NaNoWriMo 2010 Long ago, in a distant land where this opening sentence isn't the most played out

thing to ever be put down on paper, there met a group of so-called “adventurers.” So-called not because they actually traveled the world, but because they claimed, falsely, to each other, to have done so. They had all met at a random inn at the center of a random town. At this inn they had decided to have a contest. They would all travel around the world for several years performing great deeds and whoever had completed the most amazing tasks would win a commemorative trophy, or trinket of some sort. At the time, they'd not decided what, exactly, winning would entail. They were all quite lazy and stupid, to be honest. The first of the lot was a kind minstrel, named Fred. He carried around a lute wherever he ventured and spoke with a voice that sounded almost as if he were constantly forging an everlasting tune from the bowels of his inner mind. Almost. Fred, as it happened, was not very good at singing, and was actually quite tone deaf. This malady extended to his lute playing, for on top of the aforementioned tone deafness, he lacked the dexterity required to play anything more pleasant-sounding than a howling mangled cat being put through a blender. He was also lacking in creative vocabulary, so he would usually give rhyming a miss, purely due to not being able to find the correct words and usually resorted to just giving up mid-sentence any time he actually tried to sound competent. Why he chose to become a minstrel, none of the adventurers would ever understand. How he remained able to find work, even I, the humble narrator, am without knowledge. On to the next, then. The second adventurer was, for some strange reason, the bartender that had been tending bar the night that the rest of the lot had met, named Carol. Carol was not female, despite what his name would suggest. His parents were just cruel and resentful of their child born of rough, drunken sex roughly a week before they'd decided to wed. He was their only reason for marrying, and what a god awful reason that was. The two hated each other more than the writer of this drivel hates the idea of being forced to write one-thousand-six-hundred-sixty-seven words a day for a month. So they named him Carol and made sure that, for his entire life, they remained drunk off their asses, beating him, calling him names like “Bitch Boy,” “Fagamuffin,” and “Steve.” The last one he quite enjoyed, just because it was for the proper gender, but he knew that they'd only call him that just to tease him for having a girl's name. One would think that, after spending his entire life around two drunk idiots that made his existence a living hellish torrent of agony, he'd do something with his life like being an Alcoholics Anonymous counselor, but for some reason he decided he'd just help the world go on being drunk by being the man to visit for its fix of booze. The third was a woman, and not a very attractive one at that, so naturally no one could remember her name. Or, rather, they could but no one had bothered to make a note of what it was. So, for the sake of knowing who she is, we'll just call her Debby. Debby was not particularly mysterious in her own rite, but because she was an unattractive wench, no one really paid any attention to her nonsexy back story, and instead everyone was merely waiting impatiently for her to shut her stupid, fat, ugly mouth so that they could get to people who were more interesting to hear. In fact, screw Debby's character description. No one cares about Debby. Debby sucks. Let's just say that Debby is an overweight, ugly bitch that was probably parented by a whore and an abusive pimp that impregnated her on purpose as punishment for being late on her payments one too many times, thereby ruining her whoring career, except with clients that were into pregnant bitches. Sick bastards, mostly. The pimp then murdered Debby's mother for being what he considered to be an ungrateful cunt. Sadly for Debby, she did not inherit her mother's devilishly good looks, which were required of high class whores like Debby's Mom. She instead got beaten with an ugly branch from the ugly tree, from the highest point of which she had fallen and subsequently managed to smack every branch on the way down. Her pimp father was a fuck ugly person that just happened to have high charisma and good business sense. He never did get cut by rival pimps for “rollin' on they turf.” The next adventurer was called Jennifer. She, unlike Disgusting Debby, was a maiden of

