|
Post by Sir Kiken on Dec 21, 2011 20:41:23 GMT -5
Just give it a shot. Sit down and just babble out a little tale of misery, discovery, or just a awkward moment had by a character you just got to know. Anything that comes to mind, put it right here.
|
|
|
Post by Sir Kiken on Dec 21, 2011 21:06:56 GMT -5
She waited there for him for what was finally the last few moments of a lifetime's anxiety. The crowded station buzzed and wriggled filled to the brim with busy bodies. Her green eyes scanned the crown anxiously for him. That man whom she had loved so much, and who had been the source of so many different emotions within her. They'd shared years that broke down into every kind of precious, awkward, and infuriating moment. Of course only one kind of moment made this possible or worth it at all. Smiling to herself at the thought of his arrival and what she'd say to him her heart nearly burst.
Cheeks burning, eyes restless, and foot tapping nervously she couldn't help but worry that he may not show. It would be the last opportunity she'd have to actually truly tell him after all.
Men and woman poured out of the train and her eyes sifted through each and every coat and jacket. Just three simple, wonderful words. Before he left she had to tell him. He had to know where she stood in the end. She had to know that he knew.
The people stepping off slowed down seemingly nearing the last. She held her breath.
If he didn't know, he would think she was weak. He would be forced to see her as someone who wouldn't stand up for herself, or her feelings. Shaking her head, she raised her resolve. He would come and she would tell him.
Just three words.
She caught the top of his head as he walked out of the train.
Three...
His blue eye rose up just enough to see her gaze. He smiled.
Simple...
Stepping forward she saw him coming and stood straight waiting with a smirk of her own. Red hair blowing behind her and a strand resting on her face.
Special...
He stood in front of her smiling and touching her shoulders. "I knew you'd come back to me. You always were a smart girl."
Words...
She grabbed his hand as he reached up to her face and looked him right in the eyes.
"Go f*ck yourself." With that, he was forced to watch her walk away. The most beautiful woman he'd ever called his own. The only one he really wanted. With that all his mistakes came to a culmination. It was too late, and it was his fault.
She smiled and left the station. Closure.
To all the assholes out there who constantly and knowingly f*ck up but, feel entitled to forgiveness, kindness and respect. To the ones who take the treatment they receive from others for granted and believe they deserve better for no reason other than that they were born deserving better. Even to those who make every excuse and yet not effort to correct.
Happy Holidays, and go f*ck yourselves.
|
|
|
Post by Sir Kiken on Jan 6, 2012 23:52:54 GMT -5
"Are you sure you want to meet him?" asked the soldier looking at me with a furrowed brow full of "Are you f*cking crazy?"
"Yes, I'm sure. As a scholar, and a man of the world it's very important to me." I replied without flinching. I'd waited this long, why would I back out now? I knew full well what I was getting into.
"What about as a living breathing human being? You realize that once he meets you, if he forgets you you'll die right? Not all of you just anything about you. Your name, your face, anything you tell him. He's gotta remember it all or your whole life is a wrap." asked the soldier.
"Yes, I know. Again, I've done my homework, I've sat on the waiting list, I've gone through all your policies, and tests, and red tape. I'm here, and I'm going in as soon as you let me through." We shared stares for a few more seconds before the soldier backed off. His demeanor eased into relinquish as he stepped aside.
"Alright Mr. Nichols, you're free to go in. You have one hour. Only touch or otherwise interact with anything he tells you to. Nothing else, period. Good luck."
I walked through the doors seeing a well lit comfortably furnished room. A man in his mid to late twenties sat in a chair amidst several books. They were thick, possibly sketch pads. He seemed to be drawing in an open book.
"Nomen?" I asked slowly approaching. Nomen glanced up at me for just a second and then back down at his drawing.
"Six-thousand-eight-hundred-ninety-two." he said continuing as if nothing had changed.
"I'm sorry?" I said a little confused.
"How many people I've met now. Blond hair, short, just been cut recently. They missed a small spot above your ear, but it's barely noticeable. Five feet eight inches tall, around one-hundred-sixty pounds. Blue eyes, amber flecks. Small diamond shaped pupils, wavy patterns in irises. Married, gold ring with rubies instead of diamonds."
"How do you remember all this?" I asked.
"Shoe size, average. Surgery scar on the back of right wrist -Because I have to- probably about six stitches long. What's your name?" Nomen asked. I was dumbfounded at how quickly he'd absorbed all that information with just a glance.
"Uh, Jim. Jim Nichols."
"Alright, Jim Nichols number five. Easy. Go ahead and sit in that chair Jim Nichols."
