Community - Message Boards

 

Message Board Game Room

CONTEST: 'A Day in the Life.....'

ms helen
ms helen

Hello, fellow Gumshoes!

Have you ever wondered what the Morgue Assistant really does with all those cadavers? Maybe you've wondered why Preston spends all his time in the bar?

We'd like to know what really goes on during the day-to-day life of some of our most well-known townies - and this is where YOU, my fellow gumshoes, come in.

We want you to write a story about a day in the life of a Townie. You may pick ONE of the following:

Pawn Broker
Beat Cop
Bartender
Reporter
Morgue Assistant
Tobacconeer

This contest is open to everyone, whether subscribed or unsubscribed.

THE RULES

Stories must be written in either first or third person.

Stories must not be longer than 1 forum post.

One Story per detective, and you may NOT use alt detectives to submit more.

Spelling and Grammar ARE important. Remember, Spell Check is your friend!

No Plagiarism, we expect your story to be completely your own work.

Please, remember the game is set in the 1950's, so no cell phones, personal computers/laptops, etc.

Also remember this is a detective game, so some form of mystery in the story will net you extra points.

The Judges: Anikka, Develin, Fletchi, and Ms. Helen. In the event of a tie our beloved Squirrel will have the deciding vote.

THE PRIZES:
1st Prize: 3 month sub + special item
2nd prize: 2 month sub + special item
3rd prize: 1 month sub + special item

Plus, anyone who posts a worthy entry (ie, NOT: i iz entering cuz i wanna win) will get a special little something too.

DEADLINE:
31st October 2010 (23:59 or 11:59 PM Server time)

Please post below if you have any questions. Please post your entry into this thread.

Good luck, all!

Replies
Sara Meyers
Sara Meyers

I don't got no wifey or ankle biters, but I get up at 7am every mornin'—so's I can get to the gym. You don't keep your weight at 250 when you're 5 feet tall without regular exercise, you dig? After my 9 minute workout—up from 7 just this week!—I go to Maggie's diner—best muscle food in town: fried eggs, bacon, sausage, corned beef hash, ham—ya know. By the time I've finished, it's near time for lunch. I gotta work hard to get to Mel's diner by noon—that's when the best steaks, burgers, chops and ribs're ready. It takes a long time to get through all that, but gotta build up my muscles. I don't got an easy life, you can see that already. The bar opens at 5, which gives me just enough time to switch my threads (BBQ sauce, ya know), and get to work. Lucky for me, we got a grill there, otherwise I'd starve to death between brewskis. (Don't tell the boss—he don't know I eat on the job.) And to top it all off, every time I turn around some germ's comin' in and askin' me about some nerd or other—where they live, were they here that day, whatever. I'm like, hey, nosebleed, you writin' a book or somethin'? It's like they're just crusin' for a brusin'. Sometimes I'll clue 'em—sometimes I 'm like, get bent! Well, that's it--ain't much, but it's a life. Now I'm goin' to pile up some z's and start all over again in the am.

Belami
Belami

Reply deleted by Moderator.

Belami
Belami

Reply deleted by Moderator.

Belami
Belami

Reply deleted by Moderator.

Belami
Belami

Reply deleted by Moderator.

Belami
Belami

Reply deleted by Moderator.

Belami
Belami

My name is Ron and I run the best and only pawn shop in this area. My business is successful, maybe because I keep myself to myself. I know how to keep a secret and I'm nobody's friend. My customers don't even know my last name. I'm just Ron.

But boy, do I know a lot about everybody else. Too much, you could say. You don't usually see people at their best at a pawn shop, and this place is no different. They come in, worried and talkative, and spill their sorry stories. So you get the middle-aged guy who can't make a house payment and comes in dragging an old drum set, the widow who lost her job and holds out her trembling hand to show her wedding ring, the laid-off mechanic with his greasy tool set that he's so proud of, or else some lonesome fool with an addiction and a runny nose, pulling his lawnmower in. I'll take most anything I can sell and I don't ask a lot of questions.

