rPSI/Xonar: rPSI Starts!

[DtJ Glyphmoney]

DO NOT POST IN THIS THREAD UNLESS YOUR NAME IS IN THE TITLE!

Okay! All of these threads have the same OP so don't worry about reading over the other ones. This is a very straightforward concept, you just take turns writing a story. There are a few rules I'd like to set in order to make this as effective as possible.

1. NO OUTSIDE COMMUNICATION. This is a BIG rule. I want to see every little bit of the story's development in this thread. And no, talking about it on AIM and posting a log is not okay.
2. There is no out of context. Everything you put in here becomes part of the story you're telling. That means if you break down and get mad at your partner and cuss him out, one of the two of you will have to find a way to justify that happening.
3. Don't be a ****. Don't go out of your way to ruin other people's stories. In the same fashion, don't be 100% dedicated to only getting what you want done too.
4. Don't write a novel each post. This rule was something I had a hard time with since I am trying to make this as free range as possible. Just don't overwhelm your partner with more story than they can handle is what I'm getting at.

Knowing myself, I've forgotten some rule again. Refrain from posting in this thread until you're planning to start the story.

 

[rPSIvysaur]

Winston sat silently in his leather chair. In front of him laid a cool, creamy sheet of paper, ready to soak up his knowledge. He searched his pockets for a pen. His fingers passed by a pencil, shortened by constant use. This pencil would not satisfy his craving for writing. He wanted his words to be permanent. There was a lingering insecurity about the temporary existence his presence. So he slid his hand past the pencil and found the pen in his pocket. The pen was elegant; it was well-made, and most importantly, it was permanent. He let the pen rest in his hand, fitting comfortably in there. The writing utensil extended to the paper and he began to scratch his thoughts onto the clean sheet of paper.

 

[#HBC | ZoZo]

The words flew out of his fingers. It wasn't a hobby, it was an addiction. Word after word, sentence after sentence were written on this simple, white sheet of paper.

Until the door opened. It opened excruciatingly slowly, seconds went by, but seconds became minutes. All the while, the sound of the door opening pierced through his eardrums, but he couldn't do anything. "Truly this is the meaning of experiencing life", he ecstatically thought.

I opened the door. It used to be no simple task to get into Winston's home, but being his best friend, he finally gave me the key last week.
As I entered the room, all my fears came true. There was Winston, wearing nothing but a shirt and his glasses. He looked at me as a newborn child looks at his parent. I approached him.
"Winston, did you really..."
I stopped, because it hit me. I saw it. I saw the pen in his hands. I saw the sheet on the table. Without a doubt, he's falling back into his old spiral of doom. It was clearly visible, the incoherent collection of lines on the sheet that he always used to call 'his calling'.

It's back.

 

[rPSIvysaur]

Winston's muscles tensed up. He didn't respond when I asked him. It is very typical of him to do this. He'll give people the silent treatment if he doesn't want to talk about something with them. This usually works, but I know Winston too well. In his childish ways, he usually grows weary of trying to give me the silent treatment when I don't say anything. It becomes a game of anticipation for him. So as long as I don't indulge him in ignoring me, he'll eventually give up.
He was especially resolved today to stay silent. It took upwards of thirty minutes of me sitting on his jumble of covers on his bed. He continued to scribble down ideas and thoughts on the paper.

When he finally gave up he turned to me and hissed, "what?"
"No, no, keep writing, I don't care."
He glanced at me with piercing eyes; being ignored was unbearable. He craved the attention now more than anything.

 

[#HBC | ZoZo]

Another thirty minutes passed. Thirty minutes filled with the deadliest glance I ever experienced. If I wouldn't know better, I'd say he is out for my blood. I grinned at the thought, knowing it could full well be possible in this situation.
He did not take it well.
Winston stood up, exposing his largely naked body. Immediately I noticed the scratch marks on the sides of his legs, the wounds weren't deep, but it was clear that Winston was not in a right condition.
"What?!"
"Mhmm?"
"Don't give me a "mhm", get out of my house!"
It was more than clear. He had been doing that damned Rainbow Dust again. His nervous system was largely turned off, as evidenced by the scratch marks. His thoughts were far from clear, that much was obvious.
I sighed and stood up. I've been through this situation a lot, and by now I've grown entirely immune to the pain.
"Winston, you're coming with me."

 

[rPSIvysaur]

At that moment I could see him reach for the pocket knife that lay on his dresser. I immediately lunged for the closest thing to defend myself with. It was his pen.
He was inches from attacking me. The cold blade whizzed past my face. I jumped back just far enough in time to avoid the first swipe. Unfortunately, the second swipe grazed my left arm and I started to bleed.
He was definitely out for blood. I had to defend myself. When he finally went for a third swipe, I grabbed his arm while dodging the blade and shoved the pen in his abdomen. He flinched slightly, but continued to swing wildy, fueled into craze by the drugs. It wasn't until I pulled the pen out after successfully evading a thrust that anything had happened to him. Blood started gushing forth from his gushing forth from his wound. Even when in a delirium, you still need blood to keep from blacking out.
He hit the ground in his own pile of blood. The crimson smeared on his face, along with a trace of ink.

 

[#HBC | ZoZo]

Fear. The walls seemed to twist. 'It is all over' was all I could think.
I froze. Adrenaline pumped through my body faster than ever before, yet, I froze.
But before I knew it, Winston stood up. The way he got up was unreal, almost robotic. I looked at his eyes, yet his gaze was emotionless.
He turned his head to me, and just stared at me.
His eyes were dead.
He was dead.

His mouth started moving, but only blood came out.
Black.

I came by. The stench of dead flesh immediately filled my nostrils.
I recognize this place. It's home. Finally home, and here I was, lying on the ground of the bathroom, with my back against the wall.
I managed to get up. Then I noticed I couldn't move my arm, upon further inspection, I found scratch marks all over my body.
Then I remembered.
I killed him.
Reluctantly, I looked to the bathtub on my left.

 

[rPSIvysaur]

I vomited right then and there. The mixture that came out of my mouth has half blood. But that was nothing compared to the atrocity I saw laying in the tub. It was a half rotten zombie corpse. Not really a zombie, but that's what it looked like. The drugs in his body had sped of the decay and nothing seemed to have stopped it. His pungent stench filled not only the bathroom, the aromatic nightmare flooded the entire apartment. I had to do something about the body.

 

[#HBC | ZoZo]

But how? How do I get rid of this?
There was no choice but running.
So I did. I didn't even bother locking the door. I just ran.
I started crying while running, but it was night, nobody saw me.
After hours of running, I ended up in the only place where people would still have me.

The underground.

In a dark alley, behind a backdoor in a dark pub, there would await my new home.

And then I arrived. I dried my tears, took a deep sigh and walked in.
A new life, huh... maybe this decision was made too hasty?