The "Freeola Customer Forum" forum, which includes Retro Game Reviews, has been archived and is now read-only. You cannot post here or create a new thread or review on this forum.
19:01
A man was born Peter. He lived through life, and when he was six, he was asked a question.
What do you want to do in life, above all else?
I want to play guitar on stage and sing.
But of course, Peter never did. He passed his A-Levels, and became a doctor. And for all the remarks from his patients, and the tears and frustration of having to tell someone that their kid had just died, he could escape from it, by simply going home, writing songs, and playing them to himself.
And one day, he couldn't face it. He didn't turn up for work, and just lay on his bathroom floor for a few days, just thinking.
Peter eventually got up, and made himself a drink, got some food. He found out he'd been fired, but it didn't matter, he was past that now. It had done him good to just think for the moment. His life was ruined. For all the songs he had wrote, for all he had done, what did he have to show? Sure, he was a doctor. He had saved people's lives... but what about his own? He didn't enjoy it.
Sure, his parents were very upset that he'd been fired. My son's DOCTOR Peter Davies. Look what I bought into the world. Better than your son.
So Peter bought a gun, and had made up his mind. No more could he face life, the ways. So he decided to kill himself.
But there was just one last thing to do.
He rung up a few old friends, took a few phonenumbers. He found himself a stage, a hall. He printed out some posters, he stuck them up around the town, and on Friday, he waited.
About five hundred people turned up, unaware of what the show would bring. It was so nice to see so many people interested... but Peter was only going to play the one song, like he always wanted, and then, bang. Out comes the gun. He didn't have anything more to do after that. He had written a song, not so many days ago, and it had quickly become his favourite. It didn't really tell of anything, simply how he was feeling.
So one thousand hands call to Peter as he walks onto the stage, and he takes his seat. He pulls up his guitar, and he sings his song.
Tears reach his eyes as he finishes, and the room claps.
The room clapped his music.
Peter felt the gun digging into his back... but the rush had caught him.
So he decided to play another song. Something he'd written about when this boy had asked him so dearly not to tell his parents where he was after he had been attacked, but of course was forced to. The Boy Who Ran.
And they clapped more.
Peter checked the time. Ten past seven. He had said it would last an hour.
He could do it.
Singing more songs that he had wrote after coming home from work... he even took requests about halfway through.
And as Peter left, happier than he's ever been in his life, he was told that it was the best concert they've ever been to, and when he would be playing again.
Peter smiled, and simply said "Soon."
A man was born Peter. He lived through life, and when he was six, he was asked a question.
What do you want to do in life, above all else?
I want to play guitar on stage and sing.
But of course, Peter never did. He passed his A-Levels, and became a doctor. And for all the remarks from his patients, and the tears and frustration of having to tell someone that their kid had just died, he could escape from it, by simply going home, writing songs, and playing them to himself.
And one day, he couldn't face it. He didn't turn up for work, and just lay on his bathroom floor for a few days, just thinking.
Peter eventually got up, and made himself a drink, got some food. He found out he'd been fired, but it didn't matter, he was past that now. It had done him good to just think for the moment. His life was ruined. For all the songs he had wrote, for all he had done, what did he have to show? Sure, he was a doctor. He had saved people's lives... but what about his own? He didn't enjoy it.
Sure, his parents were very upset that he'd been fired. My son's DOCTOR Peter Davies. Look what I bought into the world. Better than your son.
So Peter bought a gun, and had made up his mind. No more could he face life, the ways. So he decided to kill himself.
But there was just one last thing to do.
He rung up a few old friends, took a few phonenumbers. He found himself a stage, a hall. He printed out some posters, he stuck them up around the town, and on Friday, he waited.
About five hundred people turned up, unaware of what the show would bring. It was so nice to see so many people interested... but Peter was only going to play the one song, like he always wanted, and then, bang. Out comes the gun. He didn't have anything more to do after that. He had written a song, not so many days ago, and it had quickly become his favourite. It didn't really tell of anything, simply how he was feeling.
So one thousand hands call to Peter as he walks onto the stage, and he takes his seat. He pulls up his guitar, and he sings his song.
Tears reach his eyes as he finishes, and the room claps.
The room clapped his music.
Peter felt the gun digging into his back... but the rush had caught him.
So he decided to play another song. Something he'd written about when this boy had asked him so dearly not to tell his parents where he was after he had been attacked, but of course was forced to. The Boy Who Ran.
And they clapped more.
Peter checked the time. Ten past seven. He had said it would last an hour.
He could do it.
Singing more songs that he had wrote after coming home from work... he even took requests about halfway through.
And as Peter left, happier than he's ever been in his life, he was told that it was the best concert they've ever been to, and when he would be playing again.
Peter smiled, and simply said "Soon."
Page:
19:01
A man was born Peter. He lived through life, and when he was six, he was asked a question.
What do you want to do in life, above all else?
I want to play guitar on stage and sing.
But of course, Peter never did. He passed his A-Levels, and became a doctor. And for all the remarks from his patients, and the tears and frustration of having to tell someone that their kid had just died, he could escape from it, by simply going home, writing songs, and playing them to himself.
And one day, he couldn't face it. He didn't turn up for work, and just lay on his bathroom floor for a few days, just thinking.
Peter eventually got up, and made himself a drink, got some food. He found out he'd been fired, but it didn't matter, he was past that now. It had done him good to just think for the moment. His life was ruined. For all the songs he had wrote, for all he had done, what did he have to show? Sure, he was a doctor. He had saved people's lives... but what about his own? He didn't enjoy it.
