The Short Story Thread.
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From the weird and wonderful mind of Bunnymarn, again, we have the great Hot Chocolate, how brilliant 
I remember reading this and thinking it was really surreal, yet very emotive and interesting. Fun to read, definitely. As for your second story, Geek@Heart, I liked it, it was short and direct yet compelling and drew the reader in. I especially liked the bit at the end, that got a chuckle from me, and as I say, very good.
Two great pieces of work here, so well done guys
I remember reading this and thinking it was really surreal, yet very emotive and interesting. Fun to read, definitely. As for your second story, Geek@Heart, I liked it, it was short and direct yet compelling and drew the reader in. I especially liked the bit at the end, that got a chuckle from me, and as I say, very good.Two great pieces of work here, so well done guys
I like that alot... it's like one of Aesopp's fables, possibley even a simple short storey by Oscar Wilde, Hans Christian Anderson, or even the Brother's Grimm, not to their exacting technical standards, but the content. Anyway... you made my girlfriend cry! Apologise! Now!DrDeath3191 said:
Well, I wrote this one recently. Not gonna use it for anything, I was just kinda bored.
It was a lovely morning, she had told herself. It was going to be a nice day off from work. A nice day for, say, a walk. Maybe make it a bit longer than normal, see some sights. What could possibly go wrong? Thinking that was the last mistake she ever made.
He walked along, earphones visible, an iPod playing music in his ears. He wasn?t listening to it. It was a diversion. He created his own music. He moved to his own music. Right now, the inner music was quiet, but tense. Waiting. He felt the need again today. The need to hunt. The need?to kill.
She walked along, oblivious to her approaching doom. She didn?t notice the fact that he had been following her for five blocks already. She was too absorbed in the day, the sights, the sounds, the smells. She had been right, she though to herself. It was a nice day for a walk.
As he walked, he appraised his victim. Looked her up and down from behind. She had shoulder length blonde hair, and when he saw her face and decided it was her, he realised that she was quite easy on the eyes. He might have even been interested, if it wasn?t for the fact that today, he needed to kill.
She began to feel as though she was being watched. She quickly glanced behind her, seeing only a rather attractive man with an iPod staring at her. When their eyes connected, he dropped his head sheepishly. She smiled. She might have even been interested, if it wasn?t for the fact that she was in a relationship already.
He dropped his head and did his best to look sheepish when she looked into his eyes. He saw her smile. His ploy worked. She only believed him to be an admirer. Not the last person she would ever see.
She was nearing the end of her walk. She had come a full circuit, and was soon to turn onto the street that her apartment was located on. She upped her pace to a brisk walk, eager to get back to her apartment and wake her boyfriend.
He saw her start to speed up. She didn?t glance behind her or look worried in the manner that she was walking at all. He concluded that she was nearing the end of her walk, and something good was waiting for her. He increased his pace as well, still maintaining his stealth as he walked. As he increased his pace, the volume and tempo of the inner music increased too.
She didn?t notice him gaining on her, so quietly had he learned to walk. She turned into her apartment building, and then turned around when she heard a shoe scuff on the steps just behind her. As she turned, a hand pushed into her chest, pushing her against the wall, the other hand reaching for a pocket. It was him. The man she had thought to just be an admirer. She was about to speak, to protest, to cry out, when the knife appeared, and slammed straight into her stomach. She felt it go in, slicing open her intestines. She went to scream, but the hand pressing against her chest moved and covered her mouth, as he moved closer and pinned her against the wall with his body. She tried to fight back, but with the amount of blood pouring out, she was weakening. The hand covering her mouth moved, forcing her head to moved with it. Her head was arched back, exposing her neck.
The inner music increased in tempo, as his hand and the knife with it moved slowly towards her neck, nearing the climax. The blade reached her neck, its sharp steel edge caressing her throat. He moved it into prime position, and willed his hand to keep still. The pace of the music increased. The knife pushed against her throat, drawing blood. The music reached a crescendo. His hand suddenly jerked, and in one quick movement, it was done. A small amount of blood sprayed onto his face. He licked away what he could, savouring the taste. Some blood drawn away by his knife splashed against the wall.
She slowly slid down the wall, her life ebbing away as she thought her final thoughts. The world around her darkened, its noise muffled. This was it. She knew it. This was her end. And then, everything went black, and she heard nothing. Her awareness drifted away from her?
