DIY Story

Here you go you fortunate people, a story to suit every conceivable taste. Simply selected the sections you require to form your very own tale of action/adventure/passion/horror. Anything you like.

Dan stood up, he could hear in the distance that his wife/dog/car/pet gerbil/antique writing desk/typewriter was approaching fast.

He turned, and pulling out his pen/stylus/iPad/toothpaste/wallet/phone/dick thumbed for the information he needed.

"Dammit" he exclaimed, "There's not enough time."

He raced down the stairs/hill/slope/cellar until at last he reached his car/horse/wardrobe/skateboard/front porch/skis and immediately sped off, his breath coming in great gasps.

"I've got to make it." He thought as images of his wife Alice/Jane/Emily/Rufus flashed before his eyes.

Gaining speed, he began to see that fortune was smiling upon him. He stopped and opened the bedroom door/cat flap/safe/biscuit barrel/envelope. It was good. He breathed a sigh of relief and took a drink from the water bottle/bourbon/horse trough/ and remembered those last words that echoed through his mind. Life was good, he was going to make it.

Relieved, he sat down to rest/sleep/write on Prose/take a dump/get drunk. She'd be here soon, then this whole nightmare will be over.

He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep/Seattle/bed/eat/Neptune.

He awoke with a start/sigh/shudder/heart attack/Oreo and immediately sensed something wasn't right. His car/trousers/Macedonian Bullfrog/piano accordion/ was missing, "Goddammit" he thought, and saw with horror/affection/trepidation/disbelief that it was too late. He had run out of options.

With a heavy sigh/rucksack/bowling ball/heart/piano stool he realised the game was up.

It was over. He stood there in the fading light as resigned as he'd ever been. It was time to pay the band their dues/tips/ and face the music/mirror/window/reception desk/inevitable conclusion.

His phone rang, it was her. What could he say that would ease the pain? "Darling." he whispered/shouted/screamed/uttered/whimpered/hinted. "I love you, I tried to deny it/paint it/eat it/drive it/sell it, but it's no use. I can't deny it any longer, will you marry me?"

The line went dead. It really was the end. He fell to his knees/pudding/scaffolding/elbows and wept.