Author Topic: Life Of A: Writer --- Episode Two: Thwack  (Read 272 times)

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Life Of A: Writer --- Episode Two: Thwack
« on: August 26, 2019, 09:06:51 PM »

an original sims 3 story






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Re: Life Of A: Writer --- New Series
« Reply #1 on: August 26, 2019, 09:19:23 PM »
Hey guys,

It's been a while since I've been on. I took a little break since completing my previous story Divine Deception (if you haven't checked it out, you should definitely do so HERE ) to figure out what I wanted to do next. Well, I figured it out.

I should have the first episode up in the next little while!

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Re: Life Of A: Writer --- Pilot
« Reply #2 on: September 06, 2019, 03:50:21 PM »

Cold. Unsettling. There's not much else I can say when the name Midnight Hollow comes to mind. Just speaking of it seems as repulsive as the place itself. Like somebody saying their first four-letter swear or the name Voldemort. The structures are easily sixteenth century—gothic. Beautiful, surely. But it’s like an illusion. The houses may look like they are hundreds of years old when in reality they can’t be more than a decade, their exteriors reproduced to look older than they really are. I should know. My name is Chasity Lennox and I've travelled around the world modeling in front of dozens of structures almost as old as time and these homes have nothing on them. Still, it keeps my mind busy as the town passes me by.

Cars. Houses. Pedestrians dressed in the strangest of clothing. It may be a couple of days until Spooky Day, but to begin dressing up so early…

Before I can ponder too much, the car comes to a halt and I am standing in front of my house. To call it home is far too early in whatever is between us... House and owner, shelter from horrible weather, money pit that is constantly draining my wallet? I have countless more and home isn't among them. My home is very much still where my heart lies back miles away in Twinbrook, where I grew up, where my family is and where everything I have ever known has been left behind. Well, I can’t say that’s completely true. My children are here with me as is my husband.

"I just love the architecture."

Speaking of which…

My eyes run down from the turrets high on the roof—reminiscent of Scooby-Doo, mind you—across the stone balconies, to the front door.

His name is Kameron. Dark hair, blue eyes and a stocky build. It's never been anything to do with vanity. Some women like that kind of thing. The strapping young man with muscles that concave into his body, making him look like a piece of art held tight inside the Louvre. For Kameron it's always been something of a necessity, however. Strength, power and the athletic skill to get the job done. He was a working firefighter when I first met him many years ago which until recently had him on a tight schedule. He was one of the best and I'm not just saying that because I am his wife and I have to. Awards and whathaveyous fill most of the moving truck and that's without the boxes I asked my parents to keep hold of. Now, however, he's changed professions and became a teacher. It sounds strange, I'm sure, what with the good he was doing and how in demand he was back home. But when a worrying wife is at his side, scared ****less every night, he did the worry wart inside of me a favour. Unfortunately for me, moving to Midnight Hollow was in his best interest for a great paying position at the University with benefits and whatnot.

Kameron turns and returns to my side, both hands dropping a suitcase on the ground and replacing them with each of my own.

"Look, I know you were—are—a little sceptical about the place, but trust me when I tell you it's all gonna' work out."

"I know," I say a little too enthusiastically. "Just, you know—change! You know how much I hate it." I try to joke it off even if the knot in my stomach says otherwise while I look the house up and down again. It's not like the place was cheap. Spent most of our savings on it. Spend money to make money, I guess.

"Chas, I mean it. It's just different and different can be really good."

I nod my head as he steals a peck on my cheek.

"And you're gonna' write that book, expose the modeling world for the hell it is and we're gonna' be happy. It's our fresh start where we don't have to keep looking over our shoulder all the time, you know?"

And I do know. Getting out of the modeling world wasn't hard, but it did leave me with a few scars emotionally.

I was shunned from the modeling world a few years ago after I took a stand against somebody much higher than me. Because of this, I was branded imbalanced and every media outlet out there was on me like a pack of wolves. Picking at my every flaw, twisting stories to make other stories, scandals upon scandals. The man I went up against told me he'd smear my image like paint on a canvas and he did just that. The whole story is a chaotic mess and one I've done my very best to keep hidden, buried deep down so as not to have to relive it again.

After some much-needed support from family, friends and my psychologist, I was urged to fight back. I had strengthened enough emotionally, and while I would never step foot in front of a camera again, I decided one way to get the modeling world back: a book about the dark side of modeling, a piece every young woman should read before even thinking about stepping foot in the realm that I regard as a living nightmare.

