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Have a read of last contributions to the open stories listed below. If you are interested in making a contribution for one of the stories simply click the "contribute" link under the last contribution below.

One, two, three ...

percussion, love, music, impossible, tumour, chocolate.

The night was dark, calm and warm when I suddenly woke up on the sofa and it took me good few seconds (in the dark suddenly awake it feels like hours) that it was a sound of percussion that woke me up. All the love of playing instruments that I would normally declare during the day was gone and it turned out that it was only worth one interrupted sleep. At first I wanted to just call it a noise and run out to just stop it but by the time I switched on the light, found my sleepers and bathrobe I had to be honest to myself, admit it was beautiful music and sit on the chair listening to it. It wasn't as elaborate and complex as classical music nor as banal as a song and no, by no means it wasn't jazz but probably the reason that it was impossible to classify made it so mesmerising.
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Weaken Us Not

Sweat was forming on the man’s brow as he seemed to narrow his focus. The shear intensity with which he was concentrating upon Ashley was almost frightening.

As Ashley and her fellow waitress worked on cleaning up the mess, this man began to visibly shake, and he was clutching the table, almost as if to restrain himself from lunging forward.

It was then that a thought occurred to Emily.

No, not occurred, but...more so...happened upon her.

She knew that this would all sound ridiculous when she later shared her story with her therapist, but Emily could swear that the thought that came to her was not her own. She was somehow certain that it was the man sitting at the table whose thoughts she was now perceiving. Worse, is that Emily was now 100% certain that what had just occurred was no accident. That man had somehow willed all of this to happen.

LADIES! It's Business as Usual

Not wanting to go back through the house to retrieve the cell phone that I had left in the kitchen, and having to deal with all of that again, I decided to put my umbrella to good use.

Circling around to the back side of the house, I approached what I thought was the kitchen window. It was a little bit higher off the ground than I had imagined it was, and I wasn’t able to peek inside to make sure that no one was there.

“Who in that house would possibly have any reason to be in the kitchen at this time of day?” I asked myself. Though I waited for an answer to my query, I was unable to provide myself with one, so I reached up as high as I could and began jimmying the window open with the point of my umbrella.

Never been kissed under a bridge (this is the one)

A smile appeared on Lucilla's face. Just thinking about it made her ecstatic. It'd be the first time she'd be seeing -and hearing- Daniel Matarazzo and the Opera... But then, she realized, she never told the driver about the Opera.
"Um, excuse me, sir, how did you-"
"-know you were going to the Opera?" finished the driver her sentence. "Oh, Lucilla", said the man, and the car stopped abruptly. He turned around to face her, and a big, twisted smirk was on his face.
Lucilla, scared, tried to get out of the cab, but the doors were locked. Her heart started to beat faster.
"Oh, my dear, sweet Lucilla. You can't get out."
"How do you know my name!" screamed Lucilla. She grabbed the pocketknife she carried inside her purse and pointed it towards him.
"Put that down, Lucilla. You won't need it where you go." drawled the man. He came closer to Lucilla, while he whispered, "Shame, Matarazzo would've loved you."
Lucilla screamed as hard as her lungs allowed her. Then, everything went to black.
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