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threading examples

Threading examples
Warning! Some of these may contain adult/dark(er) material.


[Example 1- Zombie Apocalypse]

Before he'd watched his daughter die at the hands of a virus that had now successfully managed to wipe out a third of the world's population, sleep had always come pretty easy to him. Working long days at the garage combined with having an energetic four year old in the house had made it so that he was usually already drifting off before his head had even had a chance to hit the pillow. Nowadays, there weren't a lot of pillows left that didn't have ugly tears and rips or blood stains scattered all over them. None Thayer had managed to find, anyway, which is why he'd improvised - he'd been doing a lot of that lately - and had propped up his leather jacket against the edge of the car window. Not that it really made a difference; he rarely got any kind of rest any more, and on those occasions sleep did overtake him, he was constantly plagued by nightmares. He usually didn't even bother pulling out a sleeping bag any more and had taken up sleeping in the driver's seat of the truck, long legs extended awkwardly over the passenger seat and back twisted at an uncomfortable angle. His sawed off shotgun was ever resting over his chest, fully loaded with his finger wrapped around the trigger. It was dangerous as hell, but Thayer would take accidentally blowing a hole in his car upholstery over being caught unarmed by a zombie trying to climb inside it any day.

Distant sounds - voices - violently pulled him out of his slumber and he jolted awake, eyes wide and shoulders tense. Even though they hadn't been travelling together for long, Thayer instantly recognized the voices as belonging to Nathan and Lawson, which got rid of the tension in his shoulders but not his hyper awareness. There was no screaming, so he figured neither one of them was in any immediate danger, a fact also made clear by the absence of gun shots in the dark. While Nathan was a lot more book smart than he was, the guy didn't seem like he'd ever grow completely comfortable holding a gun. However, that didn't mean his survival instinct wouldn't kick in when faced with an intruder or zombie. Besides, Lawson was an entirely different story. Like him, that guy wouldn't hesitate twice to deliver a clean shot to the head. Thayer ran a hand down over his face and sat upright, reaching behind him for the leather jacket he'd been sleeping on and opening his car door, shotgun still in hand.

When he hopped down out of the customized jeep wrangler the first thing that hit him - like a hammer to the face - was the smell. He kept the doors and windows of the jeep closed at all times, night or day, and he did so for a good reason. Not only did it increase his sense of safety, but it also helped to keep the stench of rotting flesh from invading his nose. He'd already seen more bodies in various states of decay than any man should in one lifetime, and could deal with the horrible visuals just fine... but no matter how many corpses he'd walked past or shoved aside with the tip of his boot, he still hadn't gotten used to the smell. There were times when he thought he never would. They hadn't even parked anywhere near dead bodies - not that they could see, anyway - but the slight breeze still carried the stink with it. An unpleasant shiver made its way up his spine as he joined the two other men in the circle of light.

"Better hope they've got a shit sense of hearing, too, because if your chatter's loud enough to wake me up, you can be damn sure it's loud enough to attract a bunch o'zombies." This wasn't entirely true, as Thayer had been wound up tight and hypervigilant for months now. These days it took all but a mosquito descending on his arm to make him jerk upright and reach for the nearest gun. He knew this, and there was a good chance of his relatively new found travelling companions knowing it too. One could say a lot about never sleeping for more than three hours straight and offering to stand watch more times than was physically healthy, but not that it easily went unnoticed. It was the middle of the night, though, and the last thing they needed was to draw attention to their little makeshift laager. He was pretty sure the walking dead were urged forward more by instinct and a never ending hunger for human flesh than by whatever was left of their senses, but that didn't mean they wouldn't respond to the sound of voices in the dark.

Thayer slowly stretched his back and made a sharp turn to the left with his head. The sounds of his joints popping resounded louder in the quiet of the night than he'd anticipated, and he inwardly cursed himself. "What time did you say it was?" At least his voice was hushed. " must be getting pretty close to dawn if all three of us are up, yeah?"


