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Me and Celsius have come up with a story - we're writing it together. any constructive criticism will be appreciated, but if you just bash it, I may be forced to hurt you.

Badly hurt you

It was a dark and stormy night, in Mancester. It was the middle of autumn and the leaves were falling from the trees like dying angels.
A tall dark figure was was making its way up a back alley. A man.
A dark man, in his mid-twenties, seeming the very picture of style and normality, yet there was air about him that suggested he was not to be toyed with.
The handle of a gun was sticking out of his jacket pocket.
The street was dark, dingy and dirty. Doors were bolted and windows barred.
A stray cat hissed at him as he walked up to the front door of his run down town house. He struggled with his key - the house had been burgled so many times as to make the lock a mangled hunk of metal, which took several minutes to undo.
A car door slamed in the alley. The man flinched, His half smoked cigarette fell out of his mouth and hit the ground with a spark.
He glanced around, suddenly nervous of the shadows - who knew what could be hiding?

"Whos there?" He said in a shaky voice, His hand rested on the handle of his Walther ppk.
No reply came. He turned back around and continued trying to unlock his worn out old lock.

His only answer was the heavy silence of the dark. His paranoia screamed at him, hearing heavy breathing and the cracking of knuckles. Finally, his nerve broke and he began to hammer on the door, slamming the key into the lock and fervently renewing his struggles.

"Damn Door! Useless Piece of shit!" He shouted,
A light turned on acroos he stree and a window opened.

"Keep it down' People are trying to sleep" Shouted a disgruntled woman.

The man calmed his nerves and slowly put his key in to the lock. *Click*
Sucsess. The door opened with a cree and the man walke inside.
The house was small, but well looked after. The smell of new leather furniture filled the room.
He flicked on the lights and closed the door behind him.

He sighed with relief and threw his sopping jacket onto a hook and kicked his shoes off. he walked to the kitchen, collapsed on a chair and reached for the almost full bottle of whiskey.

Hmm...if you are writing a story together, you might want to do a paragraph per person. Otherwise it looks like a interactive story and might be defined as that and moved. I'm not the only one in control of the Fic section...

As he finished the whiskey, he took his gun and wallet out of his pocket and threw them down on the lounge suite. The wallet flipped open, there lie his ID card, "Mark Morrey, PI".
He removed a large wad of money from his wallet ad put it in a little safe behind a picture in the living room. He had just finished a big investigation for a very wealthy family, and they paid him well.
He made his way upstairs to him room, leaving the downstairs light on. As he walkied in he said in a soft voice "Hello Jannette".
But no women were in the room, He made his way to the corner of the room where there stood a large aquarium, in it, his pet boa cconstrictor. "I'm sorry I haven fed you". Said he man in a soft voice, Ill buy some mice tomorrow.
He walked over to his water bed and slumped down for a good night sleep.

Mark rolled over in bed, sheets tangled and quilt on the floor. He opened one bleary eye as a shaft of light sneaked through a crack in the curtains and hit him straight in his sleep blurred eye. He groaned and looked to the clock.
"TEN O'CLOCK!" he yelled.
Quickly, he scrambled out of bed and stumbled over his discarded clothing of the night before. he had a meeting with a client in an hour, and he was cutting it fine.

His breakfast was comprised of a piece of toast and a cold cup of coffee. He ran out of the house pulling his still damp jacket on while clutching the toast in his mouth. Locking his door was a nightmare. "Mental note: Call a locksmith" He thought to himself.
It was a sunny morning, the ground still wet from the rain. The red autumn leaves falling from the trees.
He made it to the buss stop just in time.
"Mornin Ed!" He said to thre buss driver that he had known for over a year now.

After exchanging greetings with the few regulars on his number 22 bus, he reached his seat at the back to find a scruffy teenager draped across it.

"Move over a bit lad. Theres other people on the bus apart from you!" He sais in a stern voice

The teenager looks up at Mark.

"What?" He sais in a slurrish teenage punk voice.

"Move OVER!" Repeats Mark with a thretaning voice.