He wiped the blade on her clothes, and then stood up. Watching her die had been quite satisfactory. Hardly any noise had been made. He placed the knife back into its secret scabbard, and backed away a few feet. He took a last, long look at her now lifeless body, then turned and walked briskly away. He never looked back.
The inner music settled down, placated by the recent events.
He walked along, earphones visible, an iPod playing music in his ears. He wasn?t listening to it. It was a diversion. He created his own music. He moved to his own music. Right now, the inner music was quiet, but tense. Waiting. He felt the need again today. The need to hunt. The need?to kill.
She walked along, oblivious to her approaching doom. She didn?t notice the fact that he had been following her for five blocks already. She was too absorbed in the day, the sights, the sounds, the smells. She had been right, she though to herself. It was a nice day for a walk.
As he walked, he appraised his victim. Looked her up and down from behind. She had shoulder length blonde hair, and when he saw her face and decided it was her, he realised that she was quite easy on the eyes. He might have even been interested, if it wasn?t for the fact that today, he needed to kill.
She began to feel as though she was being watched. She quickly glanced behind her, seeing only a rather attractive man with an iPod staring at her. When their eyes connected, he dropped his head sheepishly. She smiled. She might have even been interested, if it wasn?t for the fact that she was in a relationship already.
He dropped his head and did his best to look sheepish when she looked into his eyes. He saw her smile. His ploy worked. She only believed him to be an admirer. Not the last person she would ever see.
She was nearing the end of her walk. She had come a full circuit, and was soon to turn onto the street that her apartment was located on. She upped her pace to a brisk walk, eager to get back to her apartment and wake her boyfriend.
He saw her start to speed up. She didn?t glance behind her or look worried in the manner that she was walking at all. He concluded that she was nearing the end of her walk, and something good was waiting for her. He increased his pace as well, still maintaining his stealth as he walked. As he increased his pace, the volume and tempo of the inner music increased too.
She didn?t notice him gaining on her, so quietly had he learned to walk. She turned into her apartment building, and then turned around when she heard a shoe scuff on the steps just behind her. As she turned, a hand pushed into her chest, pushing her against the wall, the other hand reaching for a pocket. It was him. The man she had thought to just be an admirer. She was about to speak, to protest, to cry out, when the knife appeared, and slammed straight into her stomach. She felt it go in, slicing open her intestines. She went to scream, but the hand pressing against her chest moved and covered her mouth, as he moved closer and pinned her against the wall with his body. She tried to fight back, but with the amount of blood pouring out, she was weakening. The hand covering her mouth moved, forcing her head to moved with it. Her head was arched back, exposing her neck.
The inner music increased in tempo, as his hand and the knife with it moved slowly towards her neck, nearing the climax. The blade reached her neck, its sharp steel edge caressing her throat. He moved it into prime position, and willed his hand to keep still. The pace of the music increased. The knife pushed against her throat, drawing blood. The music reached a crescendo. His hand suddenly jerked, and in one quick movement, it was done. A small amount of blood sprayed onto his face. He licked away what he could, savouring the taste. Some blood drawn away by his knife splashed against the wall.
She slowly slid down the wall, her life ebbing away as she thought her final thoughts. The world around her darkened, its noise muffled. This was it. She knew it. This was her end. And then, everything went black, and she heard nothing. Her awareness drifted away from her?
He wiped the blade on her clothes, and then stood up. Watching her die had been quite satisfactory. Hardly any noise had been made. He placed the knife back into its secret scabbard, and backed away a few feet. He took a last, long look at her now lifeless body, then turned and walked briskly away. He never looked back.
The inner music settled down, placated by the recent events.
