How to Play:
1- You start by posting the first few sentences of a movie script—an exciting opening scene.
2- The next commenter must add the next part of the scene, continuing where you left off.
3- Each person who comments must stick to the style and genre you set (e.g., thriller, comedy), and can only write 1-3 sentences.
4- To make it more fun, each player can introduce a plot twist, character, or mystery that the next person has to continue! LETS GOOO! ill start (:
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Title: "The Last Phone Call" - Mystery/Thriller
"INT. SMALL APARTMENT - NIGHT. The phone rings, cutting through the silence. Sarah hesitates before answering. 'Who is this?' she asks. A voice on the other end crackles, 'You’ve been chosen. Don’t hang up, or you’ll never know the truth.'"
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SARAH
Chosen for what?
CALLER (PHONE)
I left a box on your kitchen table. Unlock it with the key I put on your necklace.
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I like this game, Chase Cysco. Does anyone else wanna play?
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Maurice Vaughan my brother lets gooooooo!!! they will catch on
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SARAH
(eyes widening, instinctively reaching for the necklace)
How do you know about that?
CALLER (PHONE)
(smiling through the line)
I know everything about you, Sarah. The real question is… how much do you want to know about yourself?
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CALLER (PHONE)
Where did you grow up? What school did you go to? Have you ever had a boyfriend?
Sarah touches her head, racking her brain for the answers. Her hair covers a large scar on her head.
CALLER (PHONE) (CONT'D)
You want to know the truth? Go open the box.
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SARAH
(trembling, voice barely above a whisper)
What will I find in it?
CALLER (PHONE)
Answers, Sarah. Answers to who you are... and who you were meant to be.
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SARAH
I hope it's a Hickory Farms gift box. That is the key to my soul.
CALLER (VO)
The sausage has magical powers... and the cheese! Life changing.
SARAH
S--Sh-Shall I open it?
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E Langley Maurice Vaughan (: lets keep going
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CALLER (PHONE)
Yes, open it. But be warned, each item inside has a story... a piece of your past. And some stories might be darker than you expect.
Sarah looks to the doorway, trying to decide what to do.
CALLER (PHONE)
You have ten seconds to open the box, or you'll never know the truth. Ten, nine...
She leaps from her chair and bolts out the room.
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SARAH
(panicking, gasping for breath)
Wait! Stop counting!
CALLER (PHONE)
(eerily calm, the voice almost mocking)
Eight... seven... You can’t run from this, Sarah. The truth is already in motion.
Sarah freezes mid-step, her pulse racing in her ears. Her eyes dart to the kitchen, where a faint light flickers, casting eerie shadows across the table. The box sits there, ordinary yet menacing, bathed in the dim glow of the flickering light. She grips the phone tightly, her knuckles turning white.
SARAH
(stammering, voice trembling)
W-What’s inside? What do you want from me?
CALLER (PHONE)
(voice dropping, a sinister whisper now)
It’s not about what I want... It’s about what you need to know. Six... five... Every second you waste, you lose another part of your past. Another piece of you.
Sarah's chest heaves as she struggles to breathe. Her fingers instinctively touch the cold metal of the key hanging from the necklace, as though it’s a lifeline. Her scar throbs beneath her hair, as if trying to remind her of something long forgotten. The room feels smaller, the walls seem to close in, and the ticking of the clock on the wall grows deafening.
SARAH
(pleading, barely holding it together)
I-I don’t even know who you are!
CALLER (PHONE)
(calm, unyielding)
That’s not important. What matters is who you are, Sarah. And what you’ve forgotten. Four... three... You still have a choice—open the box, or let the truth slip away forever.
Her legs tremble beneath her, and she stumbles forward, her gaze fixated on the box. She can almost hear the faint rustle of paper or maybe something else shifting inside. Her mind races, imagining all the possibilities—what could be in there? A letter? Photos? Or something far worse?
SARAH
(muttering to herself, almost delirious)
This can’t be real. It’s just a prank, right? Some kind of sick joke...
She steps closer to the box, each footstep echoing in her mind like a drumbeat. Her breath quickens, and her heart pounds harder as her shaking hand reaches out toward the box. The key in her other hand feels unnaturally cold, heavy, as if it’s connected to something beyond her comprehension.