Sure, his parents were very upset that he'd been fired. My son's DOCTOR Peter Davies. Look what I bought into the world. Better than your son.
So Peter bought a gun, and had made up his mind. No more could he face life, the ways. So he decided to kill himself.
But there was just one last thing to do.
He rung up a few old friends, took a few phonenumbers. He found himself a stage, a hall. He printed out some posters, he stuck them up around the town, and on Friday, he waited.
About five hundred people turned up, unaware of what the show would bring. It was so nice to see so many people interested... but Peter was only going to play the one song, like he always wanted, and then, bang. Out comes the gun. He didn't have anything more to do after that. He had written a song, not so many days ago, and it had quickly become his favourite. It didn't really tell of anything, simply how he was feeling.
So one thousand hands call to Peter as he walks onto the stage, and he takes his seat. He pulls up his guitar, and he sings his song.
Tears reach his eyes as he finishes, and the room claps.
The room clapped his music.
Peter felt the gun digging into his back... but the rush had caught him.
So he decided to play another song. Something he'd written about when this boy had asked him so dearly not to tell his parents where he was after he had been attacked, but of course was forced to. The Boy Who Ran.
And they clapped more.
Peter checked the time. Ten past seven. He had said it would last an hour.
He could do it.
Singing more songs that he had wrote after coming home from work... he even took requests about halfway through.
And as Peter left, happier than he's ever been in his life, he was told that it was the best concert they've ever been to, and when he would be playing again.
Peter smiled, and simply said "Soon."
A man was born Peter. He lived through life, and when he was six, he was asked a question.
What do you want to do in life, above all else?
I want to play guitar on stage and sing.
But of course, Peter never did. He passed his A-Levels, and became a doctor. And for all the remarks from his patients, and the tears and frustration of having to tell someone that their kid had just died, he could escape from it, by simply going home, writing songs, and playing them to himself.
And one day, he couldn't face it. He didn't turn up for work, and just lay on his bathroom floor for a few days, just thinking.
Peter eventually got up, and made himself a drink, got some food. He found out he'd been fired, but it didn't matter, he was past that now. It had done him good to just think for the moment. His life was ruined. For all the songs he had wrote, for all he had done, what did he have to show? Sure, he was a doctor. He had saved people's lives... but what about his own? He didn't enjoy it.
Sure, his parents were very upset that he'd been fired. My son's DOCTOR Peter Davies. Look what I bought into the world. Better than your son.
So Peter bought a gun, and had made up his mind. No more could he face life, the ways. So he decided to kill himself.
But there was just one last thing to do.
He rung up a few old friends, took a few phonenumbers. He found himself a stage, a hall. He printed out some posters, he stuck them up around the town, and on Friday, he waited.
About five hundred people turned up, unaware of what the show would bring. It was so nice to see so many people interested... but Peter was only going to play the one song, like he always wanted, and then, bang. Out comes the gun. He didn't have anything more to do after that. He had written a song, not so many days ago, and it had quickly become his favourite. It didn't really tell of anything, simply how he was feeling.
So one thousand hands call to Peter as he walks onto the stage, and he takes his seat. He pulls up his guitar, and he sings his song.
Tears reach his eyes as he finishes, and the room claps.
The room clapped his music.
Peter felt the gun digging into his back... but the rush had caught him.
So he decided to play another song. Something he'd written about when this boy had asked him so dearly not to tell his parents where he was after he had been attacked, but of course was forced to. The Boy Who Ran.
And they clapped more.
Peter checked the time. Ten past seven. He had said it would last an hour.
He could do it.
Singing more songs that he had wrote after coming home from work... he even took requests about halfway through.
And as Peter left, happier than he's ever been in his life, he was told that it was the best concert they've ever been to, and when he would be playing again.
Peter smiled, and simply said "Soon."
Thats the best damn story ever! And its short as well, no wonder your a Notable Grix. Ever considered becoming an author?...
I don't think it's really the best story ever... :0)
But I have considered becoming an author. I love to tell stories, but I want to tell them visually. Words are a just a way for me to get ideas out of my head.
But I have considered becoming an author. I love to tell stories, but I want to tell them visually. Words are a just a way for me to get ideas out of my head.
Its not the BEST story but its very good, as the other guy said you deserve to be a Notable unlike other people in my view.
I think anyone who thinks people who are already notables don't deserve to be, doesn't deserve to be a notable themself.
But that's just me. Thanks for the compliment.
But that's just me. Thanks for the compliment.
Yer but I think its pretty clear I wont be a Notable for a hell of a long time or maybe ever. Im not exactly Notable material.
I spend most my time in the WWF Forum, not exactly the place to get your name known if you know what I mean.
Just how short are you then Grix?
Heh, sorry.
I liked that, it made me smile for all kinds of reasons.
Why do people tell you you can't go to the moon? Hell if my kids tell me they want to go to the moon I'l say "Go for it, I'll be here for you."
Heh, sorry.
I liked that, it made me smile for all kinds of reasons.
Why do people tell you you can't go to the moon? Hell if my kids tell me they want to go to the moon I'l say "Go for it, I'll be here for you."
That's the sirst story I've read since I "came back". I feel good now.
Another interesting and thought provoking story from Grix...
*applause*
*applause*
Page: