Let's get this shit started.

Last night while at work, I began to read "Under The Dome" by Stephen King.  It's essentially the Simpson's movie, but much more violent.  Reading that book, and beginning to write blogs again, makes me want to start writing sci-fi fiction stories again.  So I think I'll start writing one... and adding it to my blog every day.  Howzat for updates?  Eh?  EH?!  Excited?  I know I am.  The whole way home I thought about what I wanted to write about, and it finally came to me.  It was actually the basis of a text-based RPG that I was involved in a long time ago, and it always stuck with me because it was genius, and I always wondered what would have happened if we had continued the story.  Well, that's what i'm going to do.  Maybe I can get Josh involved in writing some of it, like alternating stories or summin like that.  Or maybe i'll be a selfish little attention-monger and write the whole thing by myself.

Whatever.

"Inside"

Inside

Maria didn't knowhow appropriate waking up in a panic would be for the situation she was in. The reason she was startled into conciousness was the realization that her alarm clock didn't go off. She was supposed to have left for work how long ago? Sitting up in bed and thrashing the covers off of her scrawny legs at the same time, she struggled to gather her thoughts.
What day is it?
What time is it?
Did I feed Oscar last night?
What should I wear?
Fuck it, i'm going to throw these jeans on and get the heck outta dodge.

She pulled the t-shirt over her narrow head and slid her flip-flops on. She knew that she would get fussed out at the art store for wearing flip-flops but she was pretty sure that wasn't the only thing that her boss would point out today that was wrong. Unbeknownst to her, that her boss drilling her would the last of her worries at the end of the day. She even ran past the dried up and dusty fish bowl, which when she passed out drunk last night, held a sprite and lively betta fish, without a second glance.

When she exited her apartment building, she plunged her hand into the depth of her pocket, retrieving her cellphone. She pulled out the small cheap pay-as-you-go flip phone and began to dial the numbers. Her phone was dead. She distinctly remembers her phone having a full battery last night when she drunk dialed Jeremiah, surely it couldn't have died over night could it?