Extracts from a Thought
- Thread starter Mike
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idontsparkle
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this is a good thriller story 
we want more xD
we want more xD
Mike
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Tut tut Mr. Wetherall. Doubt there'll be an update tonight unless I find inspiration.
scotland forever
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this is a good thriller story
Same, when's the next amazing update Mike?
Sorry for the delay in updates guys, I'm sure one will be on the way shortly
is that like shortly 5 minutes or shortly 1 week. come on dammit! i wanna see what happens
Mike
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is that like shortly 5 minutes or shortly 1 week. come on dammit! i wanna see what happens
Decisions... argh! lol I'll finish writing an update now and I'll see how it looks. Got a whole day tomorrow to think something up.
Setpember 9th, 2009
A lack of sleep gave me a tired start to the day. I woke at 6 am sharp, so I had enough time during the day to think out a plan. A plan? What ******* plan? I can’t think up a 2-line poem let alone a blueprint of my next week.
I ate a couple of breakfast bars as I caught the 7.03 train from near my room to the centre of Lisbon to meet with a person I met very briefly last night. His name is James O’Connor. He’s a tall, slim, dark haired English lad (despite the seemingly Irish surname) and is a representative of one of the footballing camps in southern Portugal. I only met him briefly after I bumped into him in the street, we exchanged apologies and he recognised me from newspaper pictures.
As I arrived, he greeted me with a manly handshake and a pat on the back. I was told that I’d been brave to come out here. After asking why, he explained deeply and thoroughly.
‘Portuguese Mafia?’
As if I didn’t feel comfortable already, this sent bricks down my leg. Runny bricks.
I quietly gasped for air as he continued with his telling of this group. All male, around 9 members, hate ‘British imports’.
He then told me the words I wasn’t really sure I needed to hear. Luis Figo told me this, and so did Estela Cruz..
“You need to get out of Portugal, son, before you get sent home in a coffin.”
Mike
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Setpember 14th, 2009
The meeting with James made me nervous during the past days. Since then, I’ve looked in every direction for every minute of the day, just in case something suspicious was happening around. I even had to turn down a date with Estela because of this.
I was scared.
I opened my laptop and began searching for flight times and prices, just in case I desperately wanted to get out of here. Just then, I received a phone call from home.
“Hello Mike, we understand what’s happened in the previous days, so a flight ticket has been sent to you for you to come home, and we will refund your costs in full. We’ll see you soon.”
Maybe it was right that I went home. Maybe football really wasn’t for me.
September 20th, 2009
My mobile phone rang, and Luis Figo’s name displayed on the screen. I answered. He gave me one last ‘good luck’, and so did Carlos Queiroz as he was there too, lingering in the background. They also apologised for what has happened, and said it was for the best that I left for home.
There was around 4 hours until my flight back to busy Heathrow.
‘I’m really leaving Portugal!’
I took a long hard look at my suitcase to see if I’d missed anything I should have packed. A mini football was sat in the corner of the room, so I picked it up and placed it gently on top of everything else, and proceeded to shut and lock the case.
There was a knock on the door, and instantly afterwards, Estela walked in wearing tight white jeans and a cropped t-shirt. I suddenly felt as if nothing else mattered anymore, just the conversation that was next to happen.
She apologised about the incidents, like everyone else did, and continued to speak. She was upset that I was leaving, but the feeling was mutual. We gladly exchanged numbers, then hugged. I thought about kissing her on the cheek, but I’d feel stupid if it went horribly wrong.
She kissed me.. on the lips. Then cried.
The meeting with James made me nervous during the past days. Since then, I’ve looked in every direction for every minute of the day, just in case something suspicious was happening around. I even had to turn down a date with Estela because of this.
I was scared.
. . . . .
I opened my laptop and began searching for flight times and prices, just in case I desperately wanted to get out of here. Just then, I received a phone call from home.
“Hello Mike, we understand what’s happened in the previous days, so a flight ticket has been sent to you for you to come home, and we will refund your costs in full. We’ll see you soon.”
Maybe it was right that I went home. Maybe football really wasn’t for me.
September 20th, 2009
My mobile phone rang, and Luis Figo’s name displayed on the screen. I answered. He gave me one last ‘good luck’, and so did Carlos Queiroz as he was there too, lingering in the background. They also apologised for what has happened, and said it was for the best that I left for home.
There was around 4 hours until my flight back to busy Heathrow.
‘I’m really leaving Portugal!’
I took a long hard look at my suitcase to see if I’d missed anything I should have packed. A mini football was sat in the corner of the room, so I picked it up and placed it gently on top of everything else, and proceeded to shut and lock the case.
There was a knock on the door, and instantly afterwards, Estela walked in wearing tight white jeans and a cropped t-shirt. I suddenly felt as if nothing else mattered anymore, just the conversation that was next to happen.
She apologised about the incidents, like everyone else did, and continued to speak. She was upset that I was leaving, but the feeling was mutual. We gladly exchanged numbers, then hugged. I thought about kissing her on the cheek, but I’d feel stupid if it went horribly wrong.
She kissed me.. on the lips. Then cried.
King James
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you ladies man! its seriously a good story. more?
Mike
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XD not just yet, gonna grab some munch, but there will be another update later.