Quite good, very creepy story there. I should be worried about your mental state, if you're writing stuff like that...Bernzz said:
Seriously though, it was good. I suppsoe some bits could be improved, your overall use of language needs to be changed slightly I think to make it sound more natural, especially the last line: "The inner music settled down, placated by the recent events." It sounds a bit too complex. It's up to you of course, but personally I'd change it so it's a lot simpler, perhaps something along the lines of "The music stopped. It was done." That sounds better and it's a lot simpler. Otherwise, very good job and well done 
Shelia was standing at the edge, she could see the sun and its warmth but she couldnt feel it. All she could feel was the tears running away from her eyes. Her long golden hair was whipping around her and her feckled hand where grasping the rail, knuckes turing white as her fists got tighter. She closed her eyes and put one step foreward, (Its not a long drop.. the fall will kill me before i even hit the ground). But before she could let go she heard someone coming up the ladder. "Sheila, what are you doing on the water tower?" It was her neighbor Don. he was the same age as her but they where never friends. "Why are you crying?", he asked with his deep brown eyes, she hated his eyes because she felt like they can see through everything. "Leave me alone... i just wanna be left alone"
"Why?
He steped closer.
"dont come any closer! I will jump!"
He Stepped back.
"for God's sake dont do this."
She whipped her head back at him and made a face to show she was offended.
"God hates me..."
Then without another thought she let go.
Don ran as quick as he could and managed to catch her wrist.
she screamed "let me die"
he looked her straight in the eyes and said
"No" and he pulled her up onto the ledge.
"Why?" she asked as she whiped away her tears
"Because i know you lost your parents and you feel like you have no one, but its not true. You have me and that will never change."
She looked up at him. her green eyes wide.. "Why do you even care? Its not like we are even friends"
He looked at her and smiled "You didnt know for all this time that i love you? the whole time you lived next door ive wanted to tell you, but i wanted to wait for the right time"
Sheila cried more tears she tought she ever could, but they where tears of happiness and releif. She didnt feel lost anymore, and the rest of that evening they sat on that tower and held eachother.
"Why?
He steped closer.
"dont come any closer! I will jump!"
He Stepped back.
"for God's sake dont do this."
She whipped her head back at him and made a face to show she was offended.
"God hates me..."
Then without another thought she let go.
Don ran as quick as he could and managed to catch her wrist.
she screamed "let me die"
he looked her straight in the eyes and said
"No" and he pulled her up onto the ledge.
"Why?" she asked as she whiped away her tears
"Because i know you lost your parents and you feel like you have no one, but its not true. You have me and that will never change."
She looked up at him. her green eyes wide.. "Why do you even care? Its not like we are even friends"
He looked at her and smiled "You didnt know for all this time that i love you? the whole time you lived next door ive wanted to tell you, but i wanted to wait for the right time"
Sheila cried more tears she tought she ever could, but they where tears of happiness and releif. She didnt feel lost anymore, and the rest of that evening they sat on that tower and held eachother.
True. That does sound better. I really was searching for words for the last line, I guess. It's the "recent events" part that makes it sound weird to me when I read it now. Maybe "placated by the kill." would've been better, I dunno. Although, your suggestion probably sounds the best.Trivun said:Quite good, very creepy story there. I should be worried about your mental state, if you're writing stuff like that...Bernzz said:
*goes off and edits last line*
Also, thanks for the praise. I wrote that in say...5-10 minutes, I was bored out of my mind and then the idea of writing a story came to my head.
Topic: Screwed Up in some way. I ended up with a weirdo, and murder.
But I haven't written a proper story in forever, I'll get a few chapters in and run out of ideas, or get bored.
I thought the carpenter story was going to be some joke but i'm glad it wasn't in the end. I really liked it but i'm not sure why and in this case that's a good thing. Very well paced and well written.
I'm not entirely sure what you mean by the compliment, but thank you. And tell your girlfriend that I apologize.the_hessian said:
Thanks, but how would it have been interpreted as a joke?Bernard_Black said:
I like this, because it bizarre and surreal, and that always amuses me in artDelicious said:
I may post my own story, soon
Just the way the boy lost his arms then his legs... It was beginning to sound like a set up to a bad joke. Glad it wasn't though lol. I sent your story to my sister, she thought it was good too. You've inspired me to write one of my own.DrDeath3191 said:
That would be the worst joke ever! Glad your sister enjoyed it, and I'm happy to have inspired you.Bernard_Black said:
Any criticism is welcome, let me know what you's think.
The Journal of the Guy You thought You knew.