Today was no different. Some cute little number came in with a blue and white polka dot dress and a small handgun with a mother-of-pearl handle, suitable for a lady's pocketbook. I thought I saw the slightest bit of blood on it, but I didn't let on. It was a beaut and as I said, I don't ask a lot of questions. I'm gonna keep it in my backroom, the one with all the oddities these local folks bring in. There's things back there I never take out to the front. I just like to hang onto them. There's a woman's sapphire pendant that belonged to someone who is, God bless her, no longer with us. Her husband came in all upset and sold it to me for a song. Later, I read about it in the papers, that she was murdered and he had left town. The police are asking for information, as usual, but I never call them. I'm hanging on to that pendant. Yeah, this is the job for someone who likes collecting things. Sometimes I hold them and I wonder. I know that if these objects could talk, they'd have their stories to tell. And they'd tell me, only me. But they can't talk, and I won't. I'm just Ron, and I know how to keep a secret.

fam007
fam007

Ron, that's my name.. I don't prefer to reveal my last name, why? Because no one cares. I'm a loner and that's okay because I don't trust any being; they're all worthless.. To many, I'm a freak, to me many are freaks..
My neighbors at work, Tabitha and Rose.. nice people loved and respected even though their merchandise is pricey. A single woman in need of money like me has to over-price her items; my neighbors do it too. But when I do it, it's a crime.. My name and business gets slandered. I provide them the best possible goods and what do I get in return? "$45000 is too much for a trench!"... They browse around see what they like and when it's out of their budgets, they freak out and label my shop "stingy, full of over-priced stuff"! But that's okay... I've been listening to these cruel comments for over three years now and I'm accustomed to this... why? Because once a salesperson, always a salesperson!
Even though I strongly wish to, I can't quit this lame job I have two more mouths to feed.. Yes, I'm a widow with two children.. William killed himself due to poverty.. I can't do the same because I love my kids.. Oh William1 Where have you left me!
Oh well, I must go now to that drab, crummy job.. I can't talk now, I have customer complaints to listen to.

Likare
Likare

Reply deleted by Moderator.

Likare
Likare

Friday, June 12

The clock by my bedside showed 2pm,as i got up in my dingy apartment down over at Doylesburgh.
How many years ago from today was it? 5? 10? Lets just settle on 5, a man my age still has vanity.
I mused around for a bath, before locking up and heading out for my station at Gustav's. I nodded over to Gustav as i took my place at my usual stool. My drink was soon brought up as i began sipping. Ahh... sweet relief.
It wasn't long before Mr.Pippins showed up. I barely glanced at him but my heart was pumping like an AK-47 in the hands of a maniac. My mind was sharp alert as he sat down and drank. He soon finished his drink and went out the door. I gulped down what was left in my cup and stealthy followed.
I suddenly felt a pang of pain as i followed him, i knew where he was going, and i had my tape recorder in hand. He soon reached his destination-the graveyard. He took out a small brush and cloth and carefully washed the gravestone of Julia Pippin-Grosso. As he wiped, tears flowed down his cheeks, confessing how he killed his sister, who was caught in one of his uncontrollable rage. He left a bouquet of beautiful lilies-her favourite before he left.
I stepped out from behind the tree i where i was hiding, and held the recorded confession in my hand. I dropped to my knees as i reached Julia's grave. My Julia, my lovely wife, dead. I let out a shout of rage, as i tightly gripped the recorder. Tears had been flowing down for some time, yet it was only now that i was conscious of the wetness on my cheeks. Memories flowed uncontrollably of my darling Julia, how she smiled, how she laughed, how she loved her brother, her only kin. My head bowed low.
My face was dry when i finally got up, and buried the confession tape in the soil that covered Julia, beside the 4 others, that would forever lay with my Julia.
I took out a single Lily from my coat pocket and placed it on her gravestone before trudging back to Gustav's to indulge in another cup. That was life in a day of Beat Cop, Preston Grosso.

Reply

[ You must login to reply ]
 

Login Help