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Lord of the rings, shmord of the rings, this is epic.
WCE (Worst Conspiracy Ever): A Creative Piece
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Carbine Chaos
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Writing the new piece now. Sorry about the delay, went for a long contemplative walk on a mountain last night to collect my ideas and thoughts.
The mighty Mount Henry?
Carbine Chaos
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Yeah, probably best you didn't dance like that at the Mt Henry, not in the sports bar anyway.
Carbine Chaos
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Shuey ran into the front garden, thoughts slowly turning from those of the painted Chelsea in Koby’s room to those of The King. He had brought Darling into this…whatever had happened to the star young forward was on his head. More blood on his hands…normally so clean in congestion, they were losing a bit of their shine.
He tore the tent open and rushed in. He recoiled in disgust to find the King, naked, writhing in pleasure underneath a shuddering girl in a school uniform. “Oh, Jack…Jack!”
“C...Call me The King.”
In a burst, Shuey crawled across and pushed the girl off the King’s sceptre crudely. She fell with a scream and hit the ground hard. Shuey recognised her instantly; her face had been plastered all over the media and the crotches of AFL players all season long. She was young, but old enough to know what she was doing was wrong. But shame wasn't the only thing painted over her face. “Kim Duthie?”
Wiping a clear liquid off her mouth, Duthie responded in anger. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Ignoring the girl and grabbing Darling by the collar, Shuey repeated the question. “What the hell, King?! She’s dead! You were supposed to keep us safe!”
Grabbing The King's collar was not something a rational man would ever do. Darling responded in typical fashion by flexing his muscles, sending Shuey flying across the tent and crashing onto the cold grass outside. The power forward ninja flipped to his feet and stood over the midfielder.
“Tell me…what she’s doing in your tent…Jack...”
“You’re asking the wrong person…she came to me. Snuck in during the night and started on me. You should be asking her…”
“Shit!”
Shuey yelped as Duthie, pulling her schoolbag on, ran past the two down the path onto the street. She ran up to a large bus parked across the road and knocked twice, quickly being pulled into the vehicle by a sea of zombie-like arms, grabbing at whatever they could. Shuey and Darling looked on in frustration as the St. Kilda team bus pulled down the road and out of sight; gone.
Scooter came up behind the two, puzzled look upon his youthful face. “What do we do now, Shue?”
A determined look came over Shuey’s face. This little setback wasn’t going to put him off avenging Koby, Will, and Chelsea’s deaths. He had a lead. One that he knew was going to lead him to the killer…or somebody who knew the killer, at the very least.
“Jack, take care of the body.”
“Can I…”
“No! Just hide it where nobody can find it for now. Scooter…we need to go to the lab.”
Shuey took out the strand of dark hair, twirling it around in his fingers. “This isn’t Chelsea’s hair.”
Scooter narrowed his eyes to look at the dwindling lock. “So who does it belong to, then?”
“Somebody who can tell us what the Port Adelaide FC is going on here.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
He tore the tent open and rushed in. He recoiled in disgust to find the King, naked, writhing in pleasure underneath a shuddering girl in a school uniform. “Oh, Jack…Jack!”
“C...Call me The King.”
In a burst, Shuey crawled across and pushed the girl off the King’s sceptre crudely. She fell with a scream and hit the ground hard. Shuey recognised her instantly; her face had been plastered all over the media and the crotches of AFL players all season long. She was young, but old enough to know what she was doing was wrong. But shame wasn't the only thing painted over her face. “Kim Duthie?”
Wiping a clear liquid off her mouth, Duthie responded in anger. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Ignoring the girl and grabbing Darling by the collar, Shuey repeated the question. “What the hell, King?! She’s dead! You were supposed to keep us safe!”
Grabbing The King's collar was not something a rational man would ever do. Darling responded in typical fashion by flexing his muscles, sending Shuey flying across the tent and crashing onto the cold grass outside. The power forward ninja flipped to his feet and stood over the midfielder.
“Tell me…what she’s doing in your tent…Jack...”
“You’re asking the wrong person…she came to me. Snuck in during the night and started on me. You should be asking her…”
“Shit!”
Shuey yelped as Duthie, pulling her schoolbag on, ran past the two down the path onto the street. She ran up to a large bus parked across the road and knocked twice, quickly being pulled into the vehicle by a sea of zombie-like arms, grabbing at whatever they could. Shuey and Darling looked on in frustration as the St. Kilda team bus pulled down the road and out of sight; gone.
Scooter came up behind the two, puzzled look upon his youthful face. “What do we do now, Shue?”
A determined look came over Shuey’s face. This little setback wasn’t going to put him off avenging Koby, Will, and Chelsea’s deaths. He had a lead. One that he knew was going to lead him to the killer…or somebody who knew the killer, at the very least.
“Jack, take care of the body.”
“Can I…”
“No! Just hide it where nobody can find it for now. Scooter…we need to go to the lab.”
Shuey took out the strand of dark hair, twirling it around in his fingers. “This isn’t Chelsea’s hair.”
Scooter narrowed his eyes to look at the dwindling lock. “So who does it belong to, then?”
“Somebody who can tell us what the Port Adelaide FC is going on here.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
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dammit the king's almighty weakness women in tents, how did they know
Great stuff Thorne.
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What's most amazing is the kings efforts. Managing to unload one in her mouth then chucking her straight on top for more.
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Superb Thorne!!