Once again I find myself in a pitiful situation, the situation I refer to is drinking alone in my dorm room. Not only that, I?m drinking Strongbow cider, which I?m sorry to say is not ?Refreshing from the first sip.? It tastes like urine forcefully taken from a pigeon with a urinary tract infection, which as I?m sure you?ll understand offends my delicate little taste buds. It also offends my liver, or should that be attacks? Attacks viciously. I?m pretty sure at this moment my liver resembles a sock that you find days later stuck to the inside of your washing machine, wrinkly and dry with the flexibility of a stale baquette? I think the liver pain could maybe, quite possibly be from the fact that I?m drinking on top of a massive hangover that has maliciously chosen to linger as I mistaking decided it?d be a grand old idea to stay up ?till 4am yesterday morning slugging my precious little guts out, almost literally at one point. Thank God I managed to choke down those Tesco 10p noodles.
So now I sit hunched over my shitty MDF desk with marble veneer (classy, I know.) scribbling down my random thoughts on the back of some notes I got from a genetics lecture I accidently attended. I?m not even really sure at this moment what I am going to bestow upon these pages, but I?m sure it?ll be a wonderful masterpiece of literature containing all the shit that I manage to slop down before I pass out. This could maybe be the start of a journal? Hey, who knows why I was suddenly and sneakily struck by this inspirational urge to write? well? to write something. Maybe it?s because of a story I read earlier, or maybe it?s just that it?s one o?clock in the morning and I?m terrified of falling asleep. 19 years old and terrified of sleeping, fucking ridiculous. Every time I shimmy off into the land of Nod I am consistently, constantly and relentlessly plagued by Nightmares that are so soul destroying and twisted that I pray to develop insomnia just to have a pleasant little break from them.
So journal? forgive me if a seem a little depressed, pissed-off or highly confused at times, for nine times out of ten I am ridiculously tired. The only time I don?t have the Dreams is when I am truly drunk. And not just tipsy, I?m talking ?holding onto the curb to stop yourself sliding off the face of the planet ?cos it?s spinning so quick? drunk.
Well. I?m almost finished my cider, aka rocket fuel and it?s done nothing for me. Nothing beneficial anyway. Reality seems slightly hazing and unhinged like it?s going to fall apart at the seams. I feel like throwing up but that would be a waste of drink and stomach lining both of which I highly treasure and both of which I would honestly be upset to part with for the second time in the same week. Anyway journal? my eyelids feel sticky and heavy and I can?t hold them open much longer so I think I?ll retire and hope the Dreams don?t find me tonight? but they will? I just hope they?re not the ones about Her.
The Journal of the Guy You thought You knew.
Once again I find myself in a pitiful situation, the situation I refer to is drinking alone in my dorm room. Not only that, I?m drinking Strongbow cider, which I?m sorry to say is not ?Refreshing from the first sip.? It tastes like urine forcefully taken from a pigeon with a urinary tract infection, which as I?m sure you?ll understand offends my delicate little taste buds. It also offends my liver, or should that be attacks? Attacks viciously. I?m pretty sure at this moment my liver resembles a sock that you find days later stuck to the inside of your washing machine, wrinkly and dry with the flexibility of a stale baquette? I think the liver pain could maybe, quite possibly be from the fact that I?m drinking on top of a massive hangover that has maliciously chosen to linger as I mistaking decided it?d be a grand old idea to stay up ?till 4am yesterday morning slugging my precious little guts out, almost literally at one point. Thank God I managed to choke down those Tesco 10p noodles.
So now I sit hunched over my shitty MDF desk with marble veneer (classy, I know.) scribbling down my random thoughts on the back of some notes I got from a genetics lecture I accidently attended. I?m not even really sure at this moment what I am going to bestow upon these pages, but I?m sure it?ll be a wonderful masterpiece of literature containing all the shit that I manage to slop down before I pass out. This could maybe be the start of a journal? Hey, who knows why I was suddenly and sneakily struck by this inspirational urge to write? well? to write something. Maybe it?s because of a story I read earlier, or maybe it?s just that it?s one o?clock in the morning and I?m terrified of falling asleep. 19 years old and terrified of sleeping, fucking ridiculous. Every time I shimmy off into the land of Nod I am consistently, constantly and relentlessly plagued by Nightmares that are so soul destroying and twisted that I pray to develop insomnia just to have a pleasant little break from them.
So journal? forgive me if a seem a little depressed, pissed-off or highly confused at times, for nine times out of ten I am ridiculously tired. The only time I don?t have the Dreams is when I am truly drunk. And not just tipsy, I?m talking ?holding onto the curb to stop yourself sliding off the face of the planet ?cos it?s spinning so quick? drunk.
