NVR: Whole Sentence Story
Posted by SnowQueen690 on Aug 30, 2007 · Member since Jun 2005 · 1569 posts
Seeing as the three word story was so popular I would like to do something similar. I am going to put a sentence down as a story starter. The next person is to add to that sentence with another sentence. So instead of three words, this is going to be whole sentences added with each post.
The night was cool and felt damp on her skin, the moon was new so it was very dark and in the distance she could hear the wolves singing their mournful cry so eary that it sent chills down her spine.
The night was cool and felt damp on her skin, the moon was new so it was very dark and in the distance she could hear the wolves singing their mournful cry so eary that it sent chills down her spine. She was alone, and yet not afraid of the darkness closing in, not afraid of the wild creatures being so near, not afraid of her own loneliness.
The night was cool and felt damp on her skin, the moon was new so it was very dark and in the distance she could hear the wolves singing their mournful cry so eary that it sent chills down her spine. She was alone, and yet not afraid of the darkness closing in, not afraid of the wild creatures being so near, not afraid of her own loneliness. The half-empty bottle of Jack dangling from her hand may have had something to do with that.
The night was cool and felt damp on her skin, the moon was new so it was very dark and in the distance she could hear the wolves singing their mournful cry so eary that it sent chills down her spine. She was alone, and yet not afraid of the darkness closing in, not afraid of the wild creatures being so near, not afraid of her own loneliness. The half-empty bottle of Jack dangling from her hand may have had something to do with that. lighting a joint, she thought back to the night before, when things were better. After one long hit, she could feel the pain of her life fading into numbness. Had she been sober, the memories of the previous night would have caused an aching in her chest and her eyes to tear up.
The night was cool and felt damp on her skin, the moon was new so it was very dark and in the distance she could hear the wolves singing their mournful cry so eary that it sent chills down her spine. She was alone, and yet not afraid of the darkness closing in, not afraid of the wild creatures being so near, not afraid of her own loneliness. The half-empty bottle of Jack dangling from her hand may have had something to do with that. lighting a joint, she thought back to the night before, when things were better. After one long hit, she could feel the pain of her life fading into numbness. Had she been sober, the memories of the previous night would have caused an aching in her chest and her eyes to tear up. It is trite, but true: Breaking up IS hard to do.
The night was cool and felt damp on her skin, the moon was new so it was very dark and in the distance she could hear the wolves singing their mournful cry so eary that it sent chills down her spine. She was alone, and yet not afraid of the darkness closing in, not afraid of the wild creatures being so near, not afraid of her own loneliness. The half-empty bottle of Jack dangling from her hand may have had something to do with that. lighting a joint, she thought back to the night before, when things were better. After one long hit, she could feel the pain of her life fading into numbness. Had she been sober, the memories of the previous night would have caused an aching in her chest and her eyes to tear up. It is trite, but true: Breaking up IS hard to do.
She had met Sara on her first day at NYU, over 8 years ago. The first time she saw Sara was in chemistry class. I know this sounds like a cliche, but when we both grabbed the bunsen burner at the same moment and our eyes locked I was instantly smitten.
you guys always go blue... ;D ;D ;D
off topic, i know. carry on.
The night was cool and felt damp on her skin, the moon was new so it was very dark and in the distance she could hear the wolves singing their mournful cry so eary that it sent chills down her spine. She was alone, and yet not afraid of the darkness closing in, not afraid of the wild creatures being so near, not afraid of her own loneliness. The half-empty bottle of Jack dangling from her hand may have had something to do with that. lighting a joint, she thought back to the night before, when things were better. After one long hit, she could feel the pain of her life fading into numbness. Had she been sober, the memories of the previous night would have caused an aching in her chest and her eyes to tear up. It is trite, but true: Breaking up IS hard to do.
She had met Sara on her first day at NYU, over 8 years ago. The first time she saw Sara was in chemistry class. I know this sounds like a cliche, but when we both grabbed the bunsen burner at the same moment and our eyes locked I was instantly smitten. She had this soft masculinity to her that was hard to pinpoint--hard but soft, confident but also modest and shy. Her cologne was as isoteric as her personality, the scent reminescent of nutritional yeast.
