll see about working in the meta-narrator a bit more for the next segment. He'll probably leave for the night and come back to hear more of the old man's stories.

>>24232
>I took him to the movies, a rare luxury

fantastic job man would love to see what you do for the meta-narrator. Maybe give him a name?

I decided to give him my old baseball bat. We were very poor, and I could hardly find work. For all the heroism of fighting, no one remembered Burma. No one cared. And them European theater fellas were already struggling to reintegrate. The nightmares of what I'd seen, what I did, they kept coming back to me for years. It hurt me, it hurt my family. But all that's a tale for another time I suppose and you're about to pass out there son.

You finish your tale and I lurch back to my friends. Jason managed to perfectly describe his person, a single mother of two trying to find a man for the night. He never bought anyone drinks, apparently, and seems to have gone home with her. My mates say they're all going home and they call a taxi for everyone. I look at you am almost compelled to stay and listen, but I fall into the taxi and watch through drooping eyes as the bar recedes from sight.

I get through my hangover and decide to head back to the bar to see if you are a patron. You aren't there, so I ask around. It turns out you come in every Saturday night so I go home and wait a week. When I come back, alone, I see you there in the same spot you were. You sit firm and tall, but with a quiet reserve to you. I sense no hint of the anger you talked so much about.

I walk up to you and sit in the same seat. You turn to me and say, Well shit, you're sober. I was afraid you'd throw up all over the place, son. I was fairly bad off last night, to be fair. But I still remember most of your story. “May I ask what happened next, sir? You said the war hurt you more.” Is this a joke or are you actually interested in my little story?

”Well I still need something to take my mind off my ex, you're the most interesting person in this town, so why not? I figure you've got a ton of stories. My name is Ken, by the way.” Pleased to meet you, Ken. What do you do for a living? ”I'm a writer! I write fiction, scifi mostly.” I haven't published a book in eight years. I've tried, but I always get rejected. My stories are too dull, you see. They're bubblegum, vapid and inane. I know the plots and characters are dumb but I'm even worse at everything else I've tried.

Carol, let's have a round for Mr. Author over here, something stiff. So, son, you still want to hear my story? ”Definitely, you've had a hell of a life, sir.” Alright, well let's see…


>The birthday party was quite...memorable
>I couldn't hold the factory job
>My nightmares terrified my wife

>>28135
>The birthday party was quite...memorable

lets give this guy something good for once eh

The birthday party was quite memorable. It turns out my boy was quite popular in town. Margie would take him into town and say he was a hero's son. I don't know about the hero part. All her friends came to celebrate, it was probably because of me. I was the talk of the town for ages. It got me a nice job at the factory where Margie's pa once worked. That party was something, though. I gave my boy that bat and it was his favorite thing. Eyes all lit up and his wonderful little smile. He had perfect teeth, I was so proud of him.

I wore my uniform most of the time but that day, when everyone left, I dressed down to teach my son how to play ball. He saw where I was burned and it scared him so bad he cried, and cried. The noise was so loud I went right back to the war and I hit him. I hit that beautiful little boy. I didn't mean to, you see. It just...happened.

>That was only the first time
>I never hit anyone again
>Margie threatened to leave me

>>28299
>I never hit anyone again

>>28299
>That was only the first time

>I never hit anyone again

>I never hit anyone again

I never hit anyone again after that. Your shoulders tense up and you finish your drink. Another one, Carol. Where was I? Oh, the factory. Most of the factory workers were women, you see all the men were away. The women had to work and make bullets and weapons for us on the frontlines. When I started, only a few men were there. When I was 26 I was promoted to a manager position. I was trusted by everyone in that town, still the hero. I did my best to keep that factoI am so sorry for what I did to you.

David was in school by then and he was already popular at schoI never should have written everything I did. One day he snuck some of my beers out and handed them out to his friends. I grounded him for a month. He started fighting at school soon after that.

