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  • Random Writing

    So here's a thread to post your random writings, because hey why the hell not on a writing site?

    I'll go ahead and start it off mainly because I just found some of this stuff.


    Magazine Cardism

    It starts out simple enough; you bring home a few magazines that you bought from the store and settle down to read. But wait! What’s this? It’s a bunch of little subscription cards inside the magazine. Not just one either, but several, all in strategic locations of the magazine and urging you to get a subscription and telling you what to do. Some of them come falling out in your lap to attack you, while others are stapled inside refusing to move until you take the initiative to remove the paper parasites. After you rip these out, you check your other magazines and just like the first, they’re infested as well, so you rip them out too and return to reading, not realizing that a dangerous habit is forming.

    The next time you’re in the book store, you go to the magazine section again just to browse now. Once again you encounter the little cards inside. Sure you’re just browsing, but these cards, they seem to mock you and you can’t let them get away with it. You decide to do it. You look around to make sure no overzealous store clerk is watching and you tear them out. You feel that euphoric rush surge within you. When you first ripped them out, you were more annoyed, but now you feel good. You enjoy it all, the tear it makes, the crumpling of it, everything. Now you don’t even care if you rip a little bit of magazine along with it, all you want is that card at any cost.

    Now you’re going to the bookstore everyday, lurking around the magazine section like the pathetic junkie you are, waiting patiently for people to move away so you can do your thing. It’s too slow! You can’t wait anymore, you begin taking more risks, you start ripping the cards out around customers you think won’t care. You get some strange looks, but nobody really says anything. It’s good! You can participate in your card ripping fix without fear! And then it happens, you get careless and forget to look out for the actual store workers who are none too pleased with you vandalizing defenseless magazines. They expect you to pay for them all, but you can’t because you quit your job to hang around in the bookstore all day. They throw you out and ban you. You don’t care though; you just go to a different one and repeat the process all over again, until you’re eventually banned from every bookstore in the state. Even convenience stores have a photo of you so they can run you off when they see you approach.

    You try the old substitute of tearing mattress tags, but it just isn’t the same and can’t possibly compare to the RUSH of tearing magazine cards. You are sickened by what you’ve become. You eventually end it all by stealing a magazine and slashing your wrists with the card inside that made you into this empty shell today.

    No Hate. No Peace

    Who could’ve anticipated that hate could be a positive force?

    The day we lost it was the day humanity died, but I shall make it live again.

    Throughout humanity hate has always been there. It was there during the Roman Era, it was there during the Dark Ages, and of course it was there during World War Two. Hate has always been there. It saturated our very being; it infested our politics, our religions, and our way of life. “Love conquers all” was a fairy tale. Hate is what drives us to do great…and terrible things.

    It was thought that hate would eventually cause us to destroy ourselves, and it nearly did in 2096. It was a time when the Earth was a complete war zone, but it was also when THEY came. The Keslak. A race of conquerors from the stars. It was then when we learned what hate could truly accomplish.

    Their first attacks came without warning. We were unprepared, still engaged in our petty self-hatred and fighting each other. More bombings occurring, then invasions, then worse…

    And that’s when hate really kicked in. It united us in a way that had never been done before. We didn’t care about our petty differences anymore. We weren’t black, white, gay, straight, Jewish, or Muslim, we were human.

    And we all hated the Keslak.

    We struck back with everything we could, never giving up, and driven by hate. We didn’t just kill them, we butchered them. We didn’t just drive them from our planet; we took their technology so we could take the fight to them. And we didn’t just kill a few million, we killed them all.

    The Keslak were nothing more than a memory and at last the dream of idealistic fools had come true. World Peace had occurred, and it was all thanks to hate. Our hate achieved peace; it made us strong, made us survive.

    Humanity didn’t fight itself anymore. Now it was a galactic power, it had plenty of others to fight. It started with annexing a planet here, enslaving a race there, and the usual. We were only trying to protect ourselves and maintain our peace. We’d be damned if we were going to let some Godless Aliens take that away from us. No, they all were the enemy and we hated them all. Even those “peaceful” ones were merely trying to buy time to attack us and destroy our peace later. We knew that, after all it’s what we’d been doing to each other for centuries. As time went on, several of these treacherous alien species formed a grand intergalactic alliance against us. We laughed and waged a war of peace on them. It was only a matter of time anyway. We fought and they fought, hate was strong on both sides, but ours was stronger. It always had been.

    And then came the day it disappeared. Some say it was caused by a new weapon, others even say it was some sort of punishment from a divine being. We’ll never know I suppose. It just disappeared.

    We still fought, but for some reason we just didn’t feel the hate anymore. We were just going through the motions. We were just mindlessly killing like robots. There wasn’t any emotion behind it. We all knew it was missing, but we couldn’t do anything about it. We were like eunuchs. Even when entire populations of us were killed, entire planets blown into dust, we still couldn’t feel that same hate that we used to.

    We’d lost our edge. We’d lost our weapon. We’d lost our peace.

    When the Alliance invaded our world they made us pay for what we’d done, but some reason they didn’t end us as we did the Keslak. Instead we were confined to our ravaged planet and held under constant watch from space. We became an example to be mocked, and worse…pitied. We were disorganized without hate. We became wandering nomads on our planet, with no goal other than to exist. Every now and then some overzealous Alliance members come down and hunt a few hundred of us to make sure the population doesn’t get too big.

    Now I remain here as one of the defeated once hateful race. Trying to get that old feeling back that eluded us and caused our fall, because I know that one human full of hate can achieve much.

    We shall know peace again.

    I’m starting to feel the hate come back.

    And it feels…human.
    Last edited by End Master; 05-14-2012, 03:02 PM.
    Writing: It's more fun than a barrel of Ebola ridden monkeys!

  • #2
    This Ain’t No Fairy Tale

    “Wolf, its over, we have you surrounded! Release the hostages and come out with your paws up!” Captain Goose shouted through her megaphone.
    “Never! I’ll kill this pretty red wench and her decrepit granny first!”

    Captain Goose shook her head. She knew he’d do it too. Wolf was a bloodthirsty predator. He was already wanted for a string of brutal murders. Something might’ve been done sooner had some juvenile delinquent not been prank calling the station claiming there was a murderous wolf lurking about his house every ten minutes. Ironic he and his family should be Wolf’s first victims.

    By the time the bodies were found, Wolf had already moved on to his next victim, Little Bo Peep. She was found when an officer went to finally check out her call about her lost sheep. Her half eaten corpse was lying next to her broken staff. Apparently Wolf reunited Bo with her sheep…in his stomach.

