Story cover for There's No I in Story by XxLastOfMyKindxX
There's No I in Story
  • WpView
    Reads 63
  • WpVote
    Votes 15
  • WpPart
    Parts 4
  • WpHistory
    Time 28m
  • WpView
    Reads 63
  • WpVote
    Votes 15
  • WpPart
    Parts 4
  • WpHistory
    Time 28m
Complete, First published Jun 19, 2019
Drama haunts the tunnels beneath Clear Lake Academy. Her eyes can see through floors, or walls for that matter, and she Marks all those who get too close. The school day shows that the Marked become shunned by everyone they thought was an ally, but the Marked don't know why.  But then, when the sun descends towards the school's rooftop, the monster's havoc becomes apparent. When Drama Marks her prey, they actually never leave the school. Everyone else sees them do so, but they don't. Not really. They decease. The schoolgrounds are a graveyard, and the Marked occupy them.

Can our Hero brave the underground tunnels and save her classmate from the dreadful clutches of the Mark? Can she thwart Drama and send the monster away for good?


The letter presented by the name of the story you're about to read happens to be the 5th most frequently used letter of our language here. The only letters of that type are to be found throughout the name of the story. The story was typed up by me for a challenge my 8th grade teacher proposed: create a page-long story that abandons the forsaken letter. (The page lengthened for me.) Thus, sentences may be worded strangely, and you may have to reread a few of them before you understand them. There may be a few occurrences when cheats are made. (For example, when "5th" was typed.) Sorry about that. We'll just have to plow through, won't we?
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In The Blink Of An Eye

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Madisyn Connelly, or MC as people called her, considered staring at the wall for the next hour a viable entertainment option. Her life was, to put it mildly, predictable. Wake, work, maybe catch a movie, sleep, repeat. The thrill was gone, replaced by the beige monotony of suburban existence. That's when her phone buzzed. It was a text message from an unknown number: "Hello? Are you there?" Madisyn sighed. Just another wrong number. She typed back, "Wrong number, sorry." and went back to contemplating the life she was living. The reply came instantly: "No matter how I put this, it'll sound crazy. I've gone over this many times in my head." Followed by "Wait a sec. I have to add the others first. Please don't go." Thomas, Cleo, Dan, Richy, Jessy... These names were strangers only moments ago and now resonated with a strange urgency. "We need to ask, How do you know Hannah Donfort?" Madisyn hesitated. She was about to send another dismissive reply, but a flicker of... something... stopped her. Boredom? Curiosity? A subconscious yearning for something more? "I don't know anyone named Hannah," she typed adding a question mark at the end, unsure why she was even bothering. The next text chilled her blood: "Hannah's my girlfriend and she disappeared. Three days ago to be exact." And so began Madisyn's unwanted adventure. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was somehow connected to this Hannah, these people, this desperate plea. Madisyn's heart hammered. Worried texts, Hannah's disappearance, Madisyn's phone number on Hannah's phone... it all pointed to something far more sinister than a simple misunderstanding. The search led her down dark alleys and into smoky bars. She faced threats, endured intimidation, and felt the cold grip of fear more times than she could count. She had discovered that even in the most ordinary of lives, there was the potential for extraordinary courage, love, and power to make a difference. And it all started with the wrong number.