Watching Kameron grab the suitcases and head into the house, our two boys screaming and laughing at the top of their lungs, I hope he's right. He glances over his shoulder as he walks up the porch stairs.

"And what better place is there to write than this?"

A few hours later, Kameron mentions the local Midnight Haunt festival. A flyer had been stuck in with our mail along with coupons for a nearby coffee shop and another flyer for the grand opening of a new toy shop on the other side of town. Of course Kameron had to bring up the festival in front of the kids and when they learned about costumes being more than welcome they wouldn't let it go. Kameron tries to soften the blow by telling me how it's an annual town outing to bring everybody closer.

"See? Says so on the flyer."

Of course it does. Before I can say yes or no, the boys are already in their costumes and ready to go at the door. Peter, the older of the two is dressed as a hotdog. Why a bloody hotdog? And Renaldo... well... he's the other one. I wish I could say his mismatched attire is part of his dressup, but sadly I can't. His mask is the only part of his gear today. The model inside me seeing this train wreck of an outfit hurts me in more ways than one.

We make it to the grounds in ten minutes. It's raining although it doesn't seem to bother anybody there. Makeup and face paints are running, costumes darken from getting wet yet that doesn't stop anybody from laughing and having a great time. It's a modest turnout. Haunted houses flash with strobe lights, troughs are filled with water and apples, pumpkins huddle on soft soil while men, women and children search for the most perfect ones to take home. I catch sight of a man in a hotdog outfit almost identical to Peter's. Obviously, Mommy's opinion when it comes to trendy costume wear should be kept silent. Peter seems to be much more in the loop than I.

I immediately feel a little self-conscious. Maybe I should have put on a costume. It seems rather silly, a grown woman nervous about her inability to fit in at a bloody town outing, but I can't deny how much happier I would be if I chose to put one on instead. That is, of course, if I had been able to find one that fits. I am pregnant you know, and quite ready to pop.

"You all right, honey?" Kameron's next to me, his arm around my shoulder like a protective swan over her babies.

"Yeah, just a little chilly. A little nervous too. Maybe I should go back home."

"No, you just need to loosen off a little. When's the last time we've been out?"

I know how it sounds—do I live under a rock? And I guess I should say I kinda have. Since the modeling incident, I've felt like a prisoner in my own home.

"Here," Kameron hands me a cup of cyder. "This place isn't Starlight Shores or Bridgeport. Look around you, Chas. These are Average Joes just wanting to spend time with family and friends. They don't care about us—probably dunno who we even are. They're your typical Bobs and Bettys."

I take a sip of the cyder.

"You're right." I take another sip. "You're right."

For a bit, I think Kameron's actually telling the truth, that we've actually distanced ourselves so far from the past that we can actually be normal. It takes some time, but between being with the kids, going into haunted houses and watching pie-eating contests—I can't believe it!—I actually feel like I can let my guard down. The kids are having a great time, so is Kameron. He's more interested in the log sawing contest where one team of two races another team at sawing a tree trunk.

After we finish another glass of cider, and we head over for a fun game of bobbing for apples, a photographer gets me in their sights.

"Chasity freakin' Lennox!"

A continuous string of clicks and flashes erupts next to us and I am blinded for a few moments, like a spark plug has gone off on the insides of my eyes. I fling my hands up to the sides of my face, pulling back as Kameron stands in front of me, cursing the paparazzi, threatening to punch his face in. The back of my throat swells up and as much as I try to soothe it, it aches and I struggle not to cry. This can't be happening. This has got to be some bad dream. Wake up, Chasity, WAKE UP!


For a moment, I think Kameron has actually done it: plowed the man between the eyes and throttled his a few more times for good measure. But as I look up, hands still shielding me from the men and women who have now surrounded us, I see Kameron, hands up defensively, yet it's his face that catches my attention. He isn't angry. He's shocked. And I follow his gaze to the downed man on the ground. Next to him a guitar lay in shambles.

"Get up, you lazy biggot!"

Standing over the man is a young woman—fire engine red hair and dressed in what looks like some military costume. She kicks him in the leg in an attempt to urge the man to start moving. Grumbling, he stumbles to his feet.

"And get the heck outta here, you 'ere me?" she continues. The man mutters something under his breath and she adds, "'ey, I can get'nother guitar if you wanna' keep mumblin'." The man runs off and the woman turns to Kameron and me. "You 'kay, hun?"