[Example 2- Arranged Marriage]

Annabelle Lee still had difficulty driving past her old apartment in the cube complex and not simply making the familiar sharp turn right. Even though but one month in her life had passed, she felt like she'd aged years since the [insert name here] law had been enforced by the government. Her job, it seemed, was the only thing she could still trust to stay stable and unchanged. Eleanore R. Bardou was a tough and difficult woman to please, but the payment was more than reasonable and Annabelle Lee had always enjoyed the fulfillment one gets after a day's worth of hard work.

Even turning the key to the door of the townhouse she could now call her own felt strange and peculiar. As if her mind and body still firmly believed that this was not reality. That it had been another woman who'd calmly parked her car in the spacious garage and turned off the engine. Another woman's pair of heels that resounded on the pavement as she made her way up to the door. click-clack, click-clack. Another woman who was greeted by the pleasant voice of her helper (Rona) upon entering the house. The real Annabelle Lee was still coming home to her tiny but organized room, made herself a warm cocoa the old-fashioned way and curled up on the couch with her computer in her lap, already finishing some work that was due days later.

Annabelle Lee did not come home to him.

She hesitated in the doorway. During the couple of weeks they had been living together, she had rarely seen Kaleb. In fact, the last time she could recall was when they had ordered the living room furniture they, after three days of nearly constant arguing, had finally both agreed on liking. The seat her husband for all intents and purposes was sitting on right that very moment, however, had definitely not been Annabelle Lee's first choice. She was too distracted by the awkward way he was sitting in it to really be offended by the chair, her eyes involuntarily traveling up his body and coming to rest on his bare arms.

She swallowed heavily.

"Hello I-- didn't expect you to...really..." she trailed off and frowned lightly at the sight of the numerous scars that marred his skin. Staring was rude and impolite, yet it took Annabelle Lee a moment to tear her eyes away from him and perhaps all too quickly make her way over to the kitchen. "Did you order dinner?" She asked casually, as she opened the fridge and uncapped a bottle of water. If she would be forced by the government to live a married life, so help her God she was going to try her very best to at least pretend that this was more than a strict business arrangement.

~*~



[Example 3- Dark Material (!) Five person thread.]

"FUCKING HELL!" The cry Damien let out at feeling the bitch bite down hard on his cock was nothing short of animalistic. A sharp pain shot through his member and straight up his leg and lower abdomen. He doubled over, nearly dropping the camera to the floor as tears shot into his eyes. If adrenaline hadn't coursed through his veins and red hadn't been clouding his vision at the moment, he would have probably been reduced to a pathetic heap of crying man. However, as it was, the pain he felt was dulled by the pounding of his heart and the anger he felt towards the worthless slut on the floor. This was exactly why he hated women, why most (if not all) of them were only good for fucking and then deserved to die a slow and painful death afterwards. When [Boy 1] started to choke [Girl 1] on her own bathing suit, Damien did not even blink. He punched the leather couch hard and, albeit with some difficulty, sat up straight again. The cunt deserved everything she had coming to her and more.

"Let her fucking choke on it!" He urged his friend on, spitting the words through clenched teeth, "I still hear her!" He kept the camera rolling the entire time and did not move from the couch, not even when [Boy 2] decided to join in and started cutting off even more of her air supply with a thick pillow.

"Damien, man! Come get this! Maybe you could get a little kick to her gut while you're at it!"

Gladly. Growling loudly, he got up from the couch, nearly tripping over his jeans in his haste to get to the squirming body on the floor. He kicked her only once, but he did so with all his might, taking pleasure in the way she attempted to protect her vulnerable stomach by pulling her knees up. Nothing like kicking a bitch when she was down. They were on her, all three of them high on adrenaline and testosterone.

Then, just like that, it was over. The telltale snap of a breaking neck resounded obscenely loud in the grande room.

Fuck. The camera kept on rolling as [Boy 2] removed the pillow from the girl's face. He zoomed in. The brunette's eyes were open, but it was obvious the lights had gone out. [Boy 2] had killed someone. [Boy 1] had assisted him. He hadn't stopped them, on the contrary. [Girl 2] had seen the whole thing. They had a dead body on their hands. The others would be home soon.

The others! They had no time to lose.

