Lend me your majic writers !!!

I thought it'd be fun to write a story and begin at the end move to the beginning and end in the middle.

So........... I've started at the end, moved to beginning, and now I want to see if anyone can give me a cool middle to end with.

The end and beginning are set in stone but the middle is up in the air and has alot of possibilities.

Anyone wanna give it a go?

[edit on 8-8-2005 by John bull 1]

Lying in a seriously sedated state Dwayne Banks was still trembling on the hospital bed. A detective was sitting in a chair next to his bed asking questions but getting little from the terrified man. Dwayne had cuts and bruises on his face and head as well as a broken arm and three cracked ribs. He had been found wandering bloody and incoherent along the side of a highway in a rural section of Florida, nearly forty miles from where he had last been seen. There was no sign of his best friend Rusty Pollard and no explanation for what had happened. That was what the detective was trying to get from Dwayne, some sort of explanation. What had caused his injuries? Where was Rusty Pollard? How had Dwayne ended up so far from the fishing lodge? There were many questions and there were no answers coming from Dwayne Banks. The man was simply too frightened to talk, too terrified to make sense even if he could talk. The detective was beginning to believe the Dwayne and Rusty must have gotten into a fight and Dwayne may have killed the other man but that still didn’t explain why Dwayne had been found so far away from the fishing lodge. The truth, the real story was being played out over and over in Dwayne’s mind keeping him such a state of shock and terror.

Three days before he had been found wandering along the highway Dwayne had set out to do some fishing with his friend Rusty. The two men had made reservations at an exclusive fishing lodge near the top of the Florida everglades. The lodge is famous for it’s large well stocked lakes full of championship sized large mouth bass. After checking in to the lodge the two men had had a few drinks in the bar and gone to their rooms to change into their fishing clothes and get their gear ready. Rather than use one of the small boats offered complementary the pair decided to walk to nearby lake and do some fishing in the saw grass and swamp that lined it’s edges. Both men had grown up in Florida and had little fear of the dangerous wildlife that calls these areas home. Alligators, snakes, insects, all sorts of creature capable of causing injury live in the Florida’s swampy southern interior. On the walk to the lake they saw a few snakes and one large alligator but that wasn’t anything to be concerned with, what was though was that there was only a few hours of light left and the two were in a hurry to get some fishing in before night fall. Even though the two men had all weekend to fish they were determined to use every last minute they could for fishing on this trip. Rusty’s wife was getting tired of his weekend trips and Dwayne was having troubles with his business, both new this was the last fishing trip they were likely to take for quite a while.

The fishing was great! Dwayne had caught the largest bass he ever had and Rusty had pulled in a few large ones as well. It was dark now and the two were still fishing. They had intended to head back just as the sun set so as to still have light to walk by but the fishing was so good they couldn’t stop. Night in Florida is when the mosquitoes are most active, even with heavy applications of mosquito spray the two men were being bitten constantly. Dwayne was getting tired of the bugs and wanted to head back, besides he couldn’t wait to show off the monster fish he had caught. Rusty was about ready too, he was anxious to get a beer and some food and to call his wife and let her know he had arrived safely, he had forgotten to call when he first arrived at the lodge. That sort of offense was going to cost him, Rusty’s wife was not very forgiving when he forgot things like that. Dwayne had just shouted to Rusty telling him it was time to head back and Rusty agreed. The two men packed up their equipment, put the fish in a large cooler, and were about to head back.

Dwayne called over to Rusty who was about ten feet away. “Hey man, help me with this cooler. I’ll get one handle you grab the other, it’s just too damned heavy for me to carry by myself.”

Rusty answered back with an exited tone. “Hell yeah, we got some big bastards today didn’t we bro! I’ll help ya carry the cooler but I gotta find my flashlight first. It’s dark as hell out here and I don’t know where the heck I’m going.”

“All right.” Said Dwayne. “I wasn’t expecting to be out past sunset, I should start doing like you do and keeping one in my tackle box. But even if I did, you know how I am, I’d never change the batteries and the damn thing wouldn’t work when I needed it.”