She introduces herself as Nadia Cho. Supposedly, she's been dealing with the paparazzi for years and has decided to take a stan against them. Nice girl and while I am clearly shaken, I can't say how thankful I am to have her here. We exchange formalities and she introduces me to her bandmates and a few of her friends. I don't know of them, but they seem to know me because of the scandals. Thankfully, they don't hold it against me.

As we get ready to go, Nadia tells me if either of us has any trouble with the paparazzi to let her know and she'll get rid of them for me. As she says, "We don't need their BS ruining what we got here."

Driving home with my boys and staring out the window, I realize maybe it won't be so bad here. I may actually be able to repair everything that's been damaged all those years ago. Still, as I rest my head against the headrest, I can't help but feel there is still something very off about the town, like something is lingering in the darkness, following me, just waiting to attack.


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Re: Life Of A: Writer --- Pilot
« Reply #3 on: September 24, 2019, 05:41:48 PM »
Such an interesting start, I'm so excited to see where this all leads!

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Re: Life Of A: Writer --- Pilot
« Reply #4 on: September 30, 2019, 08:18:00 PM »
Such an interesting start, I'm so excited to see where this all leads!

Thanks for the support Jessie. I'm a little behind schedule--was hoping to have the finale completed for Halloween--but oh well!

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Re: Life Of A: Writer --- Thwack
« Reply #5 on: September 30, 2019, 08:31:36 PM »

Bubbles form around me in thick globs, the scent of pomegranate encasing the bathroom like a lover’s embrace, warm, romantic even with the few candles I’ve lit on the surface of the tub. I can’t tell if it is because for once maybe my anxiety medication may be kicking in (doubtful seeing as I’ve been on it for years and it’s always seemed like it hasn’t done a **ed thing so why start now?) or if maybe, just maybe, I’ve been able to lower some walls in the past few weeks since we’ve moved to Midnight Hollow. My fears regarding the media have controlled me for so long, yet after making contact with the people here (one of them shoving the paparazzi where it hurts!) for once I actually feel like somebody other than close friends and family may have my back.

I allow my body to slip deeper into the cloud of bubbles even as my gaze drifts up to the vanity. Kameron’s there, getting ready for work. Well, maybe not exactly. He’s gotten ready for work, been ready for the last ten minutes and has spent the time since then more occupied on his actual looks. As I’ve said before, he’s not the vain type, neither of us are, but there’s no dismissing the fact that we’re both aging. It may be a girl thing, but I’ve always tried to check myself out in private when I know Kameron’s at work or with the kids. I’d hate for him to see me worrying about my looks, it could give him reason to do the same. But Kameron has been on a roll lately, checking his wrinkles, searching his hair for greys. I guess having my primary fear take a backseat for a bit has irritated some of my smaller ones, and it’s not like Kameron is some saint life just plopped in front of me for the taking. He was still very much in a relationship with his wife when I butted in and made him fall for me.

As if we are both thinking of the same time in our lives, our eyes connect in the mirror for a split moment and then there are constant knocks at the door. Children, excited children scream at the top of their lungs, wanting Kameron to hurry up because Uncle Kyle has finally arrived and they are that next step closer to World of Wonder. It’s Renando’s birthday today and Kameron’s bother flew in from Riverview to take them out for a very special day. Kyle and I have never been super close—probably because of the affair thing—but taking the kids out for a party day is a nice gesture for sure. While I was invited to go, he knows I’m not really ready for that and understands. The only catch is that I have to babysit his newborn son. It’s not my first time taking care of a baby and I can always use some extra practice before I pop myself.

Once they are all gone, it’s just Connor and me. I give him a bath, play with his toes, sing to him when he begins to cry. It’s strange how everything comes back so naturally even if I haven’t done it in a few years. And the smell—NOT THAT SMELL!!! No, the new baby smell. I hadn’t realized how much I missed being a mom, a baby’s mom until right now. With the older of my two heading into his teenage years in a few weeks and Renaldo’s birthday being today... There’s the anxiety again. Truly, they were irritated by my primary fear stepping down.