Although inwardly Damien was freaking out at the sight of the very real and very dead body on the floor, he had learned to think quick and rationally. One had to, if they wanted to rape girls at one of the most prestigious schools of the country for over a year and get away with it. He shot a nervous glance at [Girl 2]. Could she be trusted? Did it even matter right now? Malina was dead and there was no changing that.

"Fuck," he hissed lowly, pressing the stop button on the camera. This was madness. "Fuck," he repeated again, this time much clearer. A deadly calm came over him. "Alright, we've got to dump her. There's no time to lose, because if someone comes in here right now? we might as well be her." Damien pointed to the dead body on the floor. "The Ocean's near. We've got that party boat, right? There's three of us and [Girl 2]. I say we just take her far out there on the water... as far as we can go... and push her overboard. Should she even make it back to the shore, we'll be long gone by the time anyone finds her. If they find her."

~*~



[Example 4- Supernatural]

"Good evening and welcome to the Liffey! I'll be your waitress for the night, what can I get you?" Candace treated the stranger on one of her brightest smiles as she took in his appearance. In a town as small as [Insert Name] it wasn't every day you came across a new face, let alone that of another vampire. She decided rather quickly that she already liked his eyes. "If you're not sure as to what to order, I can highly reccommend the steak..." she cocked her head to the side and gave him a curious look, "... we serve them bloody." Usually Candace was pretty good at judging the kind of customer she was dealing with right away, therefore more often than not she already knew exactly what they wanted to eat or drink before they could even order. This was why Morgana loved her so much; she was a goldmine and her boss knew it. This man, however, she couldn't quite read for some reason.

"You're old, aren't you?" It slipped out before she even realized she'd opened her mouth. Well, in for a penny... "I mean, you have that look about you... NOT THAT YOU LOOK OLD! I--" Candace nervously shifted from one leg to the other, waving her pen in the air, " I'll just shut up now. Your order?"

~*~




[example 5- Town game]

They had been on the road for what seemed like weeks, although in reality it had only been a couple of days since they'd left the glitter and glamour of Las Vegas behind them. The car they were driving -- although it was cleverly disguised as a 1974 Charger-- was really nothing more than a rust bucket on wheels, and allowed for little room to stretch her legs. Camille hated the thing with a passion ; not only was she sick and tired of being inside it for so long, the color was a most hideous shade of green. As she leaned back in her seat and propped one bare foot up on the dashboard, the young girl softly started humming to herself and closed her eyes.

Little Susanna, down in Louisiana, pretty as she can be
All the boys want her, they even say she's gonna
But she don't want nobody but me

Oh yeah, they had definitely left civilization behind and entered Lysander's world. Camille lazily opened her eyes again to glare down at the radio. The typical country music annoyed her, the insufferable heat annoyed her, the car annoyed her... it was a small miracle Lysander wasn't annoying her, too. At least not right that moment. Then again, it was only just past 10 in the morning.

"How much longer until we're there, Sander?" She'd asked him that question within the third hour on the road and had not ceased to ask him at least once every hour since. Perhaps it was childish behavior, more fit for a five year old than a young woman of nineteen, but Camille simply couldn't help herself; as if crossing the desert with a limited supply of water and even less patience hadn't been trying enough, it was like the heat had been clinging to them like a wet, warm blanket ever since. Even with all the windows rolled down and the wind catching in her blonde hair, sweat still glistened on her body, little beads of it sticking to her hairline and running down her neck.

"I'm serious. I want to get out of this damn car so I can open one of my suitcases and put on some shoes." To anyone else, the story of how she'd manage to lose the pair she had been wearing when they'd left Vegas might be amusing. To Camille, who was very much used to luxury and could appreciate nice designer clothes and items, losing a pair of Fendi heels in a dirty motel 6 was just the straw that broke the camel's back. She was going to hate Texas, she could already tell.

Just then, they passed a sign. It read :

Welcome to Rycade!
Population : 5,573

Camille frowned and turned to look over her shoulder. "You've got to be kidding me... 5000 people?" She turned back to Lysander and raised her brows. "Please just tell me some numbers simply fell off that dirty, old sign."

~*~


For privacy's sake, I have taken out certain names of both characters and places. Note that I could link to even more examples (and actual threads) should this be necessary.