EagleCanival
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another superb one thorne, it should be named 50 shades of blue and yellow
It's a widely held theory that Jack the Ripper was a man of medicine. That's all I'm saying.
SinkingDeeper
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It's the second and third efforts that make him great!
Carbine Chaos
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“It’s a PCL. I’m calling it now.”
Dr. Peter Larkins stepped back from the bearded body on the pavement, wiping the sweat off his forehead. Being the official AFL coroner wasn’t an easy job…he’d been called out to ten separate Lindsay Thomas alleged shootings this month alone. Thomas had been fine each time, of course. But one could never be too careful.
Throwing his cigarette down on the ground like he owned the place, Darcy strode up and frowned at the body. “PCL? Are you sure?”
Larkins rolled his eyes. Wasn’t he the doctor here? He had the online degrees and Channel 7 contract to show it, after all. “Possible ACL, I suppose. Should be right in a few weeks.”
Larkins stood up and began to walk away from the body. Darcy took one last look before standing up and turning to the small crowd that had gathered to look. He cleared his throat, making sure all of the attention was on him. “Ladies and gentlemen, William Schofield launched himself in front of a bullet to save the lives of a man and a woman who were headed this way at approximately 7.52pm last night. He died a very brave man. Very brave indeed.”
Darcy slid his sunglasses back on, CSI Miami-style, and grinned a toothy grin. “Now…if you’ll excuse me…I have a young man I need to find and probe.”
He walked away down the road, leaving the body in the hands of the paramedics.
At the back of the huddle of onlookers, Ross Lyon crunched the newspaper in his hand and threw it in the bin on his way around the corner. This was a disaster. Another headline. What were the odds? Clancee Pearce had reached the preliminaries of Masterchef Australia with a delightful Chicken Curry, and all he received was a Hagdorn piece on page 42? Sacrilege.
“Psst.”
Lyon stopped in his tracks. The voice was coming from a seemingly deserted alley to his left. Probably Michael Johnson; but could he take that chance?
“Ross…over here…”
The balding coach shuffled towards the source of the whisper. “What?”
“I’ve got a proposition for you.”
Ross shuffled uncomfortably. The last time he had been given an offer in a back alley…actually, the second to last time he had been offered something in a back alley, it had been Steve Rosich offering him the position of Fremantle coach. This had to be huge.
“Oh?”
“You want the Eagles out of the West? Well…so do I.”
A smile came over Ross’s face as he leaned further into the alley, trying to get a glimpse of the mysterious benefactor. “I’m listening.”
“I think it’s time you joined my little operation.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
Dr. Peter Larkins stepped back from the bearded body on the pavement, wiping the sweat off his forehead. Being the official AFL coroner wasn’t an easy job…he’d been called out to ten separate Lindsay Thomas alleged shootings this month alone. Thomas had been fine each time, of course. But one could never be too careful.
Throwing his cigarette down on the ground like he owned the place, Darcy strode up and frowned at the body. “PCL? Are you sure?”
Larkins rolled his eyes. Wasn’t he the doctor here? He had the online degrees and Channel 7 contract to show it, after all. “Possible ACL, I suppose. Should be right in a few weeks.”
Larkins stood up and began to walk away from the body. Darcy took one last look before standing up and turning to the small crowd that had gathered to look. He cleared his throat, making sure all of the attention was on him. “Ladies and gentlemen, William Schofield launched himself in front of a bullet to save the lives of a man and a woman who were headed this way at approximately 7.52pm last night. He died a very brave man. Very brave indeed.”
Darcy slid his sunglasses back on, CSI Miami-style, and grinned a toothy grin. “Now…if you’ll excuse me…I have a young man I need to find and probe.”
He walked away down the road, leaving the body in the hands of the paramedics.
At the back of the huddle of onlookers, Ross Lyon crunched the newspaper in his hand and threw it in the bin on his way around the corner. This was a disaster. Another headline. What were the odds? Clancee Pearce had reached the preliminaries of Masterchef Australia with a delightful Chicken Curry, and all he received was a Hagdorn piece on page 42? Sacrilege.
“Psst.”
Lyon stopped in his tracks. The voice was coming from a seemingly deserted alley to his left. Probably Michael Johnson; but could he take that chance?
“Ross…over here…”
The balding coach shuffled towards the source of the whisper. “What?”
“I’ve got a proposition for you.”
Ross shuffled uncomfortably. The last time he had been given an offer in a back alley…actually, the second to last time he had been offered something in a back alley, it had been Steve Rosich offering him the position of Fremantle coach. This had to be huge.
“Oh?”
“You want the Eagles out of the West? Well…so do I.”
A smile came over Ross’s face as he leaned further into the alley, trying to get a glimpse of the mysterious benefactor. “I’m listening.”
“I think it’s time you joined my little operation.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
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I wanna see Coxxy with a full length overcoat and sunglasses pull out twin pistols aka Neo from the Matrix style
Another fine offering Thorne.
Carbine Chaos
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I'm going out for tea and am planning on having a few beers as to forget that I'm with family.
Expect some good stuff tonight when I get home.
Expect some good stuff tonight when I get home.
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I don't think it's too much to ask to demand thorne put his life on hold until this is finished.
Carbine Chaos
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I don't think someone with a life even begins to write something this convoluted.
Carbine Chaos
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McGovern was going to be a bouncer, but Darling got the nod in the end.
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