Mad Lib Story Thread

said, "Hello, my name is Raven." Waving her hand across the countertop, she slowly opened her palm, revealing freshly manicured crimson fingertips, and let the butterscotch, root beer and green apple magic drop onto the bar between their drinks. "How do you feel about jelly beans?" she asked in a smoky, sultry voice.

The tanned stranger could do nothing but....
 
...stare at the jeweled confections that lay before him, and then back at this mysterious beauty with ebony waves and piercing eyes of colors he could not define. He could not have known that only a week ago, this exotic creature was a somewhat frenzied, golden-tressed, blue-eyed girl-next-door. As he struggled to find language, he...
 
...fought back the inexplicable urge to mention Ronald Reagan. After all, she looked a bit young to remember that particular jelly bean administration. Or did she? Somehow she just seemed to be without age.

Reaching for the one of the red candies (hoping it was Dr. Pepper), he inadvertantly...
 
...knocked over the scotch, most of it spilling onto the feather-pinned beret the woman had placed beside it.

"Oh, I am SO sorry! Here, let me take care of that!" Grabbing a handful of cocktail napkins, he reached for the hat. Between dabbing the fabric and then the feather, he glanced up to lament his clumsiness. There was something in those incredible eyes that startled him all over again. Was she going to cry? Or was she furious? Or was there something else?

Raven slowly reached out her hand for the hat, and quietly...
 
...got up to leave.

"Wait! Please!" blurted the stranger.

Raven regarded him cooly,

"I know you, I mean, we've met before haven't we?"

Raven was unimpressed, that was the oldest line in the book.

"I dont think so."

"No, maybe not," he continued, regaining some measure of self control, "but there's something so familiar about you."

Raven was about to deliver a cutting reply, but then, as she looked into his eyes.....
 
... "Luke, I am your father," says Darth Vader.
"Well, maybe not," Raven quietly ponders. Did this guy notice? No, he didn't. But there is something in his eyes that she's seen many years ago....
 
...perhaps in her childhood? Or maybe somewhere beyond and before?

"Get a grip, Raven," she thought to herself, feeling somehow that the name didn't fit. One thing she deplored was confusion, unless she was the confuser. No, she had to hold the reins. To survive. Even though this stranger disturbed her, she needed him. Reaching into her purse, she...
 
Why had she bought it? She simply wasn't sure. All she knew is that it seemed nearly impossible for her to pass by a pawn shop, or an antique store--even flea markets--without going in. She would buy things on impulse, and the strangest part about these shopping "sprees" was that what ever she picked up in these places always seemed to have a profound effect on her. She was trying to remember something about an old book when...
 
"Are you alright?" Asked the handsome stranger,

"What? I've got to go" she replied.

She walked away, mind reeling, she could almost remember something, but what? It was just out of reach, like a shadow on the edge of her mind, a book, an old friend, a name....

"Trudy!!"

Her concentration broken by a familiar sound, she stopped dead still. Then slowly turned to find the stranger behind her.

"Trudy!" he said again, "That's your name, I knew I remembered you!"

The name sounded familiar but repulsive, like a painful childhood memory.

"I already told you, my name is Raven." she replied in a slightly strained voice. Turning again, Ravem walked towards the car, Trudy already forgotten.
 
But not the eyes of this disturbing stranger. As she drove west into the setting sun, she promised herself that she would look into them again, but next time she would call his name.

Into the ruby and topaz of the horizon she flew, her dark hair picking up the golden flecks of light that once were hers. Chasing the sun, she supposed--but knowing for now only darkness.

Where was she, anyway? The last road sign had been miles back. She wondered if she should...
 
...turn back, but she knew that would be pointless, she wasn't going from anywhere, or to anywhere, she was just going. Although she was not sure if that was entirely true, better to say she simply did not know where she was going, or indeed, where she had come from.

When she had first woken up in that shabby hotel room near the airport, she could almost remember everything, but like a dream it had faded quickly. The 36 dollars she found in her jeans pocket were now gone and the blatantly fake passport in the unlikely name of 'Raven Fortitude' was her only possetion. That, and the bizarre amount of jellybeans she kept finding in her pockets and rental car.

Confused as ever, she drove on. She could see something on the road ahead, maybe half a mile away...
 
She blinked to be sure she was not imagining things. Oh, no ! That stranger again ! What the hell he wants from her ? She grabed quickly her purse and searched inside for her cellphone. This time she'll call 911.
 
...But what would she tell them? She met this guy in a bar that she thinks she knows, and its only been an hour or so, and she left before him---but now here he is?

She wished that whoever "Trudy" was would show up. Boy, would she have some things to say to her! Reaching for her phone, she decided that maybe...
 
...she would just confront him--from behind the wheel if need be. "Yes," she thought, "let's just see what you're really made of, mister!"

Leaning on the gas, she focused on the figure in the now dusky haze, but the closer she got to it...
 
...the less sure she felt of herself. Her foot was flat on the floor, the peddle, as they say, to the metal, but she knew she had already lost this particular game of chicken. No matter, there would be more.

Easing off the pedal now, she glanced down at the dash to check her speed, coming down, good, but when she brought her gaze back up to the stranger ahead, he was gone. She slammed her foot on the brake and came skidding to a halt. Maybe she had passed him, she thought, looking in her mirrors, but the lonely desert road was clear to the horizon and there was no one to be seen anywhere. He must be somewhere, she thought.

After a moment's hesitation, she stepped out of the car. Looking ahead and behing, there was nothing to see. What the hell was going on?!? Was she going mad? Well, obviously, yes, but was this handsome stranger a part of her madness or was he something else. A growing fear gripping her heart, she climbed back into the car and...
 
...drove slowly, contemplating the setting sun and the rising moon. Had it been a day or a season since she knew who she was? She would have to stop in the next town. Low on fuel and money and sick of jelly beans, she would have to find work of some kind at least until she could find her memory. What a strange and wonderful sirname she possessed for the moment--yes, it would take "Fortitude"....

Chapter Three​

Ian could barely operate the chain saw as he went after the branches of the scrub tree. He wondered if he was going mad-- he certainly looked the part. Emaciated and unkempt, he had startled the neighbor woman who had stepped out to see what all the noise was about. She had not recognized him as the impeccably groomed young professional he had been until recently. So she had called the police to see why this crazy person with a chainsaw was cutting down her neighbor's tree. The cops had seemed a bit suspicious, even after he produced his I.D., but he took the opportunity to talk to them about Trudy. They suggested that perhaps he should submit a missing person's report, which he had managed to do. The local newpaper had gotten hold of the story, and now Trudy's picture was on the front page. Funny...it had never occurred to him before he talked to the police that he knew nothing of her family. He had no idea how to get in touch with parents or siblings, or if she even had any around.​

All he knew was that he had to finish cutting this tree down before dark. He could not stand another night of torture. And he just had to get back to that book. He could not help himself. It was like...
 
(sorry--that would be "surname", not "sirname". Hate to interrupt the story, but the editor in me just can't seem to let that go! And I hate it when it is too late to edit, but I understand the reason for the limit. On with the story....? :))
 
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