Well. I?m almost finished my cider, aka rocket fuel and it?s done nothing for me. Nothing beneficial anyway. Reality seems slightly hazing and unhinged like it?s going to fall apart at the seams. I feel like throwing up but that would be a waste of drink and stomach lining both of which I highly treasure and both of which I would honestly be upset to part with for the second time in the same week. Anyway journal? my eyelids feel sticky and heavy and I can?t hold them open much longer so I think I?ll retire and hope the Dreams don?t find me tonight? but they will? I just hope they?re not the ones about Her.
This one is really great. The turtle is instantly likeable. It kind of reminded me of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy books (not necessarily a bad thing). If it were longer, I could almost see it being a Pixar movie. Maybe.Delicious said:
Im going to follow in your footsteps.Delicious said:
And this is a story in the sense that it tells a story, but it was actually supposed to be a funny/ironic post and I made it in like 20 min with no proofing other then spellcheck...just a reminder about how boring "short breaks" can really get. I also am trying to play L4D in the middle of this so Im not changing it from its origional form.
Here it goes:
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Monsters
That is the only legitimate fear of the bunch...they are real.
Yea, smile and smirk all you want, but In the morning I wont be the one with their intestine missing, and their eyes chewed out.
Just because mommy looked in there doesn't mean they aren't there either, those closet monsters are a maniacal bunch, they fashion elaborate doors and disguises In the most peculiar of places, In the ceiling, a nearby wall, that over-sized teddy-bear you won in the fair. They know their pray, they're meticulous and make no mistake they will get you when the time is right.
They secretly wait for years, hibernating in their perpetual sleep, they only need sustenance every decade or so, allowing them to plan your disappearance at the time when no one will suspect your death.
Maybe you just got In a fight with your parents and threatened to run away, maybe you just lost your Job, maybe your leaving for a long trip, maybe your behind on your taxes or have committed a henious crime, it could be a divorce, a stolen car, burglary, or maybe nothing at all.
The Monster makes no mistakes
He will slither out of his hiding place and open his four marble-like eyes, they will scan the room from top to bottom, making sure your in the vulnerable state of sleep, making sure that If you come to in the throes of death, that there are no weapons or creatures you can call to assist you. He scans your cosey room, filled with the peace of sleep over, over, over, over...each eye plotting each tender piece of you. It salivates dreaming of how your life, your years of eating, your days meal, will taste as it slithers into its stomachs. Its drool pools to the floor as it rehearses its best laid plans. Plans made in the years of shadows and hiding. It opens its five mouths, like a choir of suction cups opening to reveal its hundred disorganized rotting teeth, dripping with its rancid drool manufactured from the thoughts of your demise. Its mouths open for the first time In years, letting loose the bent up rot and mold held captive for so many years, by its ever shut mouth.
Ironically their small freedom will herald your demise.
His mind is now fixed, it has but one true desire. A desire, a thought thrusting its will. A will for flesh, a will for food. He ignores, he has his plan, and he will not stray. He now must focus, focus on you.
It will begin with your head, as to silence your crys for help, to muffle your screams, to stifle any hopes of your friends, your family from helping you,
to keep them from even suspecting your fate.
As he slowly begins to rip the flesh off your ever screaming, ever anguished, ever futilely contorted face, he will commence to devour your skull.
The structure for you face, the very root of your recognition, the very thing that separates you from the rest of your fellow man, your very identity chewed on over,over,over,over,over until its transformed into life, breath and sustenance for this grotesque monster.
With your skull nestled into his bulging stomach he extends one of his many long, slender, string-like hands, and inserts it into your exposed cranium.
He savors this moment.
It is his favorite part of this meal.
He stares at the twitching exposed brain and wonders what it will hold for him.
He will consume the only thing you held dear, your thoughts, your memories, your ideas, your loves, your interests, your very person being sucked, chewed, and mashed into food for him, your knowledge is his knowledge,
your thoughts are his thoughts,
your memories are his memories,
your ideas are his ideas,
your loves are now his loves,
your interests are only of his,
and being is now only fuel for his.
