Anyone want to write a story?

[Cyclefrance]

Originally Posted by marichiko

Its been a while since we did one of these. Anyone up for another cellar group story? LJ used to be great about starting them up, and they were kind of fun. If anyone is interested in playing, the rule is that you use the name of another dweller in your part of the story and you have to mention whatever music was playing at that point in the plot. Any takers? I'll go first:

It was a dark and stormy night. The neighbor's cat had just shredded LJ's trash bag for the kazillionith time when gunshots were heard coming from across the street 3 houses down. LJ leaned out his window and hollered "COCK!" - perhaps at the cat or perhaps at the sound of the gunshots which had rudely awakened him from his slumbers. Busterb emerged from a darkened alley with his faithful dog, Sheila, hopped into his car and drove off with the CD player blaring "Send Lawyers, Guns and Money"...

They didn’t get far. As they turned the corner, a powerful set of headlights blazed at them from a large vehicle directly opposite. Busterb brought the car to an abrupt stop, but left the engine running - he had this feeling it was the right thing to do.

The other vehicle was big - a Hummer or something similar, Busterb thought. It didn’t look right. Sheila edged towards her master, whimpering knowingly. He could just make out a figure in front of the headlights – the rain made it so difficult. Sort of silhouetted ,but the strength of the glare and flap flap of the wipers made it hard to work out who or what is was. Near the ground it was a little easier and Busterb could make out the shape of army boots, combats tucked inside each bootleg. Busterb tried to shield some of the glare from his eyes. The rain eased slightly and he could just manage to trace the shape more clearly. His eyes worked upwards. It was a man – a big man - it looked like Urbane Guerilla, but he couldn't be sure.

There was a strange click-clack. He couldn’t work it out at first but then he knew. The barrel of an AK47 was pointed towards him. ‘What the he –‘. His words were cut off as the distinctive crack of rifle-fire pierced the cold, wet night air. A split-second later his windshield shattered into a million pieces and rain and glass crashed into his face. Sheila yelped. Was she hit? No time to check as he heard the click-clack again. Busterb thrust the gear into reverse and floored the gas pedal. The tires spun, the car vibrated violently, the smoke and smell of tyre rubber all around. The rain now beat against his face. Then the tyres found solid tarmac and gripped, and he was thrown forward suddenly as the car hurled backwards.

He grasped the wheel and spun it anticlockwise on full lock at the same time pushing the lever into drive. In an instant the car was facing away from the assailant and it raced forwards, Busterb fought to right the car as it lurched left and right. The rain was soaking him as he battled with the car's erratic movements, but he had it under control at last. Glancing in the mirror he could see the Hummer’s headlights rising and falling. That meant one thing - it was moving and in pursuit, but who the hell was it? And why was this man chasing after Busterb….??

A fresh track on the CD was just beginning. Gloria Gaynor, ‘I will survive’. Busterb had to smile - I hope you're right, he thought to himself, but he didn't sound that convincing, not even to himself...