    That was bad, but it wasn’t anything compared to the brutality he inflicted on the three little pigs. He bashed in the doors of two of their houses and tortured them to death as they squealed for their lives. The third pig he waited to come out of his house to check his mail and then butchered him in broad daylight before screaming children.

    This mad dog had to be put down, before he killed again. Captain Goose was not going to let anymore murder occur in her normally peaceful town.

    “Alright, I’m here Goose. Let me handle this.” A voice said.

    Captain Goose turned around and it was Jack, or Jack the Giant Killer as he was known. Great that was all she needed, a loose cannon who played by his own rules.

    “Go home Jack! We don’t need this situation getting any worse with your down and dirty tactics!”
    “Oh yeah right, it looks like you got the situation well in hand Goose. Stop talking with this murderer and let me go in there Captain!”
    “No! You go storming in there and Wolf will kill Red and her grandmother!”
    “They’re probably already dead and he’s just playing with us for kicks! I’m going in!”
    “You do that and you’re off the force!”
    “You said that before I killed the Giant!” Jack yelled and began to head back to his motorcycle.

    Jack revved up his Harley.
    “Don’t do it!” Goose said.

    Jack stepped on the gas and sped towards the house. Wondering what all the yelling was outside, Wolf went over to the window just in time to see the motorcycle heading towards it. Wolf narrowly avoided being decapitated by the wheels when it crashed through. Wolf ran at Jack as he was attempting to recover from slamming into the wall. Wolf grabbed Jack and killed him with a quick bite to his throat, ripping it out.

    Jack would be Wolf’s last victim as Goose and her officers stormed the house and shot him until his bullet ridden body fell to the ground with a metallic “clank”.

    It was over.

    “Captain, we found Red! She’s in the next room tied up and scared, but unharmed…the grandmother though…well it looks like Wolf already killed her long before we arrived.” Officer Hansel reported.
    “Very well, call the meat wagon to pick up the bodies.” She sighed as she walked over to Jack’s body, while lighting up a cigarette.

    “Damn it Jack. I tried to warn you that those stunts would get you killed one day. It’s like I’ve always said, this is real life…”

    Goose took a puff of her cigarette.

    “This ain’t no fairy tale.”

    Mean Time

    “So when’s this guy supposed to show up?”
    “Seven ‘o clock. What time is it now?”
    “About six thirty, we got thirty minutes left. You sure he’ll be here on time?”
    “Yeah, and will you calm down? This guy is always punctual; it’s one of the few redeeming qualities about him from what I heard.”
    “So who is he anyway?”
    “Since when does the background matter to you?”
    “I don’t know I’m just trying to pass the time.”
    “He’s a regular businessman just trying to his way up the ladder as usual. Nothing special.”
    “Well something must be special, if we’re supposed to meet him.”
    “Not necessarily, I mean we have to meet people all the time.”
    “I guess you’re right. Hey did you see the game last night?”
    “No, I was over at Joey’s he had a problem I needed to help him with.”
    “What, again? I swear he doesn’t know what the heck he’s doing, he’s not going to be in business too much longer.”
    “I know. I charged him extra for the over time I had to put in. Speaking of which, what time is now?”
    “About six forty five. Fifteen minutes left.”
    “Hey I bought that boat I wanted.”
    “Oh so you finally laid out the money huh? I’m surprised; I know how cheap you are.”
    “I’m not cheap, I just don’t waste my money so easily on wine, women and song like you do!”
    “Yeah whatever, so what made you change your mind?”
    “Oh I just figured life is too short, we all only got so much time left on this earth you know what I mean?”
    “You don’t have to tell me that. You’re preaching to the choir here.”
    “My wife likes it when we sail in it too. So what time is it now?”
    “About six fifty five. Five minutes left.”
    “I think I hear him, he’s a little early. You ready?”
    “You know it.”
    “Okay, its show time.”

    “HEY, TONY SENDS HIS REGARDS!”

    BLAM! BLAM!

    “Well that was easy.”
    “Yeah, and two minutes to spare. Time to go get something to eat.”
    Writing: It's more fun than a barrel of Ebola ridden monkeys!

    Comment


    • #3
      A Stone’s Throw

      Today is the day.

      I was chosen to cast the first stone. I saw it in a vision sent to me by angels. No longer can I be on the sidelines, I must act. Only I can prevent the wicked from spreading their filth in this town

      This stone should be sufficient to carry out my work. Holy work. Just like David slew Goliath with a mere stone, I shall perform a similar deed with the evil I face today.

      I stand above them all, yet they cannot see me. I am bathed in a spiritual shield of invisibility to ensure I am able to carry out my work. Only the virtuous come to this rooftop, and I’m the only one here. It has to be me. God has willed it.

      Here he comes like clockwork down the street, driving that infernal moped of his in an attempt to show off for some common women of low moral fiber. He is nothing more than a purse-snatcher, a lowly thief. He uses the same moped to make his getaways.

      The stone is thrown. My aim is true. Could it be any other way? Righteous fury guides my hand.

      The stone hits the purse-snatcher in the face, or more specifically his eye. Had he been wearing a helmet, perhaps he would’ve been better protected, but the wicked are arrogant. They never think they’re going to be punished for their ways.

      But this purse-snatcher is not my only target today; he is but the first of the scum that will be cleansed. I am about to witness my reward for my devotion and piety.

      The purse-snatcher falls off his moped and smashes the back of his head into the hard pavement, cracking his skull. The harlots he was attempting to impress make high-pitched squeals and predictably run around chaotically, not paying attention to the glass movers who are attempting to do their job. Both harlots run into the large windowpane shattering it and shredding their faces. Never again will they be able to use their wiles to lure others into the sin of lust.

      The moped continues to move by itself even without its now dead rider. It hits a bump and flies directly into an oncoming truck driver’s windshield. A trucker who would grab innocent little children into his truck and use them for his own twisted pleasure before dumping their bodies on some lonely highway. His days of being a wandering murderer are at an end.

      His truck swerves into a school bus, dooming all those future criminals inside. I can almost hear their screams as the bus rolls over several times. I have no sympathy for these juvenile delinquents. They chose to bully and prey upon those they considered weak. It is only now that they understand that they are not tough or strong at all. They are helpless before God’s might. God has no time for mercy. The time of cleansing and judgment are at hand.