Rusty found his small flashlight and the pair started back towards the lodge. The progress was excruciatingly slow as they stumbled through the dark carrying their gear and the heavy fish laden cooler. The flashlight was not much help, it gave just enough light to see the ground in front of them and little else. Neither man was certain they were headed the right way, they had gone to this smaller lake figuring it be a better spot instead of staying close to the lodge at the main lake. Now they were getting lost in overgrown jungle like Florida woods, in the dark, and without an adequate light source. Even though they had only walked about two and half or three miles to get to the fishing spot the men were getting the feeling that they may have to stop and spend the night out in the woods. They were obviously lost after two hours of walking and probably a good four miles traveled. That wasn’t all that bad a prospect for them as both had spent many nights as teens out hiking and camping in the national parks around Florida.

Sure, I'll give it a go. I have something in mind that kind of plays on the "twisted time" theme. I hope you enjoy it, even if it is perhaps not what you may have had in mind.

It is an honour and a pleasure to work with so talented a writer. Hopefully my humble effort will please you. I'll post it when it's done, which should be fairly soon.

Congratulations on the contest, by the way. Your story was simply incredible - an example of truly gifted storytelling.

[edit on 8/8/05 by Jeremiah25]

Dwayne looked down at his hands through the smoke and the flame and the heat. The nails were cracked and brown and aged, but they had served their purpose. It had almost been merciful - their wounds had been so terrible. But it wasn’t mercy, it was gluttony. Their blood had called out to Dwayne as it spat itself onto the damp forest floor. Their cries of anguish and defeat and loss had sung to him across the glades, beckoning him from his long resting place. His ears bore witness to their story. There had been a great battle. Those from Low had fought those from High and had been overcome with violence. In their shame and their cowardice and their agony they had limped into the forests, hoping that the dense trees and the rumour of the alligators and the snakes would prevent those from High from following - and this it had done.

Those from Low had rested, tending to their ragged wounds and their crippled pride, believing themselves to be safe, thinking they had found a haven. But when the darkness fell they heard the cries from the black depths of the swamp and their own eerie battle cry seemed impotent, like the mewing of a helpless infant calling for its mother in the long dark of the night. Those from Low had not slept and they were guarded and ready and battle-hardened and it had mattered not at all. Dwayne entered their bloodied camp and poured forth his rage and his bitterness and his hate, and he tore them to pieces. Their clothes were swept up by the fire in the midst of their camp and danced about like ashes on the wind. Dwayne’s eyes watched as those from Low thrashed and split and gave forth their inner secrets. His ears were privy to their prayers, hope choking and gurgling in their throats when they realised that their God would not save them.

When it was over, Dwayne was sated. He looked down at the broken flag of those who had been from Low and noted, with some small sense of satisfaction, the way their blood mixed and bled into the mud of the forest floor. Dwayne looked down at his hands through the smoke and the flame and … and his hands were not his. They belonged to a smaller creature. Dwayne was not his name. It had called to him and crept upon him, but it was not him. Dwayne – a smaller creature. Not from Now. Dwayne was from somewhere that wasn’t Now. He was from the Nearly Now and he was not alone, not lonely. Dwayne cried out and it heard him and it knew it would not be alone, not be lonely for long. It would soon be the Now again.

Dwayne cried out in the dark. His scream sounded like the end of the world in the small, enclosed space of the tent. Rusty sat bolt upright, Dwayne’s scream dragging him out of sleep into total waking.
“What? What is it? Bro, what’s wrong?” Rusty pleaded as Dwayne kept screaming. He felt helpless and alone as his friend shook and screamed his throat raw. Rusty reached out and grabbed Dwayne by the arms and twisted him so that they were face to face.
“Dwayne, DWAYNE! Listen to me!”
Dwayne stopped screaming. He looked at Rusty and tears began to form at the corners of his eyes.
“What’s wrong? What … what happened? Did a snake … ?”
“I was … lonely” Dwayne said in a small voice.
“You were lonely? You were screaming bloody murder, buddy. You … lonely? Jesus Christ, Dwayne. Did … did you have a nightmare or something, bro?”.
“I was lonely and then I was hungry and then I was angry and then I was lonely again and then .. then I … I … Oh, no. It knows … it knows”. Dwayne’s voice had descended into a burbling squeak and tears ran freely down his face in two small torrents.
“What? Who knows what, Dwayne? You’re … you’re scaring me, buddy, talk to me”.

