The Neverending Story


Dec 7, 2011
Miami, Florida
This is a thread with very simple instructions: If you'd like to post, simply continue the story and take it in any direction you wish. You are highly encouraged to read the previous installment of the story in its entirety before you post your installment. Some degree of continuity is encouraged, but isn't obligatory.

The story begins thus:

Rafe left work on Friday evening feeling extremely stressed out. His boss had been breathing down his neck all day long over the minutest of details, and he had argued with several coworkers whom he normally wouldn't have argued with, including the beautiful Melissa, a woman he'd had a crush on for years. He couldn't stop beating himself up because of this particular argument; the arguments with the others just seemed to fade away.

He walked towards the bus stop near the building he worked at and sat down on the bench, bracing himself for what would almost certainly be an unpleasantly long wait. He sarcastically said to himself, "This should be fun." Making matters worse, the sun was in full force, and there wasn't a single cloud in the sky to provide even a brief amount of shade from its searing rays.

His trusty Civic had been stolen five days prior, and jumping on a dreaded public bus was his only way to get home.

His bus was very late; it took over an hour to arrive. Rafe got a decent tan due to the sun hitting him in the face while he sat at the bench. His shirt was drenched in sweat. As soon as he boarded the bus and sat down, he thanked his lucky stars for the air conditioning.

The first few minutes of his bus ride were uneventful; he was enjoying Dave Matthews' Crash on his iPhone, and he'd managed to immerse himself in the album nearly enough to forget his grim predicament: the hour-long bus ride home he had just commenced.

His peace was soon interrupted; he soon got a strong, uneasy feeling that he was being watched, one which he was unable to shake.

He looked around the bus, striving to find the source of his angst, but not a single passenger looked suspicious to him. Every passenger seemed to be minding his or her own business. Many were on their smartphones; one or two were reading magazines. A young, studious-looking lady wearing thick glasses was reading Guns & Ammo. "Well, that's weird," he thought.

But he couldn’t get past the nagging feeling that at least one pair of human eyes was on him.

He got off the bus at the bus stop near his house and started walking towards his house. On the way home, he stopped at a gas station and picked up a cold six-pack and a box of menthol cigarettes.

He walked into his house, put five cans of beer in the fridge and opened one up and began chugging it without a moment's hesitation. Then he found the box of cigarettes in the grocery bag. “Huh? Why did I buy this?” he asked himself. “I don’t ******* smoke!"
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