      The school bus eventually stops rolling and explodes near a church. Hot burning metal pelts the wedding that was coming out. Wedding guests fall as the cleansing fire shards collide into them. The groom sees his bride fall when a large piece impales her heart, just before he is also struck down by another piece. I have done what the corrupt police could not, wiped out a family that had underworld dealings. How dare they use God’s house to celebrate their incestuous second cousin marriage and how dare the priest allow it. He pays for his blasphemy when a large flaming piece decapitates him.

      A nearby ambulance rushes to the scene to attempt to save some of these sinners, but holy punishment cannot be denied. One of the shredded harlots, still running and screaming blindly gets in its way. The driver swerves, crashing into a lamppost and flying out of his windshield.

      My holy work is finished. I slip away unnoticed, leaving the sinners in the torment they brought upon themselves.

      People called that day chaos. I called it purity.

      The town will never forget that day and if they do, then the cause of divine justice is just a stone’s throw away.

      Captured!

      Captured! Bound! Trapped in a cell in the fortress of my archenemy! I know Doctor Malevolent is behind this villainous plot! He’s tried to stop me before like he always has, but he’ll never succeed! He’ll never defeat Captain Courage defender of righteousness!

      But first I must break free of this devious jacket of holding. Fortunately I have had practice in doing this before. It has taken weeks, but I think I’ve finally got it beat. The foolish Doctor is so arrogant to believe that only a few modifications to his dastardly inventions will hold me. He underestimates the tenacity of Captain Courage!

      Still, his last insidious plot was a surprise to even me. Somehow he has managed to brainwash the entire city. Was it a mind ray? Mass hypnosis? Hallucinatory drugs in the water supply? It doesn’t matter; all I know is the good people of this city have turned on me. It saddens my soul. Part of me wants to lash out! But I must not, for I know it is not their fault that they have fallen victim to the machinations of the wicked Dr. M. My capture. The mock trial. All of the people involved were obviously under Dr. M’s influence! It is the only explanation, the people wouldn’t knowingly hand their noble champion over to Dr. M, not after I have done so much for the city. The people may have turned their backs on me, but I will never turn my back on them. After I escape I will find a way to release the people of the city from their mind control!

      Ah ha! Free! Now all I have to do is wait. Wait for one of Dr. M’s goons to come back to take me to the interrogation room. Yes, they’ve tried to interrogate me many times. I’ve told them nothing though. Dr. M believes he can get me to talk by introducing a pretty face to me; a lovely young femme fatale in the guise of a “councilor”. I’m not fooled and I’m not falling for her wiles. The way she tries to tell me she’s trying to “help” me and touches my hand in a gentle way…

      Wait! What’s that noise? Its one of Dr. M’s guards!

      Hiding behind the door, I wait for him to enter, which he does. I strike! A left! A right! And finally a kick to his face! He’s down, and I make my first steps towards freedom! I wish I had my equipment with me, but for now my wits will have to be enough to help me escape. I quickly head door the corridor. Throughout the corridors are other doors with other prisoners. I hear their tortured screams behind them. I can’t imagine what torments Dr. M has subjected them to; indeed I don’t even want to know. I shake my head in dismay and frustration. Would that I could save them all now, but I simply do not have the time to do so, but when I return, better prepared, I will save them all, just like I will save the city! This I vow!

      A general alarm has been raised and I hear Dr. M’s sinister voice alert his staff of my escape through the intercom. I fight my way through when I have to, and I hide when necessary. When I get near the entrance I see Dr. M’s elite guards dressed in their tradition blue uniforms. They pull out their weapons and fire! I narrowly avoid their blasts. I must find another way to escape as the front door has been thoroughly guarded, but where? Wait! The roof! I immediately find the nearest set of stairs and pursue my new route of escape!

      Eventually I make it to the roof, with my enemies in hot pursuit. I look over the side of the roof; it’s far, but I think I can jump to the nearby tree.

      Before I can do anything Dr. M and his elite arrive! One of them fires on me again, but misses. Dr. M scolds his henchmen for nearly killing me, but only because he hasn’t gotten the information he wants from me yet. He’s telling me to give up, but I will never give up my fight against him!

      I look again at the nearby tree, I have to jump. I have to try. If I don’t, I’ll be captured again, and the city will be doomed. Someone has to save the city from evil!

      I make my leap and I hear Dr. M shout in aggravation by my escape, I only hope I make it.

      The tree seems so close.

      I have to make it.

      I MUST make it.

      Someone has to save the city…

      Could this be the end of Captain Courage?
      Writing: It's more fun than a barrel of Ebola ridden monkeys!

      Comment


      • #4
        The Beautiful Land of Pargona

        Day 1

        Yay! I’m all set to go to Pargona! I’ve always wanted to go there and now I’m finally getting the chance to! There’s nothing there but majestic landscape, beaches and very friendly beautiful women to fawn all over you! I’m so looking forward to this trip, that I want to keep a record of what is going to be surely the best trip of my life!

        I better get going; I don’t want to miss the plane!

        Day 2

        I’m here in Pargona, but I’m currently in the cab on the way to my hotel. I thought my hotel was a lot closer though. The cab driver insists that he’s going the right way and I guess he’d know, he does live here after all! For now I’m just enjoying the sights, though I must admit I wasn’t expecting to see so many street beggars and dirty shanty towns. Still it’s all very exciting!

        That’s weird; we seem to be pulling into an alley.

        Day 5

        I’m at my hotel. I’m glad to be here too, I need the rest after escaping from those kidnappers! I sure was lucky that those drug dealers that they owed money to came by when they did and I managed to hide in the dumpster during the shoot out. Live and learn, I guess! I am pretty hungry though, I haven’t eaten for a few days. I think I’ll order the Pargona pork roast. It’s supposed to be very good.

        First I better take a long bath though.

        Day 7

        While it certainly tastes good, I fear that Pargona pork roast doesn’t seem to agree with me. I’ve only just now felt well enough to write again. Bad things have been coming out of me at both ends, but I’m not going to let this wreck my fun! Tomorrow, they are having tours of the ancient Xoltec ruins!

        I’ve always been interested in that ancient culture, so hopefully I’ll be well enough to go.

        Day 11

        I just got back from the local hospital. During the tour I got separated from the rest of the group when I couldn’t help but inspect the Xoltec statue closer. I KNEW that its belt buckle looked like a button! I probably shouldn’t have pressed it though. The slide wasn’t so bad, but the spikes at the bottom hurt very badly. I also stirred up a nest of scorpions that had made their home down there too. It took awhile before their paralyzing poison wore off.

        On the bright side the tour guide said I was probably the first outsider in centuries that had actually been inside a Xoltec sacrificial pit, let alone survive it! Wow, what an adventure! I’m off to the beach next!

