Westley D.
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That's crazy and amazing! I'm not sure if Finn's name is common for Arabs, but I just couldn't imagine naming him anything else.
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[Personal Account #2] The following narrative is recounted by: FINN CASBALD Hello to everyone whose reading this. Um, doing this feels a bit weird, you know. You’d think with the number of times teachers make you introduce yourself in front of the class, it would be easier to simply transcribe it on paper. Only this time, millions and millions of people are going to be reading this. Man, West. Why’d you have to go and get famous, huh? I’m kidding. I’m happy for him and what h
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Wednesday, July 25th, 2012 Neil’s voice remained inside West’s head for the better part into next week. Through a few more football practices, drives through town, basketball matches at Bradvons Park, and a few fifty more photos of Tuct Side taken by his new camera, the rough and slightly raspy tones of his “rival” haunted his mind. Even when he got the news of an impromptu open house at Patriot High, that husky timbre was not too far from his mind. He suspected the open house had
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Allow me to start off... There are two covers for this story that was created for me. Which one do you think fits the whole vibe of the story?
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This is quite out of left field for me, but I've recently started up a new story named "Tuct Side", a dark mystery / romance. Feel free to come over here and converse, ask questions, or speculate if the comment section isn't a big enough place for your thoughts.
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Saturday, July 14th, 2012 A Canon EOS 5D Mark III. West, newly sixteen, almost couldn’t believe he was holding it in his hands, a birthday gift from Papa himself. Although, he knew he should never doubt his father’s methods. Being a rich and famous basketball celebrity included the perk of purchasing products that cost an arm and a leg without a sweat. And he had the camera he’s been thinking about since his recent dive into photography. The family had returned home to Tuct Side a
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{Individual Interview #1}: MAMORU KOJO Site: PATRIOT HIGH SCHOOL GYMNASIUM Date: SATURDAY, MARCH 17TH, 2018, 3:16 PM PST ---------- WEST: And we’re rolling. Man, it’s been a while, hasn’t it, Coach? KOJO: It certainly has, my boy. Must feel nostalgic stepping inside this room, huh? WEST: Yeah. I mean, all things considering, it feels… it feels like home. KOJO: No matter what. WEST: No matter what. (SILENCE) KOJO: Sorry. I don’t mean to derail you
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Without basketball on my mind 24/7, the rush of the championship win starting to wear off, and my family’s trip to the United Kingdom in five days, I found myself quite bored. None of my friends were morning people during the summer. Ten months a year of early rising and interrupted sleep will have you cursing the sunrise first thing waking up. Luckily for me, now that my name was known around town, my dedication to being a stand-up citizen was a nine-to-five job and I was one hundred perce
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Saturday, June 2nd, 2012 “I swear, dude. You’re too nice for your own good. How the fuck do you see this ending well?” For the past five minutes, as the Jiving Four drove towards Bradvons Park, Kaspar had been chastising his cousin, trying to get him to turn the car around. It was why the latter insisted on taking his car, since the redhead, who now had his license, would have done just that. “Simple,” West responded calmly. “Nora. You’ve seen her with Finn.” He glanced back
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So, first off, before I start this thing, I just want to say that if it seems like my writing is dragging on, blame it on nerves. I’ve never done this kind of “autobiography of some sorts” – West’s words, not mine – before despite being enthusiastic about it when he brought it up to me. Although, this really isn’t about me, so, I guess I have no excuse. Let me introduce myself. My name is Nora Orellana. I was born November 12th, 1996 in San Francisco, California, raised to be a strong,
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Sunday, May 27th, 2012 The next night, West prepared himself for a party. Just as he implied to his mother, he wasn’t much for partying. That characteristic belonged to his dad, which was passed on to Isaak. A small get-together, he preferred, but if it wasn’t for Justin, he’d be searching through online shops for a camera right about now. After hearing another run-down of the rules from his parents, his father adding in tips on how to be a “real Tier”, he headed out. “Don’t do an
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Thanks for reading. Also, Neil is basically mocking West's first name, which is "Flori", which is Latin for "flower", hence "Flower Boy."
