MattMo Round Robin Fic Time!
It's the weekend and it's time for another round of round-robin ficcing! This fic is inspired by my dad's HELLISH 7-hour commute from Boston, MA to Newton, MA (a 10-minute drive) in the snowstorm.
HERE ARE THE RULES:
1. Read through ALL comments before posting.
2. When you reach the end of the thread, post a comment with text “claimed.” Hit submit and look at the thread. If another “claimed” comment comes up above yours, you’re out of luck! Wait ‘til next round and try again.
3. If you have won the claim, however, you may either edit your existing comment (if you can) or post another comment with your continuation.
RULES FOR CONTINUING
1. Limit your continuation to only a few paragraphs if you can (you may go above that if you are writing dialogue, of course).
2. Please bold (using the tag) the first few words (that will be bolded in the thread above you) and the last few words (to give the next person a place to start from.) This helps with story cohesiveness.
This story may be rated R; let's try and keep it out of NC-17 territory. Just nothing too graphic.
--
It took Matt three hours to get five blocks. He had half a mind to abandon his squad car and just walk.
Visibility was nil. SUVs were plowing through red lights with no thought to who might be coming. Hell, all the traffic was moving three feet an hour, so it's not like there was much for them to think about. And Matt was sworn to uphold the goddamn law, so it wasn't like he could turn on his siren and just wail past. (For all the good it would do.)
So when he finally made it onto his block, into his parking space, it was long past dinnertime and storytime and bedtime and the lights in the apartment were out. It took him three tries to open his door; the wind was howling and the snow was piling up like crazy. Snow was inside his boots from the moment he stepped outside. His nose was numb and his ears and chin were either burning or freezing or both. He put a hand in front of his face and tried desperately to reach the front door.
Against the blinding white of the snowstorm, the interior of the apartment building was almost too dark to see a thing. He groped his way up the steps, cursing and sniffling, and made his way to the apartment door. His frostbitten fingers were desperately fumbling for the right key when
HERE ARE THE RULES:
1. Read through ALL comments before posting.
2. When you reach the end of the thread, post a comment with text “claimed.” Hit submit and look at the thread. If another “claimed” comment comes up above yours, you’re out of luck! Wait ‘til next round and try again.
3. If you have won the claim, however, you may either edit your existing comment (if you can) or post another comment with your continuation.
RULES FOR CONTINUING
1. Limit your continuation to only a few paragraphs if you can (you may go above that if you are writing dialogue, of course).
2. Please bold (using the tag) the first few words (that will be bolded in the thread above you) and the last few words (to give the next person a place to start from.) This helps with story cohesiveness.
This story may be rated R; let's try and keep it out of NC-17 territory. Just nothing too graphic.
--
It took Matt three hours to get five blocks. He had half a mind to abandon his squad car and just walk.
Visibility was nil. SUVs were plowing through red lights with no thought to who might be coming. Hell, all the traffic was moving three feet an hour, so it's not like there was much for them to think about. And Matt was sworn to uphold the goddamn law, so it wasn't like he could turn on his siren and just wail past. (For all the good it would do.)
So when he finally made it onto his block, into his parking space, it was long past dinnertime and storytime and bedtime and the lights in the apartment were out. It took him three tries to open his door; the wind was howling and the snow was piling up like crazy. Snow was inside his boots from the moment he stepped outside. His nose was numb and his ears and chin were either burning or freezing or both. He put a hand in front of his face and tried desperately to reach the front door.
Against the blinding white of the snowstorm, the interior of the apartment building was almost too dark to see a thing. He groped his way up the steps, cursing and sniffling, and made his way to the apartment door. His frostbitten fingers were desperately fumbling for the right key when