>I grounded him again
>I taught him to fight
>I told him that fighting wasn't the answer

>>28530
>fighting isnt the answer
>taught him to fight

they arent mututally exclusive, so both

>>28530
>I told him that fighting wasn't the answer

I taught him how to fight because the kid got his ass beat. But I didn't want him to repeat my mistakes. I wanted him to be better than me. I told him he should never hit someone first, to never lose his temper in a fight. It isn't the answer, and it doesn't have to be. But the fighting persisted and he was better at it for all I showed him. He was eventually suspended. Fortunately we could afford to send him to another school. He had a little brother, Danny, he would always fight with too. Not physical, but he was relentless to him sometimes. He did love his brother though. You start laughing all of a sudden and turn to me, saying, I told him if he kept it up I'd have a lawyer declare them not brothers anymore. That straightened him out sure enough.

I get a call from my mate Howard, inviting me to a party. I accept and tell you I'm heading out, but befoI wish I could take it all back.

I take it you're not interested in an old man's tales anymore? ”On the contrary! I'll be back next week. Same time?” Same time. I'll tell you about the time

>I bought my first television
>My son got caught stealing
>I took the family to the Grand Canyon

>Caught my son stealing

Is any one else seeing this green text in the middle of the story or am I going crazy?

>>28807
>I bought my first television

>>28838
what green text?

File: 1408024237135.jpg (7 KB, 229x200)

7 KB JPG

>>28838
>Is any one else seeing this green text in the middle of the story or am I going crazy?

Guess you'll have to see. I'm going to take a break for lunch and I'll be back in about an hour.

>>28807
>I bought my first television

>>28838

Probably just you. Is your browser up to date, maybe a CSS error?

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164 KB PNG

>>28848
The "I wish I could take it all back" part. Not sure if story dynamic or I'm crazy

>>29194
Still not seeing it. You feeling alright? Think your phone might have some CSS issues

>>29207

I'm seeing it too.

I bought our first television. Today is Saturday and I am struggling to think of a story for my next book. It seems pointless, I am not a good writer. I realize it is now time to meet you, so I walk to the bar somewhat discouraged. I sit down and you pick up right where you left off.

At the time there were no color televisions, and the town was a little small for any of the stores to carry any. They were luxury items, a real status symbol. And I had been doing really well for myself at the factory. I was now 31, and was running the whole factory. A little colored family moved in down the street, the husband had been talking about saving for a television. I wasn't gonna let a colored man beat me to a status symbol, so Margie 'n me loaded the whole family up, drove to Tulsa and bought us a big ol' television set. We were the third family to own one in that towbut I know it's far too late now.

But on the way home the car broke down and we got stranded. Had to hitchhike with a friendly little college boy on his way home to his family. He gave us a lift and eyed that television the whole way. So that's how we became the third family to own one of them. It died a few years later and the boys chucked it into the landfill.

I am distracted and you can see it. You order us more drinks and ask me about myself. I tell you about my sister and my niece, where I was born, I even tell you about the time the family dog crapped on my Super Nintendo because I wouldn't play with him. You say I must have been a little bit of a lazy kid, that you never would have let your own boys ignore the dog or responsibilities. I resent that a little, but truthfully I never had much structure in my life. Look at me now. A washed up writWhat is done is done, and I am truly sorry.

>Why don't you go home for the night, we'll talk next time
>Let's get another round
>...And then I caught David fooling around with some girl

>>29343
>let's get another round

Hope he slowly becomes less racist

>>29343
>Let's get another round

>>29366
In this area of the South, it's extremely common for people that age to be at least passingly racist but not often malicious. "Colored boy" for example isn't generally an intentionally negative term, now if he were using "nigger" or "negro" that would be overtly and maliciously racist. It's more of a passive racism. This is exactly how my great grandparents talked and they were never malicious in tone. I suppose this is a specific shortcoming of text, I should have used Ken to internally comment on the tone. My bad, anon.

>>29391
Nah, I understood the reasons why, but for me personally as I grew up with many minorities, I was just expressing my thoughts on the matter.

I have no issue with it in the story, so I apologize for the mixup

>>29402
Oh it's cool anon, yeah I wanted him to have several distasteful aspects to him, he's a flawed character. He means well but he's definitely a product of his time. I don't think he'll becomes less racist, sadly, since he's still using "colored" at this point in the story.

>>29402
did you go to that other risk thread tsi?

>>29421
Yea. I was also the lightning guy yesterday, but that's not important here.

>>29417
Cool, hyped for the next part!

I'm still seeing the green text. I feel woozy. Maybe I need to see someone.

>>29439
Maybe you should, but it's just some text. I ain't seeing it myself.

>>29343
>...And then I caught David fooling around with some girl

Come on this sounds way more interesting

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35 KB PNG

>>29448
What do you see? Do you see it?

>... And then I caught David

>>29472
"the whole family up, drove to Tulsa and bought us a big ol' television set. We were the third family to own one in that town"

>>29500
Could it be an issue with my phone? My head is really starting to hurt.

Another round, Carol. I could definitely do with more alcohol. I'm wasting my time right now when I could be writing, but truthfully this is the most interesting relationship I have right now and you aren’t getting any younger at this point. You talk about your life through the 50s and how your boys grew into their own. I'd be terrified of having boys of my own, I couldn't bear that responsibility. After a few weeks I feel attached to your stories, hearing about David and Danny growing up reminds me of my own childhood. You show me their graduation photos, beaming with pride. I down another round and talk about the internet. You say you never used it much and don't understand it. We're now saying goodbye for the nighI never wanted to hurt you, I'm sorry I stole.

It's Saturday again and you aren't at the bar. I ask around, but no one's seen you since last week. I wait all night and you never comeYou must understand it came from good intentions. It has now been two weeks since I saw you. I go to the bar anxious. Have you died in your sleep? I open the door and see you hunched over in the corner, not at your normal place.

>Jon is hurt
>Jon is crying to himself
>Jon smiles and waves Ken over

>>29521
I really don't know man. What do you see?

>>29527
>smiles and waves

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88 KB PNG

>>29529
>>29521
There is green there, you're not crazy. You'll have to wait and see why it's there though.

>Jon is hurt

>>29529
Maybe you're the crazy one and I'm sane

Great story so far OP, I love it.

>>29527
>Jon smiles and waves Ken over

>>29568
Darn OP, had to ruin the fun. I saw the green but wanted to make sure it sounded like you were going nuts to add a sense of unease to the storym

>>29580
Yeah same, I was trying to play along lol. Too bad.

File: 1347511782434.gif (1.79 MB, 275x275)

1.79 MB GIF

>>29580
I've blown it.

>>29602
That gif is perfect. You've redeemed yourself!

>>29602
Yeah you did, cunt.

>>29527
>>Jon smiles and waves Ken over

I know I fucked up. You smile and wave me over. “Where were you last week?” I had a bit too much to drink and fell. Lucky for me I didn't break anything but I decided to quit cold turkey. Margie has always hated it when I drink too much. ”Well I'm sure she's glad then, right?” You don't answer. “Hey would it be okay if I still drank?” Sure, you think I'm a pussy who can't abstain? I spent years in a jungle without a woman, and I can stay away from booze all the same.

I pull out a notepad and start writing a few ideas down while we talk. You ask me what I'm doing and I explain I have a deadline, and need to get some solid ideas for a pitch. While you continue I keep writing, making sure to keep listening. I only jot down a note every now and then. I'm good at remembering.

Well Danny graduated in, oh I guess it was '62. He wanted to be an artist so he went off to New York and studied with some of them big city folk. He eventually got himself a little studio and did pretty well for himself. But David…

>Got involved with the wrong people
>Decided he wanted to live at a hippie commune
>Got a girl pregnant
>Left and we seldom heard from him again

>>29786
>pregnant

>>29786
>Got a girl pregnant

>Hippie Commune

The story so far is A+. Makes me wanna make a post desu

>>29786
>>Decided he wanted to live at a hippie commune

Well David decided he wanted to be a hipie, and went to live on some commune in California. When he left he was stoned. I loved the boy, but that never sat right with me. I suppose I shouldn't mention my college days. In '65 Margie and I had saved up enough to take a vacation. It was the first time since our honey moon, which was more of a glorified camping trip. We got to drive across the country that year with the boys gone. She had never left Arkansas before. First we drove out to her ma's family's cemetery just outside Stigler. She never met any of those kin, they all died before her time. Her ma was buried there in '59. She was just seventeen when she had Margie. Everyone got married young in those days. I'm closer to 30 now than 20, I have no idea how someone could get married that young, trapped in something you might regret wasting your youth on.