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Alright, so… This little section of the story takes place a month before my family’s – Kaspar’s also – summer trip over to the United Kingdom. Now, a wedge had already been driven in between the two sides of Tuct Side long ago, and competition in sports was an expected given. However, during that time, nobody would have expected the rivalry between their best and worst schools to come to a sudden end. The news didn’t spread like any other juicy rumor started in tabloids. It w
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Friday, February 17th, 2012 The perspiration of aptitude and teamwork stained the floor, the court dyed in their hard-earned victory. The freshmen huffed and puffed in exhaustion, but any indications of enervation were outshined by the utter triumph that they shared in via their win. Every shout of joy, every round of applause seemed to quench their spirits. However, no other player could feel as accomplished as #13. The fifteen-year-old power forward wearing said jersey absorbed
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Hey, er… Hello. This is, uh, West speaking. Damn, I am not good at this thing. This is my first, uh… documentary, I’d like to call it. Maybe a mockumentary? That’s what Kas would call it. Archive? I dunno. Jesus. My last thought before this was to always stay professional, but look at me now. I guess I was never really good at that kind of thing. Justin’s really rubbed off on me, hasn’t he? If you’re listening to this, wherever you are now, I miss you, buddy. We all do. Any
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Tuct Side is a standalone narrative detailing the secrets and happenings surrounding the titular infamous town located in the lower regions of Idaho. The events are told through the perspective of renowned basketball player, filmmaker, and photographer Flori Westford Kuttner, incorporating personal accounts, interviews, and recorded data relating to the appalling affairs. Viewer discretion is advised. Trigger warnings will be mentioned in the beginning of each chapter.
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I have heard the site has upgraded recently and still might have a few bugs. For me, the comment section of a chapter is completely blank unless I highlight it. Is it one of the bugs that are in the works of being fixed or is it just me?
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Nick led Sam and Owen through a path of destruction to the garage, which was oddly cleaner than the rest of the house. In it, a ring was already set up. In fact, it was a makeshift studio made just for boxing. “You know the drill, O,” Nick spoke as he strutted over to a rack of equipment, picking up a pair of gloves and headgear. “Remember what I told you last practice.” Owen did the same and nodded nervously. “Yeah. Got it, man.” Sam picked up gloves and headgear of his own, but sat
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I'm glad your still interested. And yes, for now, new characters will pop up every now and then, some more important than others. While this story is slow-moving, Sam has to balance a supernatural life with a regular life, so I understand it being so disconnected. Hopefully, Sam will keep your interest intact, and I'll definitely take in your consideration to account. Thank you!
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The first person Aubrielle came across was who she was expecting to see. Sam cam stumbling out of the gym emergency exit, which seemed unaffected despite the light show earlier, adorning a gray sweater a bit too large for his frame – probably Owen’s – and black sweatpants. The most surprising part was the cuts and small patches of dried blood on his face. The younger teen appeared to be in a hurry, trying to shoulder his duffel bag while keeping eye contact with the floor. If Aubrielle h
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Sam’s eyes fluttered open to amethyst. His body stung, pricks of pain making him flinch every few seconds. Still, he forced his forearms to pick himself back up. Drops of blood smeared across the glass-covered floor as he rose. “Hello!?” he shouted into the dark, empty gymnasium that seemed to have a strange, purple tint to it. “Coach!? Owen!? Nobody answered his calls. He cautiously examined the area. The air felt odd as if it was frozen still. For one crazy second, Sam wondered if
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The redhead awoke momentarily, sitting. A deep rumbling resounded beneath him, the vibrations massaging his body. Groggy, he lolled his head to the right and found himself staring out a window. He deduced he was in a car. Houses passed by at a swift pace, making the boy’s head spin. So, he looked toward the left… …and came face-to-face with a complete stranger. Whoever was in the driver’s seat was wearing a gold and purple Letterman’s jacket. A football player most definitely, judging by
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‘Note to fucking self…’ Noah Carpenter, beaten and bruised, thought as he trudged across the sidewalk, passing by the town’s woodlands, droplets of crimson leaving a bloody trail in his wake. “Do not trust anyone.” The fifteen-year-old – going on sixteen – practically went into war every day he sauntered past the entrance of Grand Mount High School, even if it was always one-sided. What could a rail-thin, little redhead with a temper as short as his height like him do against five or six bee
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Fear not, my friend! 😁 It shall continue a week after"Gen Zues(The other story)'s" turn is up 😉
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Sam was introduced to the class as a new student. It was a pretty normal procedure – his name, grade level, and his favorite food. He went with cheese pizza simply because that was his dinner last night. The class greeted him, and even several of them clapped. He scanned the area and spotted a familiar dark-skinned girl grinning at him. Sam’s smile widened as he waved at Renee Carson, and she did the same. With that, the boy, a bit reluctantly, sauntered over to the seat in between Jason and