The night was cool and felt damp on her skin, the moon was new so it was very dark and in the distance she could hear the wolves singing their mournful cry so eary that it sent chills down her spine. She was alone, and yet not afraid of the darkness closing in, not afraid of the wild creatures being so near, not afraid of her own loneliness. The half-empty bottle of Jack dangling from her hand may have had something to do with that. lighting a joint, she thought back to the night before, when things were better. After one long hit, she could feel the pain of her life fading into numbness. Had she been sober, the memories of the previous night would have caused an aching in her chest and her eyes to tear up. It is trite, but true: Breaking up IS hard to do.
She had met Sara on her first day at NYU, over 8 years ago. The first time she saw Sara was in chemistry class. I know this sounds like a cliche, but when we both grabbed the bunsen burner at the same moment and our eyes locked I was instantly smitten. She had this soft masculinity to her that was hard to pinpoint--hard but soft, confident but also modest and shy. Her cologne was as isoteric as her personality, the scent reminescent of nutritional yeast. I asked her if she was vegan. She couldn't answer me right away though, because she was yelping in pain from the bunsen burner that had scorched her hand a moment earlier.
The night was cool and felt damp on her skin, the moon was new so it was very dark and in the distance she could hear the wolves singing their mournful cry so eary that it sent chills down her spine. She was alone, and yet not afraid of the darkness closing in, not afraid of the wild creatures being so near, not afraid of her own loneliness. The half-empty bottle of Jack dangling from her hand may have had something to do with that. lighting a joint, she thought back to the night before, when things were better. After one long hit, she could feel the pain of her life fading into numbness. Had she been sober, the memories of the previous night would have caused an aching in her chest and her eyes to tear up. It is trite, but true: Breaking up IS hard to do.
She had met Sara on her first day at NYU, over 8 years ago. The first time she saw Sara was in chemistry class. I know this sounds like a cliche, but when we both grabbed the bunsen burner at the same moment and our eyes locked I was instantly smitten. She had this soft masculinity to her that was hard to pinpoint--hard but soft, confident but also modest and shy. Her cologne was as isoteric as her personality, the scent reminescent of nutritional yeast. I asked her if she was vegan. She couldn't answer me right away though, because she was yelping in pain from the bunsen burner that had scorched her hand a moment earlier. After running her hand in cool water for a minute she asked, "What does vegan mean?".
The night was cool and felt damp on her skin, the moon was new so it was very dark and in the distance she could hear the wolves singing their mournful cry so eary that it sent chills down her spine. She was alone, and yet not afraid of the darkness closing in, not afraid of the wild creatures being so near, not afraid of her own loneliness. The half-empty bottle of Jack dangling from her hand may have had something to do with that. lighting a joint, she thought back to the night before, when things were better. After one long hit, she could feel the pain of her life fading into numbness. Had she been sober, the memories of the previous night would have caused an aching in her chest and her eyes to tear up. It is trite, but true: Breaking up IS hard to do.
She had met Sara on her first day at NYU, over 8 years ago. The first time she saw Sara was in chemistry class. I know this sounds like a cliche, but when we both grabbed the bunsen burner at the same moment and our eyes locked I was instantly smitten. She had this soft masculinity to her that was hard to pinpoint--hard but soft, confident but also modest and shy. Her cologne was as isoteric as her personality, the scent reminescent of nutritional yeast. I asked her if she was vegan. She couldn't answer me right away though, because she was yelping in pain from the bunsen burner that had scorched her hand a moment earlier. After running her hand in cool water for a minute she asked, "What does vegan mean?".
"Did you burn your hand or the frontal lobe of your brain?" I asked.
The night was cool and felt damp on her skin, the moon was new so it was very dark and in the distance she could hear the wolves singing their mournful cry so eary that it sent chills down her spine. She was alone, and yet not afraid of the darkness closing in, not afraid of the wild creatures being so near, not afraid of her own loneliness. The half-empty bottle of Jack dangling from her hand may have had something to do with that. lighting a joint, she thought back to the night before, when things were better. After one long hit, she could feel the pain of her life fading into numbness. Had she been sober, the memories of the previous night would have caused an aching in her chest and her eyes to tear up. It is trite, but true: Breaking up IS hard to do.