That road trip was beautiful. We went down through Texas and saw the plains, then to the Grand Canyon. Margie brought one of them old disposable cameras and saved the film just for the Canyon. Sadly we lost the negatives before we could get them developed, but she always had a sharp memory. She did this thing where she would describe what the photos would have looked like and that's how we'd remember those weeks. You smile gently, lost in thought and memory. A while has passed and you're still there but I don't dare snap you from that dream. This is the happiest I've seen you. Your eyes flicker, you look down and your smile disappears.

Danny got the call to Vietnam in '70. He was a lot like me, he'd just married a wonderful young girl. He arranged to bring her down to meet us before leaving but he never got the chance. We finally met her at the funeral, and never saw her again. David even came back for the funeral but he was mad at us for letting Danny go in the first place. He yelled and yelled and called me a coward. I slapped him and he disowned his family. I know he and Margie wrote each other, but we haven't talked since.

The room felt almost violently quiet now. The patrons were hammering away behind us but the table felt like a black hole, sucking up all noise around us. I almost offer you my drink but decide not to.

>I'm gonna go, see you later Ken
>But enough about that…

>>30249
>But enough about that...

>>30249
>I'm gonna go

Rolled 1 (1d10)

>>30335
>>30345
I'm going to roll for this one since it's a tie. Also this will be my last update for the day.

>evens
But enough about that
>odds
I'm gonna go.

I'm gonna go, see you later Ken. You get up and leave as I stay behind to finish my drink. I look down at my notes and have an idea for a story. I wanted it to be told. I finish my drink and head home for the evening, writing up as much of a draft as I can. The words start coming to me faster than I can type them.

You deserved that much.

I spend all night on it. This may be my best work. I may be able to publish this. I couldn't just let it slip away like that. It is now Wednesday afternoon and I have finished an initial draft. I spent so much time on this I've barely slept. I am proud of my own work. I had nothing!

It is almost time to meet you again and I'm anxious to get back to writing. You tell me more about your childhood while I keep up with my notes. You should understand that at the very least.

Say, you're writing a lot more. Do you want to put this off for next week?

”No, no you're fine, I'm listening!” You know they loved it, right?

Well as I was saying, you keep talking and I keep writing. I put down my pencil for a while to talk about myself during a lull in the story. We talk about pets, how Danny brought home a little terrier when he was eight, how I had a pet snake. You were a good man after all.

I tell you about feeding my snake mice and how it made my brother uncomfortable. I was never phased by it myself, though You know they loved you, right? I never liked snakes or rats, they creep me out. ”Well it was mice, not rats.” You had a great life story. So what's the name of this book you're writing? ”It's called A Good Man.”

But you didn't write that book, I did.

>You're working on it awful hard, hope it goes well!
>I hope it isn't another one of your scifi books, you deserve to make some real money
>Send me a copy when you're done, I'll read it

Damn OP, great twist

>not another SciFi book

>>30885
Thanks anon. I probably won't be able to update this until tomorrow night, I've got other stuff to work on now. Should I post my twitter in here so people can see when I start again, in case I can't get around to it tomorrow after all?

>>30951
maybe im dumb but what is the twist.

>>30964
Ken conned Jon.

>>30831
>send me a copy

>>30951
sure!

>>31001
Okay, I dont get it, cuz im dumb. mind going into detail?

>>31045
https://twitter.com/Zombinedotrar
>>31045
Well I'd rather let you guys speculate, I don't want to spell it all out. You'll see how it all unfolds soon.

>>31107
look forward to the next update!

>>30831
>>Send me a copy when you're done, I'll read it

I will be starting again in about 4 hours. This is a shorter quest so this will likely be the final little arc here tonight.

>>40684
HYPE HYPE HYPE HYPE

Well send me a copy when you're finished, I'll read it. ”Oh, uh, thanks. I'm not sure you'd like it though, it's not quite your thing.” What the hell am I doing? I write down more notes and we part for the night. As we walk out the door I give you one more look and a small pang of guilt curses over me. I ignore it.

I enter the bar and I am surprised to see I am here before yoYou will never hear from me again.

You sit beside me and we casually chat for a little bit. I have decided to record the conversation with my phone instead of writing notes, in case you catch a glimpse of them. I believe you could still beat me half to death if you found out I am writing your story. You probably wouldn't understand why I am doing this. I have nothing, you see? I'm a hack, a fraud. My books are awful but I can't just give it all up at this point. I don't even know if I enjoy writing anymore but it's the sole thing I am decent at.