The teenager takes one last look at Mark, as if seeing if he can exercise hi wit a little. Bu chooses to comply with Marks demand. He moves closer to the window, and Mark sits down.

He looked at his wacth, he was running late.
"Bloody Hell" He thought out loud

The teenager looked over at him.
"Wassamatter?" He asked in an obviously uninterested voice.

"Mind your buiseness." Said Mark with a spark in his eye. The stress was getting to him. He was hungry, and needed a cigarette.

The teen dug in his pocket and produced a battered pack of Silks.
He placed one in his lips, and muttered, "Got a light, mate."
Mark's eyes narrowed. "Only if you give me one."
"Last one, mate."
"Then, sorry, no light."
Grudgingly, when seeing there was no negoiation to be had, the boy handed the packet to Mark, which contained one more cigarette. Mark lit it, then passed the lighter to the teen, and they smoked compnionably for a moment.

"Arent you supposed to be in school?" Asked mark in a scarcastic tone.
The teen blurted out some comment, but Mark didnt care, he had other things on his mind. What was his next case going to be?

The boos cane to a screeching stop, amd Mark got off.
He now stood in front of a small downtown office building. HHe looked up at the sign. It spelled "The Fredsonss Paperworks" in big green letters. The buisness belonged to a family friend of his, who let him use one of the empty rooms as an office.
He took one last drag of the cigarrete, and mmaade his way inside.

As he slowly pushed open the door, he was met by a shrill screech of indignation from the large woman in front of him - assumedly, his prospective client.
"MISTER Morrey, I have been waiting here at your OFFICE for FORTY minutes. You are obviously a PATHETIC excuse for a Private Investigator, and be ASSURED I will be sending a complaint in WRITING!"

"To whom?" Asked Horrey calmly. "I am my own boss."

"I am, however, sorry for the delay, I had some urgent buisiness to attend to. " He lied.

The woman gave him a once over and decided to let it go. "Thats alright, I'm not in a hurry, and from what I've heard, youre worth waiting for."

Morrey gave a slight smile.
"What can I do for you Mrs.......?" "Narrow" Proclaime the woman.

Mark restrained the laughter thatt was so terribly trying to escape. She wasnt exactly narrow.
"What can I do for you Mrs. Narrow" He continued.

"I'm afraid I've been a Miss for nearly Five years now." She said with a sad look on her face.

"I'm sorry" Said Mark.

"You weren't to know." the lady replied.
"It's concerning that delicate matter that I've come to see you about."
Confused, Mark enquired as to what she meant.
"I believe my husband was murdered, Mr. Morrey."

awwww this is so kewl

"It has been five years. Sure ly you have talked to the police prior to coming here?. Any evidence in a case this old will be extremely hard to come by." Said Mark in awe.

"The police would not help me. My husband has been involved in... shady dealings. They simply chalked it up to one of his... clients refusing to pay a bill. But I do not believe that. His body was never found, and a killer was never discovered."

"Right." Said Mark.
"Tell me. When was the last time you saw toyr husband? Did he ever mention anything to you?"

The woman thought for a second, and answered.

"he was very... mysterious. he didn't make any sense. His lat words to me were a garbled answering machine message. I kept the tape, if you would like to hear it...?"

"Sure"
Mark took the tape from the womans hand, put it into hi answering machine, and pressed the play button.

& quot;Shhhhhh*muffle*Cash*muffle*SHHHHHHHHHHHH*loan
*SSSSSGGAHHHHHHHHHHASHHHHHHHH*Steinberg*"

"Does that name mean anything to you?" he asked.

"I believe.....that its the name of a motel...........I THINK so......"
*she said with a puzzled look on her face.*

He sighed. "Can you be more positive?"
She shook her head.
"Well, it can't be helped. I will investigate this, as soon as I can. i will let you know of all and any developments."
She nodded. "Thank you." she whispered.

The day had gone by rather quickly. No new clients, and no new leads.
It was 6 oclock and Mark was about to go home. HHe got up, put on his jacket and haded towards the front door. As he opened it, the phone rang.

GOOD STORY