She had met Sara on her first day at NYU, over 8 years ago. The first time she saw Sara was in chemistry class. I know this sounds like a cliche, but when we both grabbed the bunsen burner at the same moment and our eyes locked I was instantly smitten. She had this soft masculinity to her that was hard to pinpoint--hard but soft, confident but also modest and shy. Her cologne was as isoteric as her personality, the scent reminescent of nutritional yeast. I asked her if she was vegan. She couldn't answer me right away though, because she was yelping in pain from the bunsen burner that had scorched her hand a moment earlier. After running her hand in cool water for a minute she asked, "What does vegan mean?".
"Did you burn your hand or the frontal lobe of your brain?" I asked. Sara, wincing in pain as the skin started to blister, said she had heard of VAY-GUNs, but not VEE-GANS. She added that she had been vay-gun since high school, when she completely gave up sodas and hambugers and now mostly just ate chicken.
The night was cool and felt damp on her skin, the moon was new so it was very dark and in the distance she could hear the wolves singing their mournful cry so eary that it sent chills down her spine. She was alone, and yet not afraid of the darkness closing in, not afraid of the wild creatures being so near, not afraid of her own loneliness. The half-empty bottle of Jack dangling from her hand may have had something to do with that. lighting a joint, she thought back to the night before, when things were better. After one long hit, she could feel the pain of her life fading into numbness. Had she been sober, the memories of the previous night would have caused an aching in her chest and her eyes to tear up. It is trite, but true: Breaking up IS hard to do.
She had met Sara on her first day at NYU, over 8 years ago. The first time she saw Sara was in chemistry class. I know this sounds like a cliche, but when we both grabbed the bunsen burner at the same moment and our eyes locked I was instantly smitten. She had this soft masculinity to her that was hard to pinpoint--hard but soft, confident but also modest and shy. Her cologne was as isoteric as her personality, the scent reminescent of nutritional yeast. I asked her if she was vegan. She couldn't answer me right away though, because she was yelping in pain from the bunsen burner that had scorched her hand a moment earlier. After running her hand in cool water for a minute she asked, "What does vegan mean?".
"Did you burn your hand or the frontal lobe of your brain?" I asked. Sara, wincing in pain as the skin started to blister, said she had heard of VAY-GUNs, but not VEE-GANS. She added that she had been vay-gun since high school, when she completely gave up sodas and hambugers and now mostly just ate chicken. I could see that I had a lot of explaining to do!
The night was cool and felt damp on her skin, the moon was new so it was very dark and in the distance she could hear the wolves singing their mournful cry so eary that it sent chills down her spine. She was alone, and yet not afraid of the darkness closing in, not afraid of the wild creatures being so near, not afraid of her own loneliness. The half-empty bottle of Jack dangling from her hand may have had something to do with that. lighting a joint, she thought back to the night before, when things were better. After one long hit, she could feel the pain of her life fading into numbness. Had she been sober, the memories of the previous night would have caused an aching in her chest and her eyes to tear up. It is trite, but true: Breaking up IS hard to do.
She had met Sara on her first day at NYU, over 8 years ago. The first time she saw Sara was in chemistry class. I know this sounds like a cliche, but when we both grabbed the bunsen burner at the same moment and our eyes locked I was instantly smitten. She had this soft masculinity to her that was hard to pinpoint--hard but soft, confident but also modest and shy. Her cologne was as isoteric as her personality, the scent reminescent of nutritional yeast. I asked her if she was vegan. She couldn't answer me right away though, because she was yelping in pain from the bunsen burner that had scorched her hand a moment earlier. After running her hand in cool water for a minute she asked, "What does vegan mean?".