I set Connor down for a nap and head to my computer. Being one of the few times having the kids out of the house, I can finally get some writing done. I’ve made a hot tea, put on some background music (actually it’s classified as white noise—I like falling rain the most), turn on the baby monitor and take a seat. This is what I’ve been planning for since we moved all the way out here. Every night since move-in day I’ve been jotting down notes, ideas for chapters and every piece of horrible memory I allow myself to come face-to-face with. It’s a whole notebook. Speaking of which, I get up and grab that too! And I sit down, do some arm stretches and one for my back, a few breathing exercises—in and out, in and out—and close my eyes, ready to open my mind and spill everything I’ve got onto this blank, white canvas. And it doesn’t come. I can’t for the life of me figure out what to write. For an hour and thirty-three minutes I stare at the screen in hopes that something will form. But it doesn’t. And it’s infuriating. I never would have thought this would be the part of writing that would be the most frustrating. I thought it would be the continuous rejection from print houses or editors hitting the tender parts of my heart, my pride. Hell, that would be welcomed here when I’ve finished before I’ve even begun. Then Connor starts crying and it all goes south from there.

I decide I must need some fresh air so I put Connor in the stroller and head out the door. It’s not the nicest day outside, but at least it’s not raining. Thanksgiving is slowly approaching and the town begins to reflect it. The park where the boys and I attended now offers casual hay rides and the Halloween decorations have been taken down for the most part. Scarecrows and pumpkins still huddle close in empty spaces while jack-o-lanterns, cut-outs of ghosts and goblins, and the haunted house have been replaced with pens filled with turkeys and corn mazes manually designed for children and adults alike.

I don’t know if it is because being out in public is still fresh to me or if it is something else, but I can’t shake this feeling something is off. I can’t exactly explain it. I felt it the night we all left these same grounds during the festival and headed home. Like something is lurking so close yet for the life of me I can’t put my finger on it, nor can I actually see it—

My phone rings, cutting my thoughts off and I reach into my pocket and bring it to my ear.


“Hey, Hun, it’s me,” Kameron says through some very harsh static.

“Where are you? I can barely hear you.” When I can hear, I catch a lot of chatter, people in the background.

“—stuck on the subway. Problems.”

I press my lips together. They should have made it to the park an hour ago.

“How long until it’s back up and running?”

“Lookin’ like an hour, maybe two, which is why I’m calling: I won’t be able to pick up Ren’s gift and the cake. I’m close enough to the bakery that I can pick it up on our way home, but could you drop by the gift shop in town?”

It’s as if a chunk of ice hits the bottom of my stomach. I don’t let it to affect the tone of my voice, though.

“Of course. I’ll head there straight away.”

“Great, thanks. This way Kyle can stay to watch Ren open his presents and not have to hit the road immediately.”

We say goodbye and I turn the stroller.

“It looks like we’re going on a different adventure today,” I say to Connor and head in the opposite direction.

 The Golden Ticket Toy Shop must be a local store only because in somewhere like Twinbrook it would stick out like a sore thumb. It does help tremendously being wedged between stores selling furniture and doodads, their exteriors like something straight out of a children’s book. Still, the place, like the park, leaves me a little unsettled. Even if the toys inside are full of bright fun colours, and children are screaming and laughing at the top of their lungs, zooming in and out from behind counters, grabbing whatever their little hands can carry, I swear the creepy dolls are following me with their eyes and why are they so pale and haunted? I head inside, speak to the man behind the counter, grab what I need, pay and get out of there as fast as I can.

Getting home isn’t too difficult. It’s started to darken on me, possible storm clouds closing it, and I make sure to keep glancing over my shoulder to make sure nobody’s following me. I keep hearing footsteps and every time I look, it’s just me on the sidewalk and nobody else. By the time I get home, prepare and cook dinner and set the table, the boys have returned with arms full of toys they won at the park, beach towels they no doubt paid way too much for and hats that still have the tags sticking out the sides. Dinner is an ongoing dialogue about what they encountered at World of Wonder. There’s a lot of laughing and interrupting, “I’ve gotta’ tell you this story so that I can tell you that one.” Ren opens his presents: a video game console from his father and me, my parents mailed him mistletoe (I swear they can be so disconnected sometimes. It’s like they open up the buy catalogue and choose the first thing they see) and Kyle has gifted Ren an air hockey table.

For us it is a great night, the hardest part saying goodbye to Kyle and Connor and watching them pull out of the driveway and disappear into the distance. What I didn’t know and wouldn’t learn until much later was how a man was found dead at City Hall. Actually, it would end up being a mysterious man who went by the name John Doe who was found motionless on his front side late that night.