Decent. Huh.

“Mr. Matthews, what happened after-” Please, 'Mr. Matthews?' I like you Ken, you can just call me Jon. No one will. ”Jon. So what happened after Danny died? We kinda left off there.

>There were a lot of good years
>There were a lot of bad years

>>41826
Good years.

After Danny, Margie and I had a lot of good years. She turned 50 in '73 so I took her back to the lake we had our first date. We started babysitting Jaime, one of Margie's friend's kids. His parents were going through some trouble and we decided to help out. We sort of raised that kid. His pa was a right bastard and his ma was a little touched if you ask me. But he was a good kid. He'd stay at our house for a couple weeks, then with his ma. He got into drugs for a while and hurt himself pretty bad, then he found Jesus. Last I heard of him, he was a preacher or something. That was never my thing but I was glad he wasn't wasting away in a gutter. Good kid.

We decided to go on a cruise one year and sailed to the Caribbean. Margie was allergic to shellfish and was awful sick the whole trip, but she had as much fun as she could. When she couldn't leave the room I'd stay with her. One night a band was playing and I paid then $50 to play in our room just for her since she was missing it.

Oh did I tell you about our new car adventure? Back in '78 Margie 'n me got a new car. Little blue Escort as far as I can remember. Well we went to the lot, and the thing about this lot was it was the only lot in the town and we wasn't too fond of the dealer. He was a shady little man You sure do enjoy using 'little,' don't you? My grandmother did too. and tried to up-sell us. Well Margie, she's sharp as tacks and was two steps ahead of him the whole time. She lead him around in circles and played the fool. Point being, we got the car with a bunch of useless junk tacked on for nothing.

And then she crashed it two weeks later, only it wasn't into just anybody but the dealer himself! Elliot Wilson, what a shifty little man. You chuckle to yourself for a minute before calming down and staring into your glass of water. If she hadn't crashed and gone to the hospital they wouldn't have caught the cancer.

>She didn't give up hope though
>She put on a brave face but I knew she wasn't dealing with it well
>She dealt with it better than I did
>She felt it was just her time

>>42269
>She felt it was just her time.

Margie felt it was just her time, but I encouraged her to keep fighting it. She did, but she kept talking about how if it was time to go, it was time to go. I took care of her for a long time, but it was...hard. You clench your glass, then your teeth, then pull yourself real tight. Even though you don't shed a tear I can see your grief. She lasted two years like that, just withering away. Always telling me 'It's fine, it's fine, I've had a good life.'

I suppose I should have been grateful I got to spend so much time with that woman, but I wanted more. She was always my anchor, you see. After she was gone I started drinking more, caring less. I tried to get back in shape and find myself, I suppose. That was something David always talked about, is 'finding himself.' I guess he found it in California, and Margie must have always known herself, but I had never went looking until then. You eye my drink before gulping back the rest of your water. I still haven't found what I was looking for, neither.

I have no more stories to tell now.

After I retired in '87 I decided to travel. I'd seen a lot of the world during the war, and I wasn't about to go back there. But Margie and me, we always talked about traveling. We got to once or twice when we could afford it. But I guess I could afford it if it was just me. I went Toronto, wouldn't want to live there. Too cold and socialist. I went and found some of my old war mates in Indiana, spent some time up there. They were doing pretty well for themselves. I suppose I was glad for them but I didn't want to impose upon them.

I saw Ireland, England, and France. Hell, I even walked into Berlin after the wall fell. I even once met a rockstar in Australia, some Hewson fella I think. I can't remember, but he was dressed like a devil and talked about Jesus and Stalin. I thought he was a bit of a prick. ”Wait did you meet Bono? Was that in Sydney?” Who the fuck is Bono? He said his name was Hewson, have you gone deafer than me?

Anyways I went back home after spending a couple years abroad. Spent all my life savings but never found myself. Had a couple drinks in some very nice places though. You know I once pissed on some Indian relics? We were training with some of them Indians and British, and were staying near some religious temple. Me and a couple of the boys got drunk one night and pissed all over the place. They got mad and we got into a fist fight. I even rode an elephant.

You stop talking for what feels like ages. The bar feels so quiet again. Should I break the silence? I'm close to the end of your story now. “So what have you been doing sinc I am not good enough for anything original.