"Did you burn your hand or the frontal lobe of your brain?" I asked. Sara, wincing in pain as the skin started to blister, said she had heard of VAY-GUNs, but not VEE-GANS. She added that she had been vay-gun since high school, when she completely gave up sodas and hambugers and now mostly just ate chicken. I could see that I had a lot of explaining to do! Since I didn't really feel like explaining this stuff to her I have made a successful effort to avoid speaking to her since that day.
The night was cool and felt damp on her skin, the moon was new so it was very dark and in the distance she could hear the wolves singing their mournful cry so eary that it sent chills down her spine. She was alone, and yet not afraid of the darkness closing in, not afraid of the wild creatures being so near, not afraid of her own loneliness. The half-empty bottle of Jack dangling from her hand may have had something to do with that. lighting a joint, she thought back to the night before, when things were better. After one long hit, she could feel the pain of her life fading into numbness. Had she been sober, the memories of the previous night would have caused an aching in her chest and her eyes to tear up. It is trite, but true: Breaking up IS hard to do.
She had met Sara on her first day at NYU, over 8 years ago. The first time she saw Sara was in chemistry class. I know this sounds like a cliche, but when we both grabbed the bunsen burner at the same moment and our eyes locked I was instantly smitten. She had this soft masculinity to her that was hard to pinpoint--hard but soft, confident but also modest and shy. Her cologne was as isoteric as her personality, the scent reminescent of nutritional yeast. I asked her if she was vegan. She couldn't answer me right away though, because she was yelping in pain from the bunsen burner that had scorched her hand a moment earlier. After running her hand in cool water for a minute she asked, "What does vegan mean?".
"Did you burn your hand or the frontal lobe of your brain?" I asked. Sara, wincing in pain as the skin started to blister, said she had heard of VAY-GUNs, but not VEE-GANS. She added that she had been vay-gun since high school, when she completely gave up sodas and hambugers and now mostly just ate chicken. I could see that I had a lot of explaining to do! Since I didn't really feel like explaining this stuff to her I have made a successful effort to avoid speaking to her since that day. But silly as she sounded, I couldn't look down on her; she was, after all, a talking bear.
The night was cool and felt damp on her skin, the moon was new so it was very dark and in the distance she could hear the wolves singing their mournful cry so eary that it sent chills down her spine. She was alone, and yet not afraid of the darkness closing in, not afraid of the wild creatures being so near, not afraid of her own loneliness. The half-empty bottle of Jack dangling from her hand may have had something to do with that. lighting a joint, she thought back to the night before, when things were better. After one long hit, she could feel the pain of her life fading into numbness. Had she been sober, the memories of the previous night would have caused an aching in her chest and her eyes to tear up. It is trite, but true: Breaking up IS hard to do.
She had met Sara on her first day at NYU, over 8 years ago. The first time she saw Sara was in chemistry class. I know this sounds like a cliche, but when we both grabbed the bunsen burner at the same moment and our eyes locked I was instantly smitten. She had this soft masculinity to her that was hard to pinpoint--hard but soft, confident but also modest and shy. Her cologne was as isoteric as her personality, the scent reminescent of nutritional yeast. I asked her if she was vegan. She couldn't answer me right away though, because she was yelping in pain from the bunsen burner that had scorched her hand a moment earlier. After running her hand in cool water for a minute she asked, "What does vegan mean?".
"Did you burn your hand or the frontal lobe of your brain?" I asked. Sara, wincing in pain as the skin started to blister, said she had heard of VAY-GUNs, but not VEE-GANS. She added that she had been vay-gun since high school, when she completely gave up sodas and hambugers and now mostly just ate chicken. I could see that I had a lot of explaining to do! Since I didn't really feel like explaining this stuff to her I have made a successful effort to avoid speaking to her since that day. But silly as she sounded, I couldn't look down on her; she was, after all, a talking bear. I know what your thinking....a talking bear??
The night was cool and felt damp on her skin, the moon was new so it was very dark and in the distance she could hear the wolves singing their mournful cry so eary that it sent chills down her spine. She was alone, and yet not afraid of the darkness closing in, not afraid of the wild creatures being so near, not afraid of her own loneliness. The half-empty bottle of Jack dangling from her hand may have had something to do with that. lighting a joint, she thought back to the night before, when things were better. After one long hit, she could feel the pain of her life fading into numbness. Had she been sober, the memories of the previous night would have caused an aching in her chest and her eyes to tear up. It is trite, but true: Breaking up IS hard to do.