CALLER (PHONE)
(voice now almost a purr)
Two... one... The truth is waiting, Sarah. It’s always been waiting.
She hesitates, her fingers just inches from the box. Time seems to slow, her vision narrowing until all she can see is the box. Her entire body tenses, torn between the instinct to flee and the overwhelming pull of curiosity. Her hand finally lands on the box, the smooth surface sending a shiver through her spine.
SARAH
(barely audible, to herself)
I don’t want to know...
CALLER (PHONE)
(chillingly close, as though standing right behind her)
But you have to. Open it, Sarah.
With trembling hands, she inserts the key into the small lock on the box and turns it. The click of the lock echoes in the silent apartment, reverberating through her bones. She lifts the lid slowly, the hinges creaking like a scream in the darkness.
Inside the box, a single object rests—
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had a little more time today wrote a little more (:
A gorgeous silver pocket watch. Antique.
Sarah stares at the watch, perplexed. She picks it up and runs her thumb across the engravings. A button sits in the middle of the watch. She pushes the button, and the watch pops open.
The dial is a hi-tech screen. Numbers and data stream in a circle.
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It`s interesting!
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SARAH
(staring at the watch, her heart racing)
What happens if I don’t open it?
CALLER (PHONE)
(cold, detached)
Then the truth stays buried. And you, Sarah... will remain in the dark, trapped in a life that was never truly yours.
The numbers on the watch flicker, slowing down for a moment, before spinning even faster. Sarah feels a deep pull inside her, like a part of her memory is struggling to surface. She takes a shaky step toward the kitchen.
SARAH
(whispering to herself)
This can’t be real... this can’t be happening.
CALLER (PHONE)
(impatient, voice sharp)
Tick-tock, Sarah. The watch is a gift... a second chance. But second chances don’t last forever. Open the box, or you’ll lose everything.
Her gaze flicks toward the box on the kitchen table. A sleek, black box, just sitting there—innocuous, yet menacing. Her fingers twitch, yearning to grab the key hanging from her necklace, but something holds her back.
SARAH
(voice cracking)
Why me? Why now? I didn’t ask for this!
CALLER (PHONE)
(sighing, almost bored)
None of them did. But this is bigger than you, Sarah. It always has been. The truth... it’s already set in motion. You were chosen long before you even knew what choice meant.
The room feels colder. The lights dim slightly as though the air itself is thickening. Sarah hesitates again, her hand hovering near the box. The watch beeps softly—time is slipping away.
CALLER (PHONE)
(voice lowering, threatening)
Five... four... I can’t stop it, Sarah. You’re running out of time. Open the box, or watch your life unravel.
Her hand trembles as it finally grips the key on her necklace. The metal feels ice-cold against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine.
SARAH
(taking a deep breath, steeling herself)
Fine... I’ll open it. But I swear, if this is some kind of game—
CALLER (PHONE)
(cutting her off)
It’s not a game, Sarah. It’s the beginning... or the end. That’s up to you now.
With one last glance at the phone, Sarah slowly walks toward the table. Her footsteps echo unnaturally in the small apartment, each one sounding louder than the last. She reaches the box, the weight of the key heavier than ever in her hand. Slowly, she kneels in front of it, her fingers shaking as she slides the key into the lock.
The box clicks open with a soft, ominous creak.
SARAH
(whispering, barely audible)
What... what’s inside?
She peers into the box and gasps. Inside, resting on a velvet lining, is a small, weathered journal. The leather cover is cracked and faded, with a symbol she doesn't recognize embossed on it. But more unsettling is the photo tucked into the front page... a photo of her, as a child, standing next to someone she doesn’t remember.
SARAH
(stunned, voice shaking)
What... what is this?
CALLER (PHONE)
(voice soft, almost tender)
It’s your past, Sarah. The life you forgot. Now... it’s time to remember.
The line goes dead. Sarah is left in the thick, suffocating silence, her mind racing as she stares at the journal in her hands.
SARAH
(breathless, whispering)
What did I forget?