Post by evil on Mar 26, 2006 7:40:37 GMT -5
Hello, I (EVIL) am Thomas Bohley. My nickname is llama. It's an odd story, my mother used to call me tomma-llama-ding-dong, then my sister shortened it to tomma-llama, and it eventually became llama. And it stayed that way. Well... um... I enjoy writing 
Here's an example of the crap I like to write:
FOOTSTEPS
Chapter one:
Michael Darck sat in his living room watching television. His eyes began to close rapidly. He’d decided it was time to go to bed. Michael walked around a small coffee table, and headed up the wooden stairwell. He thought that he had seen a shadow standing by the stairs, but ignored it. He’d been imagining these kinds of things lately.
Michael entered his room. He stared at his bookshelf, thinking of possibly reading before he slept, and decided not to. He got into his bed, and slipped under his covers. And then came the sound of something running down the stairs. Michael lay there, terrified. ‘No fucking way am I going down there.’ he thought. After eventually deciding he’d prove to himself it’s only his imagination, he emerged from cocoon known as his covers.
His feet slowly pressed against the stairwell, causing slow creaks. Once he’d entered the living room, he’d seen nothing but his cat, Beast, sleeping on a black velvet couch. Michael let out a small giggle. Suddenly, the cat fell to the ground, jumped to it’s feet, and began hissing. “Oh, come the hell on.” Michael decided to get out of the house for a while, although it was Three o’clock A.M.
He entered his car, and began driving. After a while, Michael stopped at his friend, Ferguson’s house. He walked along three stepping stones on the small lawn, and rang the doorbell. In a few minutes, Ferguson answered the door.
“Hey, Ferggy. What’s up?”
“Mike...” Ferguson rubbed his tired eyes, “What are you doing here?”
“Late night special at the bar.”
“But you don’t drink.”
“Well, you’ll need a designated driver, right?”
Here's an example of the crap I like to write:FOOTSTEPS
Chapter one:
Michael Darck sat in his living room watching television. His eyes began to close rapidly. He’d decided it was time to go to bed. Michael walked around a small coffee table, and headed up the wooden stairwell. He thought that he had seen a shadow standing by the stairs, but ignored it. He’d been imagining these kinds of things lately.
Michael entered his room. He stared at his bookshelf, thinking of possibly reading before he slept, and decided not to. He got into his bed, and slipped under his covers. And then came the sound of something running down the stairs. Michael lay there, terrified. ‘No fucking way am I going down there.’ he thought. After eventually deciding he’d prove to himself it’s only his imagination, he emerged from cocoon known as his covers.
His feet slowly pressed against the stairwell, causing slow creaks. Once he’d entered the living room, he’d seen nothing but his cat, Beast, sleeping on a black velvet couch. Michael let out a small giggle. Suddenly, the cat fell to the ground, jumped to it’s feet, and began hissing. “Oh, come the hell on.” Michael decided to get out of the house for a while, although it was Three o’clock A.M.
He entered his car, and began driving. After a while, Michael stopped at his friend, Ferguson’s house. He walked along three stepping stones on the small lawn, and rang the doorbell. In a few minutes, Ferguson answered the door.
“Hey, Ferggy. What’s up?”
“Mike...” Ferguson rubbed his tired eyes, “What are you doing here?”
“Late night special at the bar.”
“But you don’t drink.”
“Well, you’ll need a designated driver, right?”
