Continue the Story Game

Hey everyone!

So, just like the title says, let's keep this story going! The idea is simple: I’ll kick things off with an opening post to get the ball rolling, and then every single reply after that should pick up right where the last one left off. You can jump in with just a quick sentence if you're busy, or if you're feeling super creative, feel free to write a whole paragraph! The only real rule is that whatever you write actually has to make sense with the previous post and follow the plot.

Also, please make sure to include a number at the start of your post so we can easily tell what's part of the actual story and what's just us chatting in the comments.

And hey, if this particular setup isn't your vibe, don't sweat it—just go ahead and start your own thread!

Alright, let's get this show on the road:

1. The very moment I hit my 18th birthday, I was basically handed my bags and told it was time to move out of the house.

2. So, I hopped on a Greyhound and headed straight for the big city, just diving headfirst into that massive concrete jungle where everything feels so shiny and new that it actually left me with this little knot in my throat.

(question: what are those numbers going to do to us? 😕)

That day, we had beef stew with dumplings on the menu.

..stuffed peppers and mashed potatoes...in the cafeteria that day, things weren't even that hectic. swallowing my last dumpling while eyeing those peppers and potatoes out of the corner of my eye, I spotted him sitting at one of the tables...

Three pigs roasting on a spit out in the yard. It was snowing, everything else frozen solid, but the fire under those pigs kept crackling defiantly, sizzling away and sending out an incredible smell that made my mouth water.

I was just sitting there, lost in some idyllic daydream that any average meat-eater would probably find quite appetizing, when suddenly I got slapped right out of it. It was just a sharp, stinging flash across my right cheek, while this complete stranger started screaming at me for reasons just as incomprehensible as some fanatic in a desert firefight. Through all the chaos and noise, I could only make sense of a few scattered words:

"...idiot... the damn doors... the heating!!!" - she yelled at the top of her lungs, because the front door was standing wide open while it was -5 outside. Honestly, I don't blame her for being pissed.

...Richard Ramirez87, oh Richard Ramirez87... can you even believe what this guy is talking about!!! just toss that dark hair back, spin on a dime... it's practically pennies at this point...

All of this was being watched by my heavy-set neighbor Katie from her window, muttering under her breath. Then, suddenly, the phone rang.

It was a call coming straight from the Republican Party headquarters.

On was on the phone, his voice cracking and trembling as he started stuttering through the words: "G-g-good afternoon, could I sp-sp-speak with the highly r-r-revered Mr. Pu-pu-pu... Putin?"

Hey, Katie? Yeah... what now? We’re just gonna screw over your retired mom and snatch 20 percent of your $350 monthly check...

Katie completely lost it, to put it mildly. Between the sternness and that underlying layer of bitterness and disgust, Plenković’s voice was enough to chill her right to the bone. It wasn't even the fear of having her pension swindled again—she’s already grown used to that particular brand of theft—but rather the sheer shock of realizing that Plenković actually knows the truth: that she, Katie, is Putin's one and only mistress.

"I know everything, Katie," Plenković groaned into the receiver. In those brief moments when she wasn't reeling from the initial shock, Katie found herself thinking about how strangely attractive Plenković sounded over the phone. It felt almost impossible to reconcile that voice with the man on TV who looks like he’s growing roots while cursing out journalists. "Everything about you, my sweet little Katie,"

It honestly felt like a quick trip back in time for Katie... first to Dresden... staying in that tiny little studio apartment... and then off to Saint Petersburg for those long walks down Nevsky Prospect with her Vlad... what did she used to call him again?

Vlad, honey, she gives him a quick kiss on his clean-shaven cheek, and while she's at it, she subtly activates the tiny microphone hidden inside that emerald ring on her index finger—it’s linked straight to our Discord group—and whispers, "Remember that Chinese man we ran into back in Saint Petersburg? What was his name again?"

He called himself some kind of big shot just because his old man worked at the Chinese Embassy, though really his mom's side was all about that Trans-Siberian Railroad life... but honestly, that’s just how things work for Katie, she spent her days drifting through small towns in Spain before heading back home to a major US city where she finally got a decent smartphone, a laptop, and high-speed internet, only to spend all her time getting hooked on Discord and various online chats...

Hey Vlad, listen, my buddy Van Chen reached out yesterday asking if we could grab coffee tomorrow afternoon at the town square. You down to join us?

whatever..you’re really pushing my buttons here and I’m done..I might as well just bomb the whole thing..now you’ve actually got me worked up..you have no idea how much stress I'm dealing with right now..I'm honestly about to snap and hit the red button out of pure frustration..boom..just go do whatever you want...

🙂
Good grief, I’m going to end up having to go by myself, because you just won't budge on the swap. That guy from Houston was actually asking if I'd sell him three rockets—honestly, I don't have the slightest clue what he's talking about. Just tell me how much cash I should grab from him so I can take them off his hands.

Money wasn't even the issue, since there wasn't any money to begin with, but those damn rocket scientists were just out there doing their own thing anyway.🙂