The information he has ripped and pried from your dying body is now his new goal. He searches thorough your memories, everything you thought private, everything you held dear, every lie you said, every thought you felt, every person you hated ot loved and every secret you kept oh so dear, is now open,
not to your love, friends or family, but to this beast, this beast who has literally stolen your life away from you whilst you slumbered.
He absorbs it all, whether you wanted it known or not, he looks over all the faces, all the people, all the personalities.
He now knows who he will take next, it could be your old uncle, or your new born child, the shadow that has taken your life is now plotting to take another, another person who you came into contact with, and you will never know who, only that its because of you that they will die.
Your headless body lays gnarled in pain on your bead, completely free of blood he leaves no traces
The Monster makes no mistakes.
He surveys the room once more to insure that all is well in his world.
He then grabs your limp body and caresses it in his many arms.
This beast knows you better then any person on this earth, he knows what you felt on your first birth-day, he knows what your favorite color is, he knows exactly what you thought at every second of your life and he knows of what you dreamt as you died.
He takes your body back into the hiding from whence he came,
the hiding that he watched you so long from.
Your former shell will now fuel the plans and plotting of another unfortunate being, another being who will be dragged kicking and screaming into this monsters maw only to meet your remains and the many others who occupy it along with you. Your life is gone, painfully removed from you still body, and has been robbed only to bring the same pain to others.
and rest assured it will happen forever and ever.
The Monster makes no mistakes
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well I actually didn't intend for it to be dark, or even near that length. I really just went to town on it, and its kinda convoluted and has an incredibly messed up rhythm. If I was good at this sort of thing I would say that it represents randomness in some aspect or another.
Whatever, hope it at least interested someone?
Thanks! Also, a thanks to JC175. And Geek@Heart, do you feel like a hot chocolate?Trivun said:
EDIT: Here's another story, though, not really like the Hot Chocolate story, but it's alright. It's over a year old.
Assassination
He ran, bolting up the stairs two at a time. His legs strained from the heavy weight of the equipment on his back, his hands were rough and his face full of spite and hatred. He peered at his watch; time was beginning to run out. His pace quickened, almost at his destination. Finally he reached the level and he crashed through the door. Silently he began to set up his equipment and looked down the scope. He watched George Bush wave to all the mindless drones who still thought he was a ‘good’ leader. The man waited, he waited for the proper opportunity to take his shot. He saw his chance took aim, held his breathe and fired. The bullet gave out a loud deafening echo as it fired from the gun. Down on the streets the crowds were screaming and running frantically from the sight of the president. He continued to look through his scope laughing in a deep raspy voice, looking at the bloody sight of what remained of the president.
Hastily he began to collect his equipment and began to rush to the stairs. As he began running down the stairs there was a loud crash that rang out through the whole building as the police burst in shouting and yelling. He looked down towards the police as they came through the door and immediately he began to jump up the stairs heading towards the roof. The sweat dripped from his face as he heaved open the heavy metal door to the roof, behind him he could hear the police running up the stairs, nearing him with their every step. He wandered out onto the roof sliding over the mass amounts of vents, trying to find a way to escape. The police following him were catching up and started to open fire on him. He weaved, over and under the vents dodging the bullets that hurtled towards him. As he hopped over the last pipe he found himself at a dead end with no way down.
The police closed on him, their guns pointed directly at his head. Thoughts raced through his head, he felt the soft cool breeze against his face, drying his lips and rustling his hair, he heard the birds squawking to each other and the light sound of trees shaking in the wind. Then it all became clear to him, he knew what he must do. He fumbled around inside his pocket and pulled out a handgun, he held it towards his head and fired… It was all as though everything was in slow motion, the policemen yelling and the deafening roar from the gun as the bullet penetrated the side of his skull and he felt warm and cheerful as though everything was all right then he started to feel cold and everything stopped.
He ran, bolting up the stairs two at a time. His legs strained from the heavy weight of the equipment on his back, his hands were rough and his face full of spite and hatred. He peered at his watch; time was beginning to run out. His pace quickened, almost at his destination. Finally he reached the level and he crashed through the door. Silently he began to set up his equipment and looked down the scope. He watched George Bush wave to all the mindless drones who still thought he was a ‘good’ leader. The man waited, he waited for the proper opportunity to take his shot. He saw his chance took aim, held his breathe and fired. The bullet gave out a loud deafening echo as it fired from the gun. Down on the streets the crowds were screaming and running frantically from the sight of the president. He continued to look through his scope laughing in a deep raspy voice, looking at the bloody sight of what remained of the president.