From outside the tent, a strange sound. Rusty heard it, but paid it no heed as he struggled with his friends sudden madness and his own inner fear.
“That’s it, pal, we’re getting you out of here. I’m gonna get dressed and get the stuff ready, okay? And then we’re gonna walk out of here, buddy. You’re gonna be okay, it’s … everything’s gonna be okay”.

Across the tent flap, a shadow – wicked spines casting a black silhouette against the rugged material, powerful arms that hung too low, tipped with wicked talons, a stringy, ragged mane that fell down a sloped back. From somewhere came the smell of long-ago gunpowder. From the door-flap of the tent came a high-pitched voice, like someone sucking helium through a straw:
“Not lonely … Now”.
Rusty slowly turned. Dwayne began to whimper and rocked back and forth like an infant.
“What the hell is …”
As the tent exploded around them, Dwayne’s legs came to life, even though he had not consciously willed them to do so. He felt something slide across his face and then his face was wet and his eyes began to sting. He heard Rusty calling his name again and again. He felt something hard hit him in the side and heard a sound like someone stepping on brittle twigs. His side began to hurt. His legs began to run and even though it made the pain in his side worse, Dwayne found himself unable to stop running. His legs were driven on by something older than conscious thought, by instincts that held sway since before writing and religion and civilisation, when men had huddled together in the darkness, terrified of the things that hunted them.

Twigs and branches cut his face and his arms. His side felt as though he had been skewered with fire. His legs burned and began to feel rubbery. As he ran, Dwayne heard a high-pitched wail from somewhere behind him. He couldn’t hear Rusty anymore, which was good. He felt bad that he had left his friend alone in the darkness. He hoped he wouldn’t be lonely.

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Forgive me if it goes against your ideas for the story or the theme you had in mind. You set the bar extremely high and it was difficult to meet your standards. I hope you enjoy it, though. You really gave me an open slate when it came to telling the story of what had happened to this poor guy and my imagination kind of ran away with me, as it often does when I have genuine talent to work with. Let me know what you thought.



[edit on 8/8/05 by Jeremiah25]

wow! this is good! ill have a go. Jeremiah25, you say how talented lookin4truth is, but you have talent my freind!

Dwayne stumbled and fell with a crash. The twigs had left their bloody trail on his face. He fell silent. He could hear the ripping of flesh behind him, and the noise of his pursuers. His mind went blank. The only thing that filled his head, like a flood, was the will to survive… he will survive.
Although Dwayne had not noticed it, a slight drizzle had began to fall. the wind chased itself though the trees, and the darkness closed in on Dwayne, huddled against a tree, like a frightened child in it mothers arms.
He looked back. There was darkness. A twig cracked. A footstep fell. The adrenalin rushed though him. He stood, shaking with cold fury. These were the people who had killed his friend; these were the people that spilt his innocent blood on the thirsty ground. Other twig cracked. Dwayne was no longer the hunted; he was the hunter. All of his senses zeroed in. he could see his adversary. He moved silently around the figure, coming completely silently behind him.
He attacked. His nails became weapons; his teeth a weapon, his body, a weapon. He tore the mans throat. The enemy screamed with pain and anguish. He could feel the tendons breaking, the warm blood gushed into his mouth-he liked the salty taste of it. He was no longer human. the enemy fell to the ground, his struggles weakening fast, his screams slowing down. It released its grip, and bit again, crushing the wind pipe. The enemy died. it looked up. Running footsteps were behind it. it ran again. This time though, it ran silently.

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hope it gives a lead!