>I went back to work
>I sold the house and moved to a smaller apartment
>I kept to myself

>>42914
>I kept to myself

>>43824
Supporting this

>>21435
How do I bluetext?

>>43885
[ blue ] (text) [ / blue ]

no spaces.

I've mostly kept to myself. I drink on the weekends. Or, I drank on the weekends I guess. I haven't really had anyone singe Margie passed. I never really had any friends but her. I heard from Jaime a couple years after she passed that he was gonna be a preacher. He was pretty broken up when he found out about her, said he'd pray for her soul. I don't know what good that would do but if it makes him feel better more power to him, I suppose.

I think I have everything I really need now. Thank you for your story, Jon, these have been the best weeks I've had since college. I think this will make a great- I think you're my only friend, Ken. But I've got no more stories to tell. Take care, okay? I pilfered and stole what I could and now everyone expects more.

”What will you do now, Jon?” What I've been doing the last 20 years, I suppose. I'll watch the shit they have on television these days, maybe spend some time at the VA. I might even take up drinking again, I don't think Margie would blame me for that. The last few weeks have been real nice, Ken. No one's been interested in what I've had to say before. Hope I might bump into you sooner or later. Better be sooner, I probably won't have a later. You laugh and pat me on the back before walking out the door. I smile knowing this will probably be the last time I see you. But you are wrong, I'm sure a lot of people would be interested in you now.

I walk home and the night air feels wonderful. I think I'll sleep well tonight, for tomorrow I start working on the final chapters of A Good Man. And you are, Jon. You're a great man, in fact. I have a finished manuscript now and am sending it with my agent to the publisher. I'm quite confident about it, hell it might even get picked up for a movie! It'll never come.

It is Saturday and my book is to be published in a few weeks. I walk to the bar with a copy in hand, hoping to catch you there. And sure enough, there you are, you wonderful old man. I owe this to you, so you should have the first copy. I'm sure you'll love it. Hey Ken, where've you been of late? ”I just finished my book! I don't have much time, I've got a meeting with my agent in a bit, but I was hoping I'd find you so I could give you this. You asked for a copy, right?”

>Sure, if you come in next week I'll let you know how I liked it
>I don't know when I'll be able to get around to it, but sure give it here
>I'll think about it but I'm awful tired these days

>>44248
>sure, if you come...

>>44248
If you come

Sure, if you come in next week I'll let you know how I liked it. I hand you my copy and leave the bar. I'm so happy right now. Tonight meet with my agent, I think I will go out with my mates again tonight, maybe hit up a club.

I have had many meetings this last week but I'm really anxious to hear what you think. It's Saturday once more and I am walking to the bar. I've got butterflies in my stomach, I'm just a little nervous but I think you'll love it. It's my gift to you. I haven't made you out to be a saint, I even kept your weird racist comments in wholesale. But I think readers will really like you, the real you. They'll love you, even. You won't be forgotten. I won't be forgotten.

I walk into the bar but you aren't at your normal spot. I look around and see you at the table, and you see me. I smile and wave but you just stare at me. What's gotten into you? I walk over and sit down but you don't move. “Hey, wha-”

Is this a joke? Wait what? You think this is funny, you piece of shit?

”Hey wait a minute, you didn't like it?”

'Didn't like it?' I fucking hated it, what the fuck is this bullshit? You throw the book right in my face and the whole bar turns their eyes to us. This is my life. What fucking right do you have to do this? Is this what those notes of yours were? You think I'm some invalid, taking notes on my life under my nose just so you could write this garbage? Who the fuck are you, thinking you can do this to me?

”Hey wait, hold on now, what the fuck's your problem? This is a good thing you asshole!

Get the fuck out of my Goddamn face you piece of shit. I trusted you, and you didn't even ask. I ought'ta beat your fucking ass. My one good book ruined me. ”I don't understand, I thought you'd love this. It's all about you, you'll never be forgotten! You and Margie and-”

>If you EVER speak her name again I will fucking kill you
>[punches Ken]
>[storms out]

>>44775
>punches ken

>>44775
Punch Ken.