She had met Sara on her first day at NYU, over 8 years ago. The first time she saw Sara was in chemistry class. I know this sounds like a cliche, but when we both grabbed the bunsen burner at the same moment and our eyes locked I was instantly smitten. She had this soft masculinity to her that was hard to pinpoint--hard but soft, confident but also modest and shy. Her cologne was as isoteric as her personality, the scent reminescent of nutritional yeast. I asked her if she was vegan. She couldn't answer me right away though, because she was yelping in pain from the bunsen burner that had scorched her hand a moment earlier. After running her hand in cool water for a minute she asked, "What does vegan mean?".
"Did you burn your hand or the frontal lobe of your brain?" I asked. Sara, wincing in pain as the skin started to blister, said she had heard of VAY-GUNs, but not VEE-GANS. She added that she had been vay-gun since high school, when she completely gave up sodas and hambugers and now mostly just ate chicken. I could see that I had a lot of explaining to do! Since I didn't really feel like explaining this stuff to her I have made a successful effort to avoid speaking to her since that day. But silly as she sounded, I couldn't look down on her; she was, after all, a talking bear. I know what your thinking....a talking bear?? Her shyness, odd odor, clumsiness, and language barrier all made sense now!
The night was cool and felt damp on her skin, the moon was new so it was very dark and in the distance she could hear the wolves singing their mournful cry so eary that it sent chills down her spine. She was alone, and yet not afraid of the darkness closing in, not afraid of the wild creatures being so near, not afraid of her own loneliness. The half-empty bottle of Jack dangling from her hand may have had something to do with that. lighting a joint, she thought back to the night before, when things were better. After one long hit, she could feel the pain of her life fading into numbness. Had she been sober, the memories of the previous night would have caused an aching in her chest and her eyes to tear up. It is trite, but true: Breaking up IS hard to do.
She had met Sara on her first day at NYU, over 8 years ago. The first time she saw Sara was in chemistry class. I know this sounds like a cliche, but when we both grabbed the bunsen burner at the same moment and our eyes locked I was instantly smitten. She had this soft masculinity to her that was hard to pinpoint--hard but soft, confident but also modest and shy. Her cologne was as isoteric as her personality, the scent reminescent of nutritional yeast. I asked her if she was vegan. She couldn't answer me right away though, because she was yelping in pain from the bunsen burner that had scorched her hand a moment earlier. After running her hand in cool water for a minute she asked, "What does vegan mean?".
"Did you burn your hand or the frontal lobe of your brain?" I asked. Sara, wincing in pain as the skin started to blister, said she had heard of VAY-GUNs, but not VEE-GANS. She added that she had been vay-gun since high school, when she completely gave up sodas and hambugers and now mostly just ate chicken. I could see that I had a lot of explaining to do! Since I didn't really feel like explaining this stuff to her I have made a successful effort to avoid speaking to her since that day. But silly as she sounded, I couldn't look down on her; she was, after all, a talking bear. I know what your thinking....a talking bear?? Her shyness, odd odor, clumsiness, and language barrier all made sense now! But thinking about it, I am also a bear!
Suddenly I remembered my friend Terry giving me a yummy vegan brownie right before chem class saying if I ate the brownie I would be blissful, be one with nature.
The night was cool and felt damp on her skin, the moon was new so it was very dark and in the distance she could hear the wolves singing their mournful cry so eary that it sent chills down her spine. She was alone, and yet not afraid of the darkness closing in, not afraid of the wild creatures being so near, not afraid of her own loneliness. The half-empty bottle of Jack dangling from her hand may have had something to do with that. lighting a joint, she thought back to the night before, when things were better. After one long hit, she could feel the pain of her life fading into numbness. Had she been sober, the memories of the previous night would have caused an aching in her chest and her eyes to tear up. It is trite, but true: Breaking up IS hard to do.
