Finish the sentence/paragraph/dialogue of the poster above you.

Hey, all! Not quite sure if this is in the right forum, I was waffling between Word Wars and Plot Doctoring. (Thus mods, feel free to move.)

So the basic idea is to find out how to subsist on Snickers for 48 days. Haha, no, JK.

The real idea is to, as the title suggests, finish the paragraph/sentence/dialogue/idea/action/plot, if you really wanted to/other related literary devices, syntax, and such.

Anybody game? Well, I'll start with a dialogue:

C1: "So, the other day I was--"
C2: "Hey, you know that reminds me, the other day (Wednesday, I think it was) I was walking along and suddenly--"
C1: "Stop interrupting me!"
C3: "No, no, I want to listen to what [C2] has to say."
C1: "Well, I started first so--"
C2: "Like I was saying, I was walking along and suddenly I saw || --> End it like that, yeah?

I guess I'll leave another, then?

Situation: A man is walking along when suddenly the fire truck goes by and he sees a fire up ahead. A woman suddenly faints into his arms. ||

I dunno, eh?

Continue this sentence:

"I would have had a perfect life if it wasn't for the damned..."

"I would have had a perfect life if it wasn't for the damned..."

-

I would have had a perfect life if it wasn't for the damned, which were all around me these days like fruit flies around a piece of molded fruit. They were just as hard to kill, anyway.

-

Finish/continue this sentence:

"With a sigh, he managed to get out of his shirt, only to turn around and see..."

"With a sigh, he managed to get out of his shirt, only to turn around and see..."

-

With a sigh, he managed to get out of his shirt, only to turn around and see a shadow flicker in the doorway. Even as the shadow took solid form, Jaque was lunging backwards, lifting his shirt from from the table where he had tossed it and throwing it violently to the floor. In the same motion, with the other hand, he snatched the gun from the table where it had been hidden by the discarded shirt and spun to face the person stading in the doorway...

-

Finish the action in the above scene! :D ^^^^^^

In the same motion, with the other hand, he snatched the gun from the table where it had been hidden by the discarded shirt and spun to face the person stading in the doorway as he ran forward, confusing the man with the gun, who instead shot the ceiling.

The gun was thrown to the floor as...

The gun was thrown to the floor as the man chased after him. Jaque panted, hoping his legs wouldn't buckle underneath him as he ran.

How much longer before....

How much longer before he could no longer do this? How much longer could he go on hiding, running? He'd lost his shirt, his gun...how much longer until he lost his life running from this nonsense? He ran through the halls of the old wooden warehouse he had taken shelter in from the storm, stumbling and skittering over trash and around graffitied corners, listening to the hungry shadow screeching as it trailed him. Dawn was breaking on the other side of the boarded up windows but he could barely see where he was going until he got there. He burst into the main room of the warehouse, grateful to see more light, but it wasn't enough to dissipate the shadow behind him. He could hear it trilling as though taunting him. On the opposite end of the factory floor, beyond the rows and rows of dilapidated rust piles, he saw one window that was not boarded up, the glass broken, probably by vandals, leading to sweet freedom outside. Old crates had been stacked up underneath it like some bad idea, but he was willing to take the chance. He threw himself at the stack and scrambled up, feeling splinters lodge in his fingers, but the pain only spurred him to go faster. As he approached the window, feeling a god-like breeze cool the sweat on his brow, he heard the shadow screeching behind him as...

As he approached the window, feeling a god-like breeze cool the sweat on his brow, he heard the shadow screeching behind him as... the pile of crates gave out underneath him and he tumbled back to near certain death on the cold concrete floor. He scrabbled for purchase, trying desperately to get his legs underneath him, but the cold December night had left the floor coated in a thin sheen of ice. A strong hand grabbed his hair and yanked him mercilessly upwards. He craned his neck to face...

A strong hand grabbed his hair and yanked him mercilessly upwards. He craned his neck to face the source of his lifelong plight- the murderer of his younger sister. Suddenly, the pain in his scalp and the ache of the fall were washed away in a blind rage. His eyes took in figure before him; the evil took the shape of...

..the evil took the shape of... a siren in disguise. Her violet eyes stared at him guilelessly and once he'd fancied that if he gazed long enough, he'd fall in and never come out.