Round Robins are an ancient and profoundly dubious tradition at Scribal Terror.
They are collaborative fictions, written on the fly in the comments
section. ST Round Robins usually involve a character named Robin. They
usually happen around Halloween. And they usually flirt with THE DARK
SIDE.
We missed Robin last year, but the old bird has not died. Not strictly speaking, anyway. He is back, and
he doesn't drink . . . wine.
For the remainder of the week, we will continue the story in the
Comments section. Each person can add as many comments as they want,
but keep them relatively short (no more than three sentences or so). Be
sure you refresh the page before you contribute because we want the
story to flow. Like BLAAAAHDDDD!
Thanks to Edgar Allen Dorkafork, we have an opening:
It
was an overcast and clammy night, with a low chance of precipitation,
as the darkness moved in like a cold front from the north that may
result in temperatures in the low 50s. My restiveness continued, the
ghastly glow of the Weather Channel flickering in my poorly-lit abode
increased my disquiet. The grim countenance of the weather girl stared
back at me. I pondered how I had arrived at my despicable state. The
memories were patchy, like the clouds that are likely moving in on
Thursday...
Now, do your worst, cheeldren of the night . . .
UPDATE: The story is proceeding with all due awesomeness. We need to move toward an ending by midnight on Halloween. Then I'll put the story together from the comments section and publish it as a post. So let's have some fiendly competition. In the battle for the conclusion, will your ending be a new beginning or a last gasp?