Hastily he began to collect his equipment and began to rush to the stairs. As he began running down the stairs there was a loud crash that rang out through the whole building as the police burst in shouting and yelling. He looked down towards the police as they came through the door and immediately he began to jump up the stairs heading towards the roof. The sweat dripped from his face as he heaved open the heavy metal door to the roof, behind him he could hear the police running up the stairs, nearing him with their every step. He wandered out onto the roof sliding over the mass amounts of vents, trying to find a way to escape. The police following him were catching up and started to open fire on him. He weaved, over and under the vents dodging the bullets that hurtled towards him. As he hopped over the last pipe he found himself at a dead end with no way down.
The police closed on him, their guns pointed directly at his head. Thoughts raced through his head, he felt the soft cool breeze against his face, drying his lips and rustling his hair, he heard the birds squawking to each other and the light sound of trees shaking in the wind. Then it all became clear to him, he knew what he must do. He fumbled around inside his pocket and pulled out a handgun, he held it towards his head and fired… It was all as though everything was in slow motion, the policemen yelling and the deafening roar from the gun as the bullet penetrated the side of his skull and he felt warm and cheerful as though everything was all right then he started to feel cold and everything stopped.
Something I wrote last night.
That never actually happened ^ , but it IS based on a real person who delights in tormenting me, and I was imagining all the various revenges I might take. Short of bludgeoning her with a stick, I thought this would be most effective. I don't really like the last line, but I wasn't sure what else to do with it...
Anyway, critique is welcomed.
Personal space was something she obviously had no concept of.
Or, perhaps more likely, she saw my desire for personal space and delighted in invading it. I wondered if standing too close, hugging me and even trying to kiss my cheek were all part of some twisted game of hers, the aim of which was clearly to try and make me squirm in her presence. I knew for a certainty that it was nothing more than that; her interests lay in a completely different direction. The sole purpose was making me feel uncomfortable.
Needless to say, it was a game I didn't particularly enjoy.
I stood in the corridor one evening, listening to a conversation between two friends, arms folded across my chest, when she rounded the corner. She called my name loudly when she saw me, unable to mask the mirth from in her voice as she stretched out her arms to try and trap me once more in one of her dreaded hugs. I sneered and backed away, only to find my escape route blocked by the two talking friends. She caught me, wrapping her arms around and squeezing far too tight for comfort. I squirmed.
She leaned back to look at me, and I scowled as fiercely as I could manage. She laughed and asked in her silly, cheery, girly voice, "Did that make you feel violated?"
"A little," I growled in return. She laughed again as she let go, eyes sparkling with mischief, and I sensed she had claimed another victory. I was outraged. I considered her for a few moments, eyes narrowed, before suddenly reaching a decision. Perhaps the way to win her stupid game wasn't to not play along, but to beat her at it. I seized her by her upper arms and shoved her back against the opposite wall, the length of my body crashing against hers. I seized her mouth before she could voice her surprise, my tongue forcing through her lips. I plundered her mouth in a few angry sweeps, trying not to taste her.
She raised her arms to try and push me away, but I merely released her biceps and grabbed her wrists instead, immobilising her against the wall. I was stronger than her, and she knew it. I maintained my vice-like grip even after she stopped struggling, determined to show her that I was in control now... that I was winning.
"I'll give you violated," I thought to myself. I nudged her legs apart with one of my own, pressed a thigh into the gap and pushed, my whole body up moving against hers. I ignored the shudder than ran through her and the sensation of her heartbeat pounding through her chest into mine, withdrawing from her mouth and biting her lower lip, hard. She made a noise then, finally, a shocked little whimper as sharp teeth pinched soft skin. I wasn't gentle, stopping just short of actually drawing blood. I shifted my thigh again, causing another shudder.
I forced my way back into her mouth again, eliciting a second bout of struggling from her arms, but I held her firm. It wasnt a kiss, far from it. A kiss was affectionate and sensual, and those were the last things I wanted to be. This was punishment. I was punishing her; I was raping her mouth with my tongue. Abruptly, I withdrew and stared into her face, and I was pleased to see genuine fear in her eyes. I smirked as another idea came to my mind, and when I pushed against her again it wasnt her mouth I sought, but her neck. I bit and sucked the pale flesh, determined to leave a mark, my mark, on her. She whimpered again, squirming.