        Look out ladies, here comes the great explorer!

        Day 13

        The beach wasn’t what I expected. I nearly stepped on several syringes and was bitten by a hostile turtle that I mistook for a rock when I went to sit on it. There didn’t seem to be any babes around, though there was a friendly derelict lying in his own filth that pointed me in the direction of a place where there were lots of women, but he said I’d need some money to get anywhere with them. I was on my way there, but then a group of youths hanging by the pier beat me up and stole my money.

        Oh well, I guess not every day can be a good one! Right now I hear a lot of noise outside, I’m going to see what it is, maybe it’s a festival!

        Day 17

        Looks like I might be here longer in Pargona than I expected! There seems to be some sort of revolt going on. The self proclaimed People's Democratic Army of Pargona have taken control of parts of the city, but the government is busily trying to put down the rebels. I’d try to make it to my embassy, but unfortunately it was blown up three days ago. The airports are being blocked as well. I’m pretty safe where I’m at actually. The hotel manager’s brother is the President so the protection here is excellent apart from the occasional mortar hitting the building.

        I’m getting some GREAT pictures of troop movements and tanks rolling down the streets though! I can’t wait to show these to everyone back home!

        Day 21

        The revolution is over and I’m going home! I enjoyed my time here, but it seemed to go by too quick! I’m also disappointed that the Pargona government confiscated my camera before I could get on the plane. However, they told me it was for security reasons, so I certainly understood.

        I might not have any pictures; I’ll always have my memories of the beautiful land of Pargona!

        Safe

        Can’t sleep again. Got a lot on my mind. I can’t go on like this; I’ve been like this for three days.

        How did things turn out this way?

        I remember. The government was corrupt. Life was harsh. It was no way to live. It wasn’t safe. Something had to be changed. So a small group of us decided to finally do something about it. Sometimes I wonder if it was the right decision. Maybe it would’ve been better to just try to leave the country.

        I need a drink. Definitely not coffee though. What would be the point? I’m wide awake. Alcohol doesn’t even make me pass out. Too much on my mind.

        I remember the first time I couldn’t sleep. It was just after I killed my first man. I never did anything like that before. I felt sick. I couldn’t help but think about that soldier’s family, but I had to get used to it though. The revolution could only be won through forceful means.

        Better not stand too close to the windows. Who knows if some assassin’s bullet will find me. Even in the night they could be out there. I better make sure this place is secure. I can never be too safe. My enemies are still out there.

        My pistol. Loaded and ready by my side as always. I have to walk around armed at all times. Just in case. You never know. They could breach the perimeter.

        This is no way to live.

        The revolution was bloody. Too much pain. Too much violence. It was necessary, but regrettable. Some of the things that had to be done… attacking military targets wasn’t always enough. Sometimes in order to get a point across, those that supported evil indirectly needed to be awakened.

        But we were fighting tyranny. It was all for the greater good. The government was evil. We were heroes.

        Right?

        I hear another explosion as I take another drink. I hear more gunfire in the distance. More death. It never ends.

        So many deaths during the revolution. I saw friends I’d known since childhood die in front of me. I even lost some family members. I weep for them all to this day.

        My wife is up. She wants me to come to bed as usual. I wish I could. Believe me, I do. I would like nothing better than to sleep and lie in her arms. She’s so lovely. We met during the revolution.

        I tell her to go back to bed. I know she would rather keep me company, but I wish to be alone. I have a lot on my mind.

        There was much rejoicing and change after the revolution. The old order was dead and something better could take its place. We didn’t realize how hard that would be until the day actually came. Destruction is always easier than creation. But that didn’t deter us. We were up for the challenge.

        I just wish we could’ve all agreed on what would be best though.

        All the arguing and fighting wasn’t helping. Nothing was getting accomplished and several warring factions would’ve just destroyed everything we tried to achieve.

        Eventually I decided to settle things.

        It was unfortunate, but the country at that point needed stability more than ever. It needed to be safe. It needed just one voice of clarity.

        My daughter is up now. She wants to know what’s going on. I allow myself to smile and tell her that everything is alright and she should go back to bed. She complies.

        The changes I made were for the greater good, but I was facing opposition. Did they not see I was making things better? These ingrates and idiots who cowered in their homes while I actually did something about the terrible conditions in this country feel that THEY can judge and criticize me?

        I tried to accommodate them, but they were unreasonable. They wanted paradise, when there is no such thing! More of them rebelled openly. I gave them freedom and this is how they repay me?

        I did what I had to do to maintain order. They should understand. This is madness. I was a hero and now they call me evil?

        Now more killing goes on and nothing is safe again. I just wish this would all end…

        My general has come in, I nearly shot him.

        “Sir! The revolt has been put down! You’ve won!”
        “Huh? Oh. Very good. Execute all the prisoners and update me on the situation tomorrow.”

        As the general leaves, I feel something different. I can let my guard down. At last I can sleep.

        I realized long ago that the deaths of thousands are nothing compared to the piece of mind of safety.

        And now I have it at last.
        Writing: It's more fun than a barrel of Ebola ridden monkeys!

        Comment


        • #5
          Hungry for Love

          Another dead body.

          It isn’t the first and certainly won’t be the last.

          This one is different though. Never killed anyone I loved before. Of course she’s the only person I’ve ever had any feelings towards. Dumping her body in the woods or something similar just isn’t an option. She was special.

          I’ve never done this before, but I’m prepared to try something new for her.

          I’m sorry that I have to dismember her, but she simply isn’t going to fit in the freezer whole. Still, I better clear out the rest of the freezer, this may take awhile.

          Glad I didn’t do any grocery shopping this week.

          Her legs…

          She had such lovely legs. She was absolutely mesmerizing whenever she wore a short dress to show them off. I’ll miss how they used to wrap around me.

          As I take the first bite, I look into her eyes. I need to know if she’s okay with this before I go any further. She stares at me from across the table in the bucket of ice and doesn’t protest.

          She always was accommodating even when we were kids. Gave me her extra candy, helped me with some of my school work. I knew even back then we were meant to be together. I think she knew it too; it just took her awhile to come around.

          Hmm, don’t know why people make the joke about humans tasting like chicken. It doesn’t taste that way to me at all.

          Her arms…

          I remember how they used to embrace me. Be it in the throes of passion or a simple hug. It doesn’t matter which, I’ll miss it all.

