Greetings All

[davidwshand]

Hello and greetings to one and all. ;D

Steve Awesome directed me to this fed and suggested it might be a good place to hang out as, in his words it "has a great atmosphere and everyone is cool with one another". First impressions are that he was right.

I recognise some of the people here, and I think some of you might know or have heard of me from past e-feds. I'm not writing at the moment, but still keeping an interest in what feds are out there and how people who's writing I like reading (such as Steve) are doing.

So just wishing all of you role-playing on here all the best, and I look forward to reading your stuff.

David

[John Anthony]

On behalf of the NCW join when ever you want. I am sure we all would like to have you here.

[Steve Awesome]

Great to see ya Shand. For those of you who don't know this guy, his stuff is amazing. If he does decide to get back into the game (maybe by lureing him with cool angles and great rp's like I know we can do) you'll see what I'm talking about.

Until then Shand I hope you enjoy what you read my friend.

[Bannedingo]

*stops eating Joe's left leg for a second*

welcome man.

[tylerjacobs]

Welcome to the nCw, hope we can convince you to join...

*looks around*

quick....please...before Leo rapes you!

[davidwshand]

Well, as I say, I'm not writing at the moment as I'm a bit busy with some other things, and the character I was using sort of came to an end. But I suppose you never say never.

[davidwshand]

Not a role-play (which is why I haven't posted it iin that forum, but just as an introduction/sample to my writing

.................................

The truth is that I haven't had a drink for a long time, haven't seen the need. Now, before we start, don’t get the idea that I am some puritanical zealot; that isn’t the case at all. I’m all too aware that I have no room to question the actions or lifestyle choices of others. Its just that life has kinda been divided into two distinct sections for me, and neither of them really brought about a need in me - or an opportunity - to indulge too heavily in the sins or sensations of the demon drink.

The first 23-24 years, of my existence – that’s what it was, an existence, I came to realise later on that I hadn’t really had a life yet – was one pretty easy going scenario after another. I was one of those guys who was never really one to make too many waves. If there was a path of least resistance to be trodden, that was where you’d find me. In those days I spent my time in the rural backwater I grew up in, and stress was something suffered by other people. I just stayed bright and cheery and kept up a don't give a **** attitude - my ****-eating grin plastered all over my stupid face.

But back then, I didn’t need to try. I was the guy at the party other people gravitated to, the one who was everybody’s friend, and I didn’t need alcohol or drugs to be in a good mood, 24/7. Though its immodest to say it, I had the looks, I had the athletic talent, and I had girls handing me their phone numbers as soon as I snapped my fingers. I used to think – and occasionally quote - that if I was doing any better, I would have had to be twins to cope with it.

So yeah, I watched other idiots get drunk celebrating the high school football successes and crash their car on the way home. That wasn’t my scene. I had other plans, and I thought I was smarter than all of them. If only I’d been smart enough to realise how ****ing dumb I really was.

So what happened when I was 24, and why did I speak of the two stages ? Well, we don’t have the time, and I don’t have the inclination, to really fill you in on all of that right about now – at least not the various details. I’m not even sure I could remember all of it in sufficient detail for you not to see it the wrong way anyway. It was a long time ago, and as the saying goes, you ough to make sure you bury the dead because they sure do stink up the place. It wouldn’t really do anyone a whole lot of good to go raking up the bones. Suffice it to say, and I apologise for slipping into yet another cliché, that I fell in with some ‘bad people’.

You see, while I didn’t make waves in my younger days, that didn’t mean I lacked a greater sense of ambition. The town I grew up in wasn’t exactly a Mecca for cultural or artistic stimulation, if you know what I mean. So yeah, no surprise, I wanted a way out – trouble was that I never wanted to work for it. You put cheap desire and lack of a work ethic together, and what you get is t-r-o u-b-l-e. You note the space in the middle of that word – that was where you’d started to find me more and more often. As I approached my middle 20s I still had a name in my town – but it wasn’t the sort of name you’d want.

‘Course, you step over that line and there’s only two possible outcomes. One is that you wind up in a morgue; the other is that you wind up sinking so deep into the darkness that you can’t even tell which way you need to swim to reach the surface. And well, hell, I ain’t dead, so draw your own conclusion.

I saw the inside of a jail cell for the first time when I was 25 years of age, and the view hasn’t changed much in 10 years. Oh, I travelled the world, but wherever I was, sooner or later, I’d screw up. Don’t matter if the cell was in Lubbock, Lisbon, or London, concrete and iron bars tend to look pretty similar the world over. Some people, they’d die inside with that kinda life. Others, they find salvation in the Lord. Well, I didn’t do either. I survived. And that’s all.

So you’ll understand, while I was falling from one jail cell to another, alcohol wasn’t exactly on the department of corrections menu. Isolation, and plenty of time to brood, oh sure, I had plenty of that. And they’ll go to work on you just as effectively as a bottle of Jack Daniels ever will.