NaNoWriMo 2010 unquestionable beauty. She'd been fathered by a man so attractive, so virile, that everywhere he traveled, every woman within a five mile radius would immediately become pregnant at the mere presence of his being. Her mother was of equal attractiveness. Wherever she went the roads would flow like rivers with the seed of the male inhabitants, and the juices of the female residents. The knowledge of her presence in town would cause everyone for miles to have vigorous sex with no care for caution. Needless to say, any town that housed either of these sex gods saw an enormous explosion of unplanned children and sexually transmitted diseases. The day Jennifer's parents came together was a day that is now only mentioned in whispers, for the contents of the day were too graphic for even the most deviant minds to fathom. Orgies happened all over the world, not even limited to humans. Animals were all over each other as well. Even some humans and inanimate objects had gotten with each other willingly, which was just disturbing as all hell. Long story short, the entire world had one enormous, simultaneous orgasm that day. Jennifer gained the looks of both of her parents and was able to get anything she wanted just by hinting at the possibility of sex as a payment. She never did pay, but even the thought that, in some alternate universe, people got to bed Jennifer was payment enough for all things. The fifth bar patron to be included was a pyromaniac that called himself Pyro, because he had a very uncreative, one track mind, solely focused on fire and burning things. His parents lit exactly one thousand candles in their room the night of his conception, so he was essentially forged in flames from then on. It seemed like it was his destiny to become obsessed with fire. His parents constantly had their house at a sweltering hundred degrees with the heat on full blast. All windows and doors, minus the front door which they used to enter and leave for food, were sealed shut airtight in order to keep any of their precious hot air from escaping from their home. When he was born his parents began to chain smoke just to inhale the fumes. This screwed Pyro up big time. Every time he saw the flames of the matches and lighters his eyes widened and his heartbeat grew faster. At the age of five, Pyro burned his house to the ground, parents included. He then went around committing arson at every opportunity with complete disregard to those in the houses. He subsisted on animals that he killed with a flamethrower and cooked to a charred crisp as he wandered. He was also a compulsive liar by admission, so his entire back story should be taken with a truckload of rock salt. His real name was Fibly. Meaningful name, indeed. The sixth character claimed to be psychic, but was really just an overzealous pessimist. He told the group that he'd foreseen his entire life from the age of three, and that he'd seen that he'd become a complete failure in life, so rather than give effort to try and change his vision, he decided very early on to give no effort in any task that he was given. He hadn't even bothered to remember his own name, and simply had people call him whatever they felt fitting. Some chose to call him Sloth, while others called him Loser, and others still called him Henry. Henry, being the most normal of those names, is what he shall be called for the sake of coherence. He'd been sent to school as a boy by his loving parents who wanted nothing more than for their child to succeed and become a great man, but thanks to his vision, he failed at everything by choice and conscious effort to be bad at it all, despite the most supportive friends and family anyone could've possibly asked for. As he went through life, he mooched off his rich parents, and when they died he coasted on their life insurance. The one thing he was good at, due to being absolutely shit at everything else, and therefore having nothing upon which to spend his large sum of inherited money, was financing. His funds just stayed in his bank, snowballing with interest faster than he could ever spend it. All he ever bought was food, and besides that, the only spending he ever did was just in rent payments so he'd have a place to stay. He actually lived in the inn and was just down from his room while the rest of the idiots were in the tavern organizing the contest. Henry figured that, with all his spare time, he could at least come up with a cool story to tell the rest of them upon their return.

NaNoWriMo 2010 Last, but most certainly not least, came, arguably, the greatest of them all. This man was a writer, and as such fabricated the most amazing story of his origin that any of the other fools would even dare imagine. His name was Jim, and as far as he was concerned, he was in this thing to win it all, no matter how paltry the final decided-upon prize ended up being. He joined their pathetic little contest with only two things that he intended to do. Those two things were to repeatedly clench and release his jaw on a piece of gum, and to heavily apply his boot to the posteriors of anything that got in his way, and his pack of gum had just had its final piece removed, chewed, and spat out. He claimed to be the only son of a god of whom no one had ever heard. He listened to music so obscure that even the hippest of hipsters had no idea what he was talking about. He wrote stories the likes of which the world had never read. He took to bed women of higher caliber than Jennifer, and they'd thank him for the honor. He made the guys from the Dos Equis and Old Spice commercials look like complete pansies. He hunted men for sport and fed them to the animals which they hunted to near extinction, not because he felt that the animals deserved retribution, but merely because he felt that the world needed less douchebags in it. When he traveled he could always be recognized by his top hat, scarf and mirror lens sunglasses. He was truly a man that they could all look up to. This is the person he made himself out to be, and he had the charisma and writing ability to pull it off very convincingly. In fact, the only thing that makes it so clear that Jim was just as big a liar as the rest of the patrons of the inn's tavern that night, is the fact that he is the designated stenographer for when they all meet up years later. His account of the stories of the others could be as distorted as he sees fit in order to make his own story seem more amazing by comparison. Jim, as it should be clear by now, is the source of this story. His ego caused him to glorify and immortalize himself by recounting the stories of himself and his friends from the bar.

Sign up to vote on this title
UsefulNot useful