          As I pop a couple her fingers in my mouth, I think back to when we were teenagers and her father caught us in her room. He smacked me around pretty good before I could get out of there. Said how I better leave his daughter alone and all that other crap over protective fathers say. We were in love, and that fool couldn’t see it.

          Never got to see her too much shortly after that time. She got sent off to a private school and contact was limited. Even when I tried, her father was always taking steps to make sure I wasn’t going to sneak up there. He even warned the school if I was on the grounds that they could have me arrested.

          Mmm, that’s good.

          I guess it didn’t matter though; I got into trouble with the law anyway. My mom tried to put me into therapy, but all I did was stab the therapist in the hand with his pen.

          Without her I felt so lost, is it any wonder that I wanted everyone to feel the same amount of pain I did?

          My beloved definitely tastes a lot better than that crap they were serving me in juvie that’s for sure. My beloved is so delicious. I didn’t think it could be this good, but on second thought, could she be anything else?

          I can’t wait for the next part.

          Her body…

          I’ll miss how it felt against my own body. So warm in life, and now so cold in death, but not for long. I’ve got a lot of cooking to do for this bit. Always had a knack for cooking, for some reason.

          If only things turned out differently, perhaps I could’ve run my own restaurant with her.

          Mmm, need more salt for this.

          By the time we had grown up, our lives had become vastly different. I lived a hand to mouth existence, while she was in college. I thought about visiting her many times, but at that point, I didn’t think she’d feel the same way about me. I was a completely different person now.

          Imagine my surprise when she came to visit me. It was like we picked up where we left off.

          Ahh, perfect. This soup is excellent. This meatloaf too. I think I’ll be able to eat most of this tonight. I usually don’t eat a lot, but the more I eat, the more I feel closer to her.

          Her head…

          I look at her head as I have been for this past month while devouring her. I caress her face. For some reason I can’t bring myself to eat her lovely face. It’s the first thing I fell in love with and I guess it’s the last thing I want to remember about her.

          We’re coming to the end. Nobody is ever at this polluted lake this time of night. Nobody even swims here anymore.

          I tried to keep it from her as long as possible. Sneaking around, canceling dates…she was bound to get suspicious.

          Like I said, we were two different people now, even if we still had the love, but I guess there were some things she just couldn’t accept though. I tried to explain, but it only ended in blood like it always does. Just like it did with several other women that were poor imitations of her. Just like it did with her father who kept us apart for so long and caused this to happen.

          I look into her eyes one last time and I know she forgives me.

          I give her one last kiss.

          “I love you. I always will my dear sweet sister.”

          I toss her bones and head overboard and weep.

          Okay that's all I have for now, you guys have at it.
          Last edited by End Master; 05-14-2012, 03:02 PM.
          Writing: It's more fun than a barrel of Ebola ridden monkeys!

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          • #6
            Hmm, I think I liked the fractured fairytale and the "vacation from hell" ones best.

            I could totally identify with the magazine cardism thing. Not because it's my particular obsession, well actually it is, in the sense that I FUCKING HATE ALL THOSE CARDS, and I'd probably walk up to the guy in the bookstore who was ripping all those damnable sheets out and plant a big fat one on his forehead.

            That one about waiting to go BLAM BLAM BLAM was just a ridiculous Pulp Fiction rip-off. Sorry, but Vince and what's-his-face did it better with the quarter pounder Royale avec fromage or whatever it was...

            And then that last one was just par for the course Endmaster. Murder, cannibalism, incest, been there, done that.

            I'm not sure if I have too many old fictional writings, but if I find one I'll surely post it here. I have been writing a lot of "random" emails lately, basically begging people to pay attention to me--in the professional sense, I mean. My old professor friend asked me if I know how to speak "yadda yadda" and I realized with a shock that I really don't. In fact, I suck at yadda yadda. I'm the dribbling moron in the back of the room who couldn't conjugate a verb if it was simultaneously buggering him up the arse and taking liberties with his mother. The language of yadda yadda remains ever foreign to me, probably because I don't want to speak it well. I resist it. I resent it. Can't I have an agent to do all the squabbling and quibbling and haggling and bragging for me? I'm really quite modest, you see...

            Quit yer snickerin'!
            Last edited by Vesnic; 05-14-2012, 06:23 PM.
            My sanity, my soul, or my life.

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            • #7
              Oh I agree Mean Time sucks, but I have to love all my children and include it anyway, lol. I was trying to write something within a certain amount of real time and incorporate it into the story. (Jules was the other hitman in Pulp Fiction)

              But yeah I'd completely forgotten all about the Pargona story. I like that one, Stone's Throw and Captured the best. The fairy tale one is cool, but I'd probably put that one in the "Done that before" pile as well.

              All of these were my old Worth 1000 contest stories so there were a bunch of guidelines and themes I was supposed to follow.

              I wish I could find the short "gritty" Saturday morning cartoon thing I wrote once on the old forums. It was probably the RARE example of Fanfic I ever wrote and I guess I forgot to save it. I can only remember it made references to Masters of the Universe, Thundercats and Pirates of Darkwater and basically Orko fucked up and Mum-Ra ended up destroying everything.
              Last edited by End Master; 05-14-2012, 07:05 PM.
              Writing: It's more fun than a barrel of Ebola ridden monkeys!

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              • #8
                Enjoyed the Pargona trip and "Magazine Cardism" (advertising... yeah. At some point in a magazine's life cycle, you start to get more of that than actual content; if I read magazines at all, that's when I would quit).

                "No Hate. No Peace" recalls "Paradise Violated." I remember liking the relationship in that one (the one in the "personal shelter" branch of Ground Zero was better, but I think I enjoyed the other one more when I read it. The Kirk in me, I guess).

                Aside from the Fictionpress archive I linked in another thread (this one especially if you're going to bother with that), I don't have a lot of old stuff to post, and nothing recent at all. As I'm combing through it, it's more philosophy/essay than fiction, but there are still a few pieces I guess I can stand having people see.

                This one apparently had no title

                When my uncle Steve was twenty-one, he got stoned and walked into a convenience store. He stood around for awhile, just enjoying the high, while a spontaneous plot worked itself out in his head, then he picked up two cases of Natty Light, poured himself a cup of old coffee from the dispenser, and walked up to the counter. The clerk was a balding man in his late thirties who looked like he’d already stood a few shifts that day.

                He looked at my uncle for a minute, sighed, shook his head, and said, “Sir, that’ll be thirteen ninety-seven. I’m gonna need to see some I.D.”

                “Sure,” Steve replied cheerfully, and without hesitating threw the scalding coffee in the man’s face.