She had met Sara on her first day at NYU, over 8 years ago. The first time she saw Sara was in chemistry class. I know this sounds like a cliche, but when we both grabbed the bunsen burner at the same moment and our eyes locked I was instantly smitten. She had this soft masculinity to her that was hard to pinpoint--hard but soft, confident but also modest and shy. Her cologne was as isoteric as her personality, the scent reminescent of nutritional yeast. I asked her if she was vegan. She couldn't answer me right away though, because she was yelping in pain from the bunsen burner that had scorched her hand a moment earlier. After running her hand in cool water for a minute she asked, "What does vegan mean?".
"Did you burn your hand or the frontal lobe of your brain?" I asked. Sara, wincing in pain as the skin started to blister, said she had heard of VAY-GUNs, but not VEE-GANS. She added that she had been vay-gun since high school, when she completely gave up sodas and hambugers and now mostly just ate chicken. I could see that I had a lot of explaining to do! Since I didn't really feel like explaining this stuff to her I have made a successful effort to avoid speaking to her since that day. But silly as she sounded, I couldn't look down on her; she was, after all, a talking bear. I know what your thinking....a talking bear?? Her shyness, odd odor, clumsiness, and language barrier all made sense now! But thinking about it, I am also a bear!
Suddenly I remembered my friend Terry giving me a yummy vegan brownie right before chem class saying if I ate the brownie I would be blissful, be one with nature. Thought I explained to Terry that humans shouldn't give bears human foods, i couldn't resist--could a vegan brownie be that bad for a vegan bear? I didnt know it at the time but she had made them with hashish.
Haha. I miss you guys. Coming back to the internet after months w/o a computer to read this, I am a happy person ;D
The night was cool and felt damp on her skin, the moon was new so it was very dark and in the distance she could hear the wolves singing their mournful cry so eary that it sent chills down her spine. She was alone, and yet not afraid of the darkness closing in, not afraid of the wild creatures being so near, not afraid of her own loneliness. The half-empty bottle of Jack dangling from her hand may have had something to do with that. lighting a joint, she thought back to the night before, when things were better. After one long hit, she could feel the pain of her life fading into numbness. Had she been sober, the memories of the previous night would have caused an aching in her chest and her eyes to tear up. It is trite, but true: Breaking up IS hard to do.
She had met Sara on her first day at NYU, over 8 years ago. The first time she saw Sara was in chemistry class. I know this sounds like a cliche, but when we both grabbed the bunsen burner at the same moment and our eyes locked I was instantly smitten. She had this soft masculinity to her that was hard to pinpoint--hard but soft, confident but also modest and shy. Her cologne was as isoteric as her personality, the scent reminescent of nutritional yeast. I asked her if she was vegan. She couldn't answer me right away though, because she was yelping in pain from the bunsen burner that had scorched her hand a moment earlier. After running her hand in cool water for a minute she asked, "What does vegan mean?".
"Did you burn your hand or the frontal lobe of your brain?" I asked. Sara, wincing in pain as the skin started to blister, said she had heard of VAY-GUNs, but not VEE-GANS. She added that she had been vay-gun since high school, when she completely gave up sodas and hambugers and now mostly just ate chicken. I could see that I had a lot of explaining to do! Since I didn't really feel like explaining this stuff to her I have made a successful effort to avoid speaking to her since that day. But silly as she sounded, I couldn't look down on her; she was, after all, a talking bear. I know what your thinking....a talking bear?? Her shyness, odd odor, clumsiness, and language barrier all made sense now! But thinking about it, I am also a bear!
Suddenly I remembered my friend Terry giving me a yummy vegan brownie right before chem class saying if I ate the brownie I would be blissful, be one with nature. Thought I explained to Terry that humans shouldn't give bears human foods, i couldn't resist--could a vegan brownie be that bad for a vegan bear? I didnt know it at the time but she had made them with hashish. If it wasn't for that brownie, this whole mess would never have started with me and Sara.
But I believe everything happens for a reason and tried to figure out what the reason could possibly be.
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