So I never really needed or wanted drink, you might ask why I'm now sitting in a bar in some **** hole Mexican town 70 miles from the Texas border with a bottle of tequila, watching the beads of condensation on the bottle compete with the beads of sweat on my back for fastest downhill pursuit. The fact is that every time I close my eyes I see an image – a memory - that I don't want anymore. And every time I actually hear an unfamiliar sound I'm on edge. The bottle isn't open yet, despite being on the bar in front of me for 25 minutes, and I'm boring right through it with my eyes while my scuffed up boots shed their dust on to an already dusty floor, and the back of my neck roasts in the heat. This is safer than looking at anyone else. Something you learn in the places I’ve been. Sometimes eye contact can get you killed.

That’s not to say I don't know what’s going on. I've taken to being really careful about my environment. I know for example that the clock on the wall is 2 minutes slow, that the guy in the corner has just spilled some of his fish burrito down his shirt, that the jeep which just pulled to a stop outside has a dog in the back, and that the good looking girl in corner wearing the silver cross at her throat is wearing white panties. I notice plenty, but all I'm fixing my eyes on are this bottle.

Why? Because it’s a test. The truth is that this bottle is a symbol of the ****-storm I have allowed my life to become. If I decide to open it, to dive right into the bottom and to never come back to the surface, then I’ll know it’s over. Right now, it’s looking pretty ****ing tempting.

So I trace a circle on the side with my finger, and then rub the coolness over my eyes, it feels good. The stinking hole they call a restroom has removed the dust from my face but no amount of water can hide the pain that’s etched on my skin. The bottle looks good. Like I said, I didn’t drink much, but I think I can just remember what Tequila tastes like.

I don’t know if its chance, or if some higher power decided to step in, but at that moment the door opens, and in walk two guys who immediately catch my attention for all the wrong reasons. Two good ole boys from across the border in Texas out for their weekend of fun, probably trying to score some cheap dope and cheaper whores in one of the border towns. They’re little more than kids, full of their own piss and vinegar, but I still find myself picking up the bottle and sliding down a couple of stools to the one at the end. They remind me of myself when I was that young, and I don’t want more reminders. I just want to be alone with my self-pity.

That’s when he calls out “Hey man, what you drinking there ?” At first I ignore him, don’t even raise my head, but then I hear his footsteps get nearer.

“Dude, I’m talking to you. You got ears ? What the hell you got a damn bottle of chilled Tequila sitting there going warm for ? Why don’t you open that and give me an’ ma’ friend here a drink ?”

This is a performance, for the benefit of his friend as well as the assembled crowd. Trouble is that I don’t want to be part of the show. I’d like to go on ignoring them, but they’re too close now, so instead I reach into my pocket and pull out a $10 bill. I throw it on the bar and gesture to the guy standing behind it.

“This has been here a while. Why don’t you let me set you boys up with a couple of fresh shots?” I offer, my voice staying soft, though with a lot more of a drawl than you might be expecting, given from where I’m from.

I expected this. His voice is harsher now, more full of himself.

“No man, I say we just open this one.”

His hand reaches out, but it doesn’t make the bottle. I snatch him around the wrist, holding his arm steady. He struggles, but he can’t move. I think he’s surprised. Once again, my voice stays level as I say

“Son, I really sure would appreciate you not doing that. Now, why don’t you sit down and I’ll get you a drink ?”

That’s when I notice his friend move, so I have to address him.

“And son, you really want to take my advice and keep your ass in that seat”

He freezes an inch from it, but his friend who I have a hold of has other ideas and I catch a flash of bright metal a second before I feel the blade slice into my arm. I should have seen that coming. Then I might not have to do what I do next.

You see, a guy pulls a knife on you, and you have two choices; You either go down, or you make sure he does.

I ain’t ready to go down just yet.

The heel of my hand slams into his throat and he hits the floor, choking and spitting all over his new shirt. A boot in the side of the head ensures he’s not getting back up again. Now his friend does move, but a solid right to the nose which causes his eyes to swim and messes with his vision ensures the fight is gone from him before it starts.

That’s when the bar tender and his friend jump across and break it up. I don’t wait for recriminations and accusations; I just turn toward the restroom and spend the next five minutes staunching the blood flow. I also pocket the knife he dropped, but that’s between me and you.

When I emerge back into the bar, its as if nothing has happened. The TV in the corner has been turned on, and our friends from across the border have made a run for it, the knifeman being dragged unconscious by his amigo. I go back to my seat but see my bottle has been replaced by the $25 I paid for it.

“Sorry bout that” I mumble.

“You better go” the barman suggests. Clearly he’s not the forgiving type.

So no drink for me today either. Seems the choice has been made for me. I’m not about to dive back into the abyss. They say the Lord works in mysterious ways, but how’d he manage this screwed up scenario?

I am just about to leave when I notice the image on the TV. It’s a face I know pretty damn well. He’s bigger than when I last saw him, even more aggressive and lively. But he looks good. I smile despite myself. I haven’t seen him in 5 years.

Steve Awesome.

I stare at the TV and a smile spreads across my face. Its not a nice smile.

Mysterious ways indeed.

[Steve Awesome]

Oh crap...I'm screwed. Lol.

[Bannedingo]

.....*trys to get a clause in my contract that i NEVER have to face this guy*

[tylerjacobs]

you know you could tottaly post that in the developmental rp board and it'd count