                The clerk screamed, as much in surprise as in pain, and while he was doing that, Steve jumped the counter and beat him mercilessly into unconsciousness. He stole the man’s clothes, his wallet, his keys, and a hundred bucks from the cash register, and when he had the guy locked in the supply closet, he loaded the beer and a few snacks for the road into his victim’s rusted-out Chevy Vega. He took one look at the gas gauge, spat in disgust through the hole in the floor of the passenger side, filled up for free at the pumps and fled the state to avoid his own shotgun wedding. Nobody in the family has seen him since.

                It’s funny, I guess, that I didn’t mind when the rock came sailing through my window. I was going through my own rebellious phase at the time, though it wasn’t as dramatic as Steve’s. I skipped school when I could get away with it and locked myself in my room, where I listened to death metal and cut my arms so people would think I was hardcore. I shaved my head and bragged a lot about some fights I’d never been in, but it’s the thought that counts, anyway, right?

                I was doing some cutting on my arms and listening to Cradle of Filth, with the volume turned up so my family downstairs could hear the lead singer screaming, and I guess between the two I had the world pretty much tuned out, so I didn’t even hear the glass break. When the rock came to rest at my feet, I looked up to see a bony, dirty hand with long nails reaching through the jagged hole to feel around for the lock.

                I should mention that I didn’t “act out” much. My rebellion was a personal thing; it was all about image, and my heart started pounding, my adrenaline was surging, and my feet had carried me halfway to the door before I reminded myself, just in time to avoid massive embarrassment and loss of cool, that I didn’t care. I took a couple of deep breaths, walked back over to the chair, and sat down. The guy was still busy breaking in; he only cut himself twice before he managed to undo the lock and push the window up. A lean, hungry, filthy-looking man climbed up over the sill. He wore ragged old jeans, more holes than fabric, and above them he had nothing to cover himself but his own hair, which hung in greasy black bunches from his head and gathered in dense patches all over the rest of him. I reminded myself to be cool.

                “Who the hell are you?” I asked him, with a satisfying lack of emotion. He spat on the floor through a gap in his teeth and just glared at me for a minute, while the music screamed out from my stereo and blood ran down my arms. Looking back, it had to be one of the coolest moments of my life. At the time, I was terrified. We looked at each other until he finally shrugged and sat down on the floor.

                “Got beer?” he asked. I didn’t dare take my eyes off him, but I felt around under my bed and came up with a piss-warm six-pack I’d taken from my dad when he had some old friends over a few months back. I lobbed a can at him and took one for myself, left the rest of the pack on the floor between us. He popped the top, took a couple of pulls, and grimaced.

                “Weak stuff,” he said, drained it, and pulled the rest of the sixer his way.

                “By the way, I’m Steve, your uncle.” I felt like I should say something, but I didn’t know what, so I took a sip of my beer. I couldn’t hide my disgust; it was awful.

                “Tell me about it,” Steve said, crumpling his second can on his head and tossing it into a corner. “Beats the hell out of Natty, though.”

                (at this point, I got bored and decided to cut the story short)

                “But how do you get by?” I asked.

                “See that guy?” Steve said, pointing at man peddling down the side of the road. I nodded. He didn’t say anything else, just waited for the biker to approach. As the guy swerved to go around us, Steve cocked his fist and nailed him right in the face; he collapsed, bike and all, into the gutter, unconscious. My uncle thumbed through his wallet, took half the cash, tossed the rest to a nearby homeless guy, and hopped on the bicycle.

                “That’s how,” he said.

                “And the homeless guy?”

                Steve spat. “Hell, guy’s worse off’n me, and that’s sayin’ somethin’. C’mon, got some business at this convenience store.”
                Last edited by Locke; 06-27-2014 at 12:16 AM.

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                • #9
                  Oh, and I rescued this from the old forums. It was a "what if" thread: You answered the question of whoever posted before you, then posed one of your own. The question (from Apoth or Usoki) ran something like "what if people had minor superpowers, like being able to melt plastic or see through tinfoil?" I'll post a couple more sometime today or tomorrow.


                  .
                  Stephen stepped uncertainly toward the nondescript doorway on the west side of campus. His palms were sweating. The directions he'd been given were pretty cryptic, and it'd taken so long to find the place he wasn't entirely sure the meeting wasn't over and the members dispersed. He knocked in what he hoped was the correct pattern. The door creaked open and a rather hairy hand waved a device in his direction. A rapid clicking noise came from the gadget. "Geiger counter says he's okay," a voice rumbled from inside. "You can come in, man."

                  Stephen stepped into a sparely furnished and dimly lit room. "Hurry up and shut the door," the guy who'd scanned him complained. "You're letting the smoke out." Stephen complied, coughing and waving his hands to clear the air. A dozen or so people were gathered in a circle around an enormous bong, and vast clouds of marijuana smoke roiled throughout the room. "I hope I'm not late," he said.

                  A tall black guy in a purple suit stood up. His teeth were perfect and white, his hair up in corn rows, and the jewelry that adorned him sparkled with a multitude of diamonds. "Nah, you's fine, man, you know what I'm sayin'? We was just doin' some shots of Jack, smokin' a little weed. You cool dog." He sat back down, smoothing a minor crease on his purple trousers. Stephen regarded the man with some disbelief. "Am I in the right place?" he asked uncertainly. "Campus superhero club?"

                  "Yeah dog, you straight, know what I'm sayin'? I's Jamal. Y'all here 'cause you got superpowers. This the head janitor's place. I laid down some cash so's he'd go drinkin' and leave us alone. We homies, it's cool. I's a pimp on the side, y'all know, so's I can afford that kinda thing, know what I'm sayin'?" "Yes, I know what you're saying," Stephen said, a little impatiently. "Please stop saying that." "Hey man, don't be hatin'." "Right-o, you don't want to insult the chap," a young man across the room said. "Can't help himself, after all. It's his power. Blimey, the man can make any car look like a pimp car, can't he? His hand slaps with force of a pimp's slap, and he dresses and speaks as a pimp does."

                  "Are you SURE he's not just, you know, a pimp?" Stephen asked. "The poor lad was a genius white chap before the reactor north of town melted down. That changed all of us, don't you know. Half of us are dying of bloody cancer. I myself developed this irritating British accent and the ability to make people I've just met do what I say. KNEEL!" he shouted. Impossibly, Stephen found himself bending to one knee. "Sorry about that. You can get up now," the young man said. "Initiation thing, don't you know. Had to get that in; my power only works for five minutes after I meet someone.