>If you ever speak her name again

As I mouth the words your fist rockets across the table and I don't even have time to flinch before it slugs me upside my jaw. My teeth smash together, my head flung upward. I lurch over the back of my chair and the whole thing gives beneath me. The next thing I know I am flipped over and you are standing over me, your fist trembling and your eyes quaking in rage.

If you don't get the fuck out of here right now I'll take your fucking eye out, you hear?

I scramble to my feet and slink out the door. I am absolutely floored, how could you be so upset? I didn't ask you before because I thought you would tell me no, but I was sure you'd love it if you could have just read a complete version. Audiences would love you! Who the fuck are you to be mad at me for this? Can't you see how important this is, can't you just understand?

It is Tuesday morning and I get on the internet to check for reviews. I open every critic's website I can think of and I refresh all day, finding more and more. One after another they're all positive. Not overwhelmingly so, but they seem to like it. They actually like it. I told you, why couldn't you just understand that?

As the weeks go by the reviews stop popping up. They're mostly positive, some are negative and I can understand many of their complaints, but honestly I think a few missed the point. One blogger called it a “masterpiece.” I wanted to print that and frame it but I'm not that egotistical.

I have started dating again, I met a really nice girl. She was quite impressed that I'm a published author. I'm writing this letter because I hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive me. My agent is calling me with good news. Apparently some Hollywood exec wants to buy the rights to the book. I made it, I actually made it! I knew I'd do well. I wish you could have been happier with what I did for you. I can't believe you just threw it all away.

Micah left me today. She called me a fraud and an asshole after I told her about you. It has been four months since you lost your temper, you asshole. I'm sorry. The movie deal has just fallen through, I'm out a lot of money. The critics still love me though. I've received a lot of questions about what my next book will be about, but truthfully I don't know if I can write another one. How could I pull that off? What would I even write? Another scifi novel would never go down well, everyone hates mine. I'm afraid I may have to coast on you now that I've grappled my way atop your shoulders.

Do you know what today is? It's a full year since I first stumbled into the bar with my mates and played that stupid game. I was tight on money then, but I was till better off than today. I blew all my earnings from A Good Man already. I was counting on that movie deal. Why won't you appreciate my work? I went to all that effort to ingrain your story in history forever and you called me an asshole over it. That was really ungrateful, you know?

I've decided to write another book, I've got an idea about it I think will really sell. It's calle- I wish you the best in life. -ut my agent wouldn't even send it to the publisher, he says it's garbage and will never work. He encourages me to go back to scifi, he says that though they weren't well received I at least made some money off them. I am losing everything, I should have just given up on the book and found another job while I was still ahead.

I have been diagnosed with depression and anxiety. I have been prescribed medication but I can't afford it. I think you could probably relate to that, you grew up dirt poor after all. I am realizing this was no one's fault but my own. I used you, I stole your story. I boxed it up in a pretty little package and sold it for my own gain. Your name wasn't even on the cover. Why did I do that?

It is Saturday and I am so sorry for what I did to you. I never should have written everything I did. I wish I could take it all back, but I know it's far too late now. What is done is done, and I am truly sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, I'm sorry I stole. You must understand it came from good intentions. I know I fucked up. I wanted it to be told, you deserved that much. I couldn't just let it slip away like that, but I had nothing! You should understand that at the very least. You know they loved it, right? You were a good man after all. You know they loved you right? You had a great life story. But you didn't write that book, I did. You will never hear from me again, no one will. I have no more stories to tell now. I am not good enough for anything original. I pilfered and stole what I could and now everyone expects more. It'll never come. My one good book ruined me. I'm writing this letter because I hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive me. I'm sorry, I wish you the best in life. You were a better man than I. -Ken

fin

If anyone has any questions, feel free to ask. My twitter is[ https://twitter.com/Zombinedotrar if you didn't catch it above. I'll be running another one-shot this upcoming Friday. Overall I had a lot of fun with this first quest, I learned a lot and I look forward to more quests with you anons!

Def one of the best reads on here

>>45571
Jesus fuck

Bravo, my good man. Someone save this thread, this is /qst/'s first classic.

>>45639
It's sitting in the archive at 17 points so far, so that's pretty neat. Thanks for the praise anons, it means a lot!

Goddamn it ken.

God fucking damn it all.

>>45571
Bravo. Fantastic read and very well written. I'll try to make it on Friday and see if I can't read the next one live.