Satisfied, I pulled away, releasing both neck and wrists and leaving her to sag against the wall. One hand shakily rose to touch the red mark on her neck as she tried to get her breath back. I wiped my mouth on my sleeve, trying to purge the taste of her from me. Our audience in the corridor stood with eyes wide and jaws agape, stunned. I let the silence build for a few minutes as they all watched me.
"Two can play that game," I told her finally, as I took my car keys from my pocket and turned to leave. As I walked away, I muttered to myself. "Checkmate."
Or, perhaps more likely, she saw my desire for personal space and delighted in invading it. I wondered if standing too close, hugging me and even trying to kiss my cheek were all part of some twisted game of hers, the aim of which was clearly to try and make me squirm in her presence. I knew for a certainty that it was nothing more than that; her interests lay in a completely different direction. The sole purpose was making me feel uncomfortable.
Needless to say, it was a game I didn't particularly enjoy.
I stood in the corridor one evening, listening to a conversation between two friends, arms folded across my chest, when she rounded the corner. She called my name loudly when she saw me, unable to mask the mirth from in her voice as she stretched out her arms to try and trap me once more in one of her dreaded hugs. I sneered and backed away, only to find my escape route blocked by the two talking friends. She caught me, wrapping her arms around and squeezing far too tight for comfort. I squirmed.
She leaned back to look at me, and I scowled as fiercely as I could manage. She laughed and asked in her silly, cheery, girly voice, "Did that make you feel violated?"
"A little," I growled in return. She laughed again as she let go, eyes sparkling with mischief, and I sensed she had claimed another victory. I was outraged. I considered her for a few moments, eyes narrowed, before suddenly reaching a decision. Perhaps the way to win her stupid game wasn't to not play along, but to beat her at it. I seized her by her upper arms and shoved her back against the opposite wall, the length of my body crashing against hers. I seized her mouth before she could voice her surprise, my tongue forcing through her lips. I plundered her mouth in a few angry sweeps, trying not to taste her.
She raised her arms to try and push me away, but I merely released her biceps and grabbed her wrists instead, immobilising her against the wall. I was stronger than her, and she knew it. I maintained my vice-like grip even after she stopped struggling, determined to show her that I was in control now... that I was winning.
"I'll give you violated," I thought to myself. I nudged her legs apart with one of my own, pressed a thigh into the gap and pushed, my whole body up moving against hers. I ignored the shudder than ran through her and the sensation of her heartbeat pounding through her chest into mine, withdrawing from her mouth and biting her lower lip, hard. She made a noise then, finally, a shocked little whimper as sharp teeth pinched soft skin. I wasn't gentle, stopping just short of actually drawing blood. I shifted my thigh again, causing another shudder.
I forced my way back into her mouth again, eliciting a second bout of struggling from her arms, but I held her firm. It wasnt a kiss, far from it. A kiss was affectionate and sensual, and those were the last things I wanted to be. This was punishment. I was punishing her; I was raping her mouth with my tongue. Abruptly, I withdrew and stared into her face, and I was pleased to see genuine fear in her eyes. I smirked as another idea came to my mind, and when I pushed against her again it wasnt her mouth I sought, but her neck. I bit and sucked the pale flesh, determined to leave a mark, my mark, on her. She whimpered again, squirming.
Satisfied, I pulled away, releasing both neck and wrists and leaving her to sag against the wall. One hand shakily rose to touch the red mark on her neck as she tried to get her breath back. I wiped my mouth on my sleeve, trying to purge the taste of her from me. Our audience in the corridor stood with eyes wide and jaws agape, stunned. I let the silence build for a few minutes as they all watched me.
"Two can play that game," I told her finally, as I took my car keys from my pocket and turned to leave. As I walked away, I muttered to myself. "Checkmate."
That never actually happened ^ , but it IS based on a real person who delights in tormenting me, and I was imagining all the various revenges I might take. Short of bludgeoning her with a stick, I thought this would be most effective. I don't really like the last line, but I wasn't sure what else to do with it...
Anyway, critique is welcomed.