                  "Anyway, most of you lot are new, so I guess introductions are in order. My name's Tony. You've already met Jamal and Lefty." The hefty man with the hairy knuckles waved from the doorway. "As for the rest of you, well, I guess we ought to just go 'round the circle. Give us your name and superpower, and we'll go from there."

                  An intense-looking Goth in chains and leather to Tony's right stood up. "The name's Drake," he said. He spoke rapidly, in short, bitten-off sentences. "My power's called Hothands. I'm a self-harmer. I was burning myself with matches when the reactor blew. My hands have a high tolerance for heat and heal quickly. They get very hot. Hot enough to melt low-grade plastics. Plastics like the jugs the juice from the cafeteria comes in. Observe!" He removed his hand from the bong and shot it out, pulling an empty container from his trenchcoat on the floor. Indeed, his fingers glowed a dull red, and the unpleasant smell of singed plastic filled the room. When his hand came away, Stephen could almost see the impressions his fingers had left.

                  A quiet voice spoke up to Drake's left. "I'm Phil." The very young-looking sophomore remained seated. "I can see through tinfoil. Sort of. I mean, I can usually make out whatever's wrapped in it, as long as the foil's only one or two layers thick." "That's kind of useless, isn't it?" Drake said. Phil blushed and sank lower in his seat.

                  The bald man next to Phil was dozing and had to be nudged awake. His skin sagged in places, and had an unhealthy-looking yellowed pallor to it. He coughed and croaked out, "I'm Richard." "Hi, Richard!" several of the other members chorused. He smiled slightly. "Inside joke. Anyhow, the radiation didn't affect me like the rest of you; I just got sick. I absorbed a lot of rads. If I'm around anyone who wasn't affected by the reactor long enough, they get sick too. That's sort of a power, I guess." He sighed, let his head drop back and closed his eyes again.

                  Up next was a tiny dwarfish man with strange, dull hair. "I'm Rumpelstiltskin!" he shouted. "I have straw instead of hair, and I can spin it into solid gold!" Stephen was impressed. "That's amazing," he said. "Strange, but amazing." "Yeah, except he's obsessive-compulsive," Tony said. "And that's a pisser, innit? Once he's spun something into gold, the poor bloke's got to spin it right back into straw again. And if you restrain him by force, he'll go mad. Bugger tried to bite my hand off once, he did. Just isn't worth it." The tiny man pulled a piece of straw from his head and began chewing on it absentmindedly.

                  The musclebound man with the hairy knuckles walked over from the door and took a seat next to him. "I'm a jock," he rumbled. "Name's Lefty. You've probably seen me around campus. I take steroids, so I'm pretty strong. Also, I'm really aggressive, and I take that out on people I don't like by hitting them." "That's not a power!" Phil protested from across the room. "Beats being able to see through tinfoil," Lefty said. Phil blushed and began to cry.

                  The girl next to Lefty looked as if she hadn't slept in a week. "I'm Aurora," she said, her voice almost breaking. "I'm sorry. No matter how many times I talk about this, it never gets any easier. I can't help myself." Tears splashed her pale cheeks. She took a deep breath and brushed them away. "I'm sort of stuck in time," she said, choking the words out one by one.

                  "Every day, one extra minute seems to pass. Today started at 6:37 AM. In a few hours it's going to happen all over again, and it'll be this morning again at 6:38 AM. Every day I've come here and sat through this meeting, over and over again. It doesn't help. I don't even know why I'm here." Sobs wracked her body as tears flowed from her eyes anew. Stephen's heart went out to her. He'd only sat through the meeting once, and he was already bored out of his skull. "I'm sorry," he whispered, not knowing what else to say.

                  "Okay, whatever," a bored freshman said. "I've got Deja Vu. In retrospect I totally knew you were going to say that. Hey dude, you're rusting." "That I am!" said a garishly dressed young man in the corner. Indeed, small piles of reddish dust had formed on the ground near his cape. "I'm Captain Rustyarms. My arms and upper torso rust endlessly. If I get in a fight and nick someone, they get tetanus. Even if I lose." He grinned proudly and jabbed rapidly at the air. "Come on, man, care to give it a go? Oh, and I can glow in the dark once every other full moon."

                  The night wore on. Finally it was Stephen's turn. He stood up. "I'm Stephen," he said. "I was at a frat party when the meltdown hit. I can down as much alcohol as I want, and it doesn't affect me." Someone passed him a shot of Jack Daniel's. "Thanks," he said. He looked around. The introductions were complete. "So, now that we've got these powers, what are we going to do with them?" There was silence for a moment. Finally Richard spoke up. "I dunno," he said. "I mean, none of our powers are really that useful, are they? And half of us are going to die of cancer in a few months anyhow. This is pretty much a loser any way you look at it. I guess we could join a circus." Stephen sighed and downed the shot.
                  Last edited by Locke; 06-27-2014 at 12:16 AM.

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                  • #10
                    This was a prologue I wrote a few years back for a project called "Preternatural" about a backwoods teen with cannibalism-fueled superpowers eluding a Patrick Bateman type in a post-post-apocalyptic America. This bit strictly features the latter character, though.

                    ~

                    "Prologue - The Idiot"

                    In the city of reason, a madman walked free. His name was Dunleavy.

                    Protected by an iron curtain of wealth and prominence that went back generations, he was most content to mask his nefarious nature beneath a gentlemanly business suit and a charismatic smile. In the proper circles, those certain seedy and esoteric fraternities, his dark truths were well-known. To the general public, however, he made sure to appear a perfectly sane and moral creature.

                    Life was a curious thing to Dunleavy. He had been bred to desire authority over it, and when he wasn't participating in the usual rigamarole of high society, he enjoyed witnessing the wondrous sight of life ending right before his eyes.

                    There were many other hobbies, of course. In his youth, he'd done his fair share of sightseeing, sailing, tennis, golf, attending social parties, spending lazy Sundays in some country club. But something had always been missing. Bored, he'd gone down more deviant roads for satisfaction.

                    In the beginning, he'd tried rape. The pleas for mercy had delighted him, but they had not been enough. For the thrill of it, he sold drugs and stole cheap junk out of local convenience stores. That always made him feel like a nigger, though. Then, the fires. That had lost its edge quickly, and he'd be damned if he ever singed a single hair on his immaculate head again.

                    It was when he committed the first murder that he really began to have fun. With the first spurt of blood, he knew he'd found what he'd been looking for. Watching it gush out of the wounds he made always gave him goose bumps.

