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2023-11: Warosu is now out of extended maintenance.

/lit/ - Literature

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5871935 No.5871935 [Reply] [Original]

ITT we post our written dialogues

>> No.5871937
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5871937

—Randel! The Tax Man’s comin’ to get me!
—Yeah, and? We all have to pay tax Wyatt.
—No, you don’t understand, the Tax Man, he’s comin’ for me.
—You bein’ audited again?
—No! The Tax Man: he’s comin’ for me, you know, he’s at ma’ door.
—What? Like a tax officer?
—No, this is different, it’s the Tax Man, not a tax man, you understand?
—Wha-at? I don’t … Is there something I can do?
—Call Bobby and Rodriguez: tell ‘em to bring the guns, the Tax Man’s at ma’ door!
—All right man, don’t you worry a bit. Me and the boys’ll be there soon.
—Hurry! … I think he’s inside.

>> No.5871938

>>5871935
"What do you think about OP?" I said, pulling on my winky.
"Oh, he's definitely a faggot," Said his mother.

>> No.5871946

>>5871937
LOL, brilliant!

>> No.5871979

The fool spat. You ain't nothing you sack of shit

The man swings the back of his revolver at the fool and he hits the ground. He gets on one knee. I want you to look at me and look real good. You ain't got no cause going on and speaking God's word with yall wickedness. Don't look away look at me.

I oughta kill you.

He hits the fool again. Shut your goddamn mouth. You go on and say one more word and I'll have you limping home without any last piece of manhood with you.

>> No.5872901

“s’been two hours. We’re nearly there.” Ambrose seemed paralyzed by this realization, and Elyse remarked again on the paradox of his motivation – that nothing galvanized him like the possibility of imminent action, yet fear of failures already committed damped his fire. Could it be that in these moments, he didn’t even admit the possibility of defeat before it happened? The kind of reserve one must have to act that way – it made anything less seem criminal in its presence.

Elyse pulled herself into a crouch and went to Ambrose’s knife on her hands and knees. Retrieving it, she handed it up to him.

“The ceiling, remember?”

Ambrose took the knife and pulled her up, but his face was unmoved. “The pirate’s probably already alerted SDO Group to the ship’s presence by now. Even if we take him down, that infernal microwave gun will fry us like two eggs in an omelet before we ever reach the Station.”

Elyse knew what she had to say to that, but was afraid of what it might mean to Ambrose. Yet now was no time for withholding.

“Ambrose, if we conceal ourselves aboard this ship and wait, it will almost certainly take us right to the station.”

“But that would allow –”

“I know,” she interrupted, gripping him. “It would allow this traitor a chance at escape. But we took an oath, and your heart is made from the same fabric as ours, however rent the seam that binds you. When you took that oath you meant it for life. And we must uphold it.”

Ambrose scowled, but began unfastening the ceiling tile with his knife. Behind the mask of his face debate seemed to be replaced by decision. “Never mind the blasted oath I made to protect a people that forgot us, a station used against us, or a fraternity whose justice is a bitter pill for me, bathed in the blood of my friends in fighting for it. Not just my life, but yours also would end if I revealed us to the enemy now, and that’s a satisfaction I will not grant him.”

The tile fell, and Elyse caught it before it could clatter to the floor.

>> No.5872904

How about we post our most recent IRL dialogue as best as we can remember it?

There are a lot of autistic shut-ins on this board who would no doubt benefit from reading some correspondence from the real world.

Here's mine

Me: Hey X
X: Hey
*pause
X: Anything going on?
Me: No, not really
*feigned laugh*

>> No.5872922

>>5872904

"I love you jo-jo" I say, my voice working in the high register that adult males do when dealing with infants.

The baby smiles. From the kitchen, scraping some kind of breakfast food around in a bowl, the daycare lady appears.

"How is he this morning?"

"Oh, he's fine," I say to her.

"Love you" I whisper to the baby, then leave for work, a variety of half-formed conversations floating duly in my sleepy head.

>> No.5872937

>>5872922
MODS

>> No.5873082

>>5871979
yer not cormac mccarthy, son

>> No.5873148

>>5871979
>>5873082
Well I did try.