So I'm sitting in my dorm room trying to think of something more productive than world domination schemes (you think I'm joking) and so I decided to get some conversation going here. Of course I've been having trouble trying to think of what I should put up. After a while and a little bit of reading I came acrost this passage in one of my books that would make for a great little fears story hook. So I was gonna type it up and we could run rampant with it and have lots of fun. I could type it up and someone else could go with it, and someone else could build off that or they could take it in a new direction. Then once we beat this one to death I can have anotherone all whipped up.

Anyway if I get some interest I'll get the thing typed up pronto otherwise I'll go do something less productive.

*EDIT* Oh yeah if interest gets built up I'll just edit this post and it can start here.

ooooh.. this sounds like fun. Do it! Do it!

This passage is not original. It is taken from the book Waiting for the Barbarians by J. M. Coetzee. Just thought I make that clear so I don't blatantly plaugerise the poor fellow. It is an amazeing book. Anyway the passage I ripped from it will suit our purpouses just fine.

The square extends before me, blending at its edges into the luminous sky. Walls, trees, houses having dwindled, lost thier solidity, retired over the rim of the world.
As I glide across the square, dark figures separate out from the whiteness, children at play building a snowcastle on top of which they have planted a red flag. They are mittened, booted, muffled against the cold. Handful after handful of snow they bring, plastering the walls of thier castle, filling it out. Thier breath departs from them in white puffs. The rampart around the castle is half built. I strain to pierce the queer floating gabble of thier voiced but I can make out nothing.
I am aware of my bulk, my shadowiness, therefore I am not suprised that the children melt away on either side as I approach. All but one. Younger than the others, she sits in the snow with her hooded back to me working at the doors of the castle, her legs splayed, burrowing, patting, moulding. I stand behind her and watch.

Alright take it from there. Feel free to change the perspective to say one of the children, and the tense as you see fit. Lets have fun.

These scenes of childhood always bring memories to the surface of my mind, memories I would rather leave forgotton. I suppose thats another of his little tricks, the remembering that is! How long ago was it that I was... That I was in her place myself? Alone and cold and afraid. But she isnt afraid yet is she? Not yet anyway! The fear always comes later, it waits in the shadows untill she accepts the gift Ive come to give her, waits untill the night he comes to claim her! then, oh yes then she will know fear in all its wretched glory! No! I wont allow such thoughts to enter my head. I may be sworn to serve him but I will never grow to enjoy it, NEVER!
Looking over his shoulders the figure, looming behind little Melissa, ensures that no one is watching then slowly he reaches into his pocket and removes a small sphere the size of a softball. It glows with a sickly light which he conceals with his overcoat. The light fades revealing a small porcelin doll in place of the sphere, a beautiful doll with golden hair and flushed cheeks in a gown of silk. This is a fitting gift for such a lovely young girl. How does it always know what they desire?.