                    By now, it was routine. On an idle night, he'd find a club and meet a girl, maybe take her home and open her up. If he was feeling particularly saucy, he'd indulge himself in an evening killing spree. He was distinctly aware of his own dementia, but had long ago concluded that there was nothing quite as grand as being mad.

                    And so it had been this way for some twenty odd years and never a day of doubt or worry of exposure had fallen upon him. But in all his monstrous arrogance and delusions of indomitability, there was one thing that made Dunleavy fear for himself. And that was the thing in the room.

                    Dunleavy adjusted his plaid necktie absentmindedly, then stared down at his watch. The time flashed 12:00 as it always did on these occasions and he realized that he'd have to buy a new Rolex again.

                    Damn room does this every time, he thought in agitation. And to an antique, no less!

                    Nervously, he knelt down and fumbled with the combination to his leather attaché case. Opening it, he gazed once more at the contents he was to deliver; a series of anonymous letters, pleading for or demanding God knew what, and a squashed, tightly wrapped bundle of something, the bottom of which he noticed was beginning to leak a suggestive red fluid. It occurred to him that it might be apropos later to abduct and devour some street whore to ease his tension.

                    Steeling himself, Dunleavy shut the case and stood upright. He took one last moment to comb his long fingers through his hair, heave a sigh, and then entered the room.

                    In keeping with his past visits, Dunleavy observed an abrupt, but subtle change in ambiance. Had he not been the complete parody of humanity that he was, he might have felt an invasive and gradual deadening of emotion. As such, all that affected Dunleavy was the icy cold and penetrating brightness of the room. He shielded his eyes from the halogen glare and squinted across a chasm of white where on the opposite end sat a solitary figure. Taking one precautionary step after another, Dunleavy drew closer to the figure that, the shorter the distance, seemed more and more absurd.

                    Alone in his little glowing corner, a nude, rangy man busied himself, settled on his knees as he tenaciously finger-painted the floor with what was apparently his own stockpiled shit. When he saw Dunleavy approach him, the naked man disregarded his fecal hieroglyphs and began to whimper and drool, flinging the excreta with apathy, more an attempt at throwing a tantrum than a cry for help. Nevertheless, Dunleavy did not appreciate it when some of the dung narrowly missed landing on one of his expensive shoes.

                    "You little fucking monkey, watch what you're doing!" he scolded the simpleton.

                    The man on the floor frowned up at him and groaned. He turned to move away from Dunleavy and continued with his ordure oeuvres, but his thin body went suddenly rigid. The stark moron's limbs shot out spastically and flailed in the air as if they were fighting off some invisible assailant. His muscles went taut in defiance, hidden veins brought bulging to the surface. The man's eyes were open wide and rolling around in his skull while his mouth contorted, offering up childlike shrieking. Dunleavy had seen it all before.

                    The gangly man writhed around, his strength waning, until finally he lay weak and conquered for a few moments, then rose to stand up like a marionette and stared at the businessman with eerie clarity.

                    Something conveyed itself. Not in words, but in other, more abstract ways. There was an overwhelming aura of menace that saturated the room and Dunleavy felt phantom fingers trace his back. They crept up and inside of him, poking at his brain with some malevolent Morse code. As if innately, Dunleave knew.

                    "The Idiot will not be spoiled," he assured the Something. "I will..." Dunleavy paused, words coming to mind like off a script. "I will restrain from my usual methodologies in this instance."

                    The Something relaxed its almost material antagonism and as it departed, Dunleavy's eyes scanned the room in a futile effort to identify his censor. Losing hope, he cowered and nodded emphatically towards the static Idiot.

                    "M-my apologies."

                    Compusively, he turned his attention to his case as the Something pulled his strings. The items. It wanted the items. The items, Dunleavy! he could practically hear it scream.

                    "Yes, ab-absolutely. It's all right... right here."

                    Dunleavy rummaged through the case, taking out its cargo as promptly as possible. The Idiot approached him with fitful steps and examined the goods, browsing through the stack of letters and unwrapping the bundle to reveal a medley of bloody organs. After he had gone over everything, the Idiot resumed his immobility.

                    A kind of extrasensory breeze swept through the canals of Dunleavy's gray matter and he settled. The Something was pleased. The businessman smiled and bowed his head gratefully.

                    "Thank you."

                    Not idling, the otherworldly communicator continued. Dunleavy was being instructed. The faces and names of his superiors permeated his thoughts. A worn sign flashed hurriedly in his mind's eye and he caught the words 'SANTE FE, NEW MEXICO'.

                    Dunleavy's brow knit in confusion. He didn't so much seem confused as he seemed intent on portraying himself so. "I... don't understand."

                    The Something saw through his lie and the weight of awareness throbbed in the man's skull. It knew all along. Did he and his colleagues think they could keep anything back from it? Dunleavy's psyche received a hard slap in the face. Tell them, Something insisted. It needed an instrument.

                    "But... why?"

                    And all at once, the businessman could feel it. A hot pulse moving through an otherwise dead zone. It sparked with raw, untapped power. If the heat had been real, his skin would've melted clean off his bones. It was clear as could be. Something was sensing preternatural activity. Perhaps, he could feel it postulate, this was the one they'd been searching for.

                    At this, Dunleavy chanced a sneer. "That could be anything. You've been around a long time now. The things that've popped up thanks to your fucking around with-"

                    The Idiot reached out and grabbed Dunleavy's throat, tightening around his windpipe with unnerving influence. Dunleavy struggled in his clutch. Above them, the lights of the room began to short.

                    The Something raged between planes. Its self-righteous umbrage caused reality itself to shudder violently, warping the room into funhouse mirror proportions. It inquired ominously; did Dunleavy mean to suggest TRANSGRESSION?

                    "No!" he choked. "No, nothing like that! I just meant that-"

                    The room's temperature dropped further as the Something reacted mechanically. Dunleavy felt suddenly compact, claustrophobic even.

                    There would be no arguments. Dunleavy was just another tool. And it was made explicit to him what would happen if he continued to be defiant. After all, a replacement could always be found.

                    The Idiot let go of Dunleavy and the bullied businessman fell to the floor, panting.

                    "Okay! It's done! Don't worry about a thing, I-I'll take care of it."

                    Anticlimactically, the communication ended. Whatever it was he had these little meetings with, it was gone, as was any indication that it had ever drudged even halfway into the mundane realm.

                    In his corner, the Idiot reverted back to his usual mindless state and lunged onto the grotesque groceries he'd been brought. The disheveled Dunleavy, all too eager to get the fuck out of Dodge, collected himself and hastily fled the room.

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