OK, it looks like this is the forum for doing that, so here are two examples of the texts:
This woman has been asked what the most beautiful thing she ever saw was:
[spoiler]1_MOST BEAUTIFUL THING_MARGARET_RED
Oh, I know: I was driving my father home to Augusta (Georgia: ugh, I know) and we were, God knows, it’s so big out there. New Mexico? That’s not right. North-er. Colorado, Nevada. I was taking him home from Sacramento, cause his fuck-ing wife-- I don’t wanna (waves hands). Anyway: we’re driving, it’s dawn, it’s the kind of terrain out there where there’s really nothing, there’s two mountains and a plain and that’s it. So these mountains are looking really important in this blue light before the sun comes up, on this nothing plain. Really nothing, trees? Grass? Gas stations? None of that. There’s no odor. My dad is so cold I’ve bought what I’m told is a hunting blanket and I’ve wrapped it around him so that he looks like what he is: a sick old man. In that lunar blue light. It’s not straight like Reno to Salt Lake City, the roads move in long imperceptible curves, like, anyway-- we come up on a little town, real small, all the little buildings and houses and trailers all clumped together, huddled together, all the same color: white. And I’m moved, I’m deeply moved as I’m, I’m trying to get out of there because I have pee, but I’m deeply moved and I don’t know why, it’s just a crappy little town of, I assume, soft fat white people trying to look hard. You know? Skoal, long goatees, guns, motorcycles, sleeveless camouflage shirts, sunglasses, leather boots: all the implements soft people employ to seem hard. You know? The damned. The flag-havers. The we-needers. I am not high, I promise. Eighteen months sober. But you know what I’m talking about, the need to belong-ers. Waving that flag, screaming how they belong to something. And they all live in this crap white village on the moon out here in Utah or whatever, and I’m moved by this, ridiculously, and why? What is it? It’s that I can see every window of every little house, and all the other windows can see all the other windows, because there’s nothing in the way on the lunar plain, they can see one another! No impediment! For nothing is secret! That shall not be made manifest; neither any thing hid, that shall not be known and come abroad! A city on a hill can not be hid, Matthew 8. A city on a hill can not be hid. And I was rushing through the middle of it bearing my father’s body-- well, he looked dead. All blue and white like heaven, or a corpse, and the houses and the plain: blue, white. I thought: this is a holy place. The need not to belong but to be known. Not belonging but interdependence, if that’s a word. That we were created to live in interdependence.
And that lasted five seconds and the sun rose and that was pretty, but it woke Dad up and my little apostasy evaporated. And back to driving and holding in piss.
No, not Matthew: Luke![/spoiler]
Half of them squishy humanist things like that, and the other half will orient people in the world that’s been shaped by the bombing. This one is graphically violent. It’s also largely taken from a World Trade Center survivor’s verbal account of trying to get down the stairs.
[spoiler]4_HOW I DIED_KIP_PINK
We were running back up the stairwell because the like the dust cloud was like, this, like rising up the stairs, and Yelena said In Here, and we went into like the seventh floor? I don’t know. And it was, you know how like in a law office all the walls are glass? Well: it was wrecked, it was totally wrecked. And this girl is standing there and there’s glass sticking out of her like everywhere, like big shards of glass, and she’s trying to walk but it’s like she can’t pick a direction, and the security guard just runs up to her and starts pulling out glass: big mistake 'cause blood just gushes out of her and the security guard cuts both his hands on the glass-cicles, and he goes “shit!” and Yelena’s all white, and the girl falls down? But she’s got so much glass sticking out of her that she shatters? She makes a shattering sound? And she squiggles up and squirms and dies, right there, and Yelena’s shaking her fucking shoulder, like, wake up? And I, very calm and very clearly thought: “Fuck? This.” And I ran, I left them all there, I put my nose under the knot in my tie and ran down into the dust cloud, and it was pitch black. I just kept going. It went on forever. Never help anyone. You are not helping people when you go to help them. I find.[/spoiler]
All the 100 texts will do/resemble one of those two things. The adventure game section needs to have its own style; possibly a rip off homage to text games of yore.
I’ve started memorizing my first text: almost one down, 99 to go. Plus the game section. Next time I will post pictures of my dice.