I took the seat and watched for a moment as Nomen returned to his frantic yet fluid sketching. The pictures were absolutely perfect. As clean and photorealistic as graphite on paper could possibly be.
"So, Nomen how did this happen? Do you have any idea where this...power came from?" I asked. Nomen shook his head and folded a laminate sheet over the page turning it and starting a new drawing.
"One day I woke up and all the memories of everyone came flooding back. I lost some of them and I felt them die. I've felt several people die because I couldn't remember them."
"I'm sorry to hear that." I said.
"I'm sorry it happened." He replied.
"Nomen, it means 'name'. Could I ask your real name."
"You could, but I wouldn't tell you."
"Why not?"
"Because what if you forget me?"
"What do you mean?"
"What if you get to know me, and you forget? What if I die? Then I can't remember all the people, and they might die."
"That would be unfortunate. So do you refrain from meeting children?"
"Yes. I refrain from a lot of things."
"How does it effect your sleep."
"I get plenty, sleep helps your memory."
"Fair enough." I replied chuckling. His drawing this time seemed to be a woman. She was pretty, and about the same age as Nomen.
"I'm guessing you stay away from relationships then."
"Of course."
"Have you ever liked anyone? You know, like that?"
"Before this, but she's one of the one's I forgot so she's gone now."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"I'm sorry it happened."
"Right. So where do you think they came from? Your powers that is."
"I don't know. God maybe? Maybe this is a little of his burden."
"You think you're God?"
"I sure as hell hope not." I laughed again at that.
"Of course. People have spoken out against your very existence. About you being a devil, and all sorts of evil things. Has anyone ever made an attempt at your life?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
"I made a note not to remember them, then they were killed by my security."
"Wow, it works that fast huh?"
"I don't know. Sometimes. Other times things just happen. All death is not my fault."
"Of course not. But, there are thousands of lives tied up in your memory."
"Yes, yes there are."
"If this new act passes, you'll be exposed to thousands, maybe millions more who wish to see you."
"I'm not looking forward to that."
"I understand. Neither am I. It could be catastrophic. What do you think would happen if you ran out of memory or something. Maybe something like an overload. Just too many people, too many faces at once?"
"I should hope that never happens."
"Perhaps with this, it never will." With that, I took his pencil, pulled him forward by the collar of his shirt, and stabbed him in the throat. Once again, and just one more to be assured of mortal wounds. His eyes widened and I slowly set him gushing blood onto the ground by the table. He was clutching his throat and gasping, but blood loss alone would have him soon. "I'm sorry Nomen, I really don't think it's your fault. When my wife died because she met you, and you forgot her I realized how real this all was."
"Wife?" Nomen gurgled looking up at me tearfully. I saw the regret in his face. He was afraid of death. Afraid of what his death would mean.
"Yes. She died two years ago. Her name was Abigail."
"...Renee Wylan-Nichols. I remember." came further gurgling. I had missed his vocal chords apparently. Still, his speech was hindered greatly, and there was no way he could get loud enough to call the soldiers inside.
"Not well enough my friend. Not well enough. But you see, this isn't vengeance. I'm doing this both to release you of your burden, and save millions of people." I put the pencil down beside and and pat him on the shoulder. "I've written books on the subject of things like you. Only theories about things of this nature. Man, destiny, God. Never thought I'd be face to face with any of it. Now here I am standing above a thing of philosophy and deep thinking incarnate. A prime subject of debate over life and death, and human nature." Nomen's eyes rolled around in his head and he reached over for the pencil.
"Nature...?" he choked.
"Would man kill God to take control of his destiny? To stave off the imminence of certain death?" I asked. "Of course. I suppose I'm proof of that, but again I'm sorry."
Nomen's hands shook as he scrawled it out. A jagged N made it's way across the carpet, inked in blood.
"Just know that your final breath is a blessing in disguise, Nomen. Though thousands may die, millions -no- billions are saved. Your good intentions will not pave the road to hell my friend." I explained smiling at him. My eyes flicked again to the area in front of him as he continued to spell something out.
N-E-V
Nev?
Nomen let out a weak gurgle as his eyes widened shot full of red intensity. Veins bulged in his head and he pushed his hand faster. I couldn't help but feel a bit sad for him. He was trying to leave some kind of dying message in the carpet. It had to be delirium. There's no way that message would survive this event. I would, after all, have to erase it.
Then I realized what it said.
"Neven? Your name..." I whispered as he faded into the embrace of death. "Poor man, I've already forgotten."
|
|
|
Post by Sir Kiken on Mar 15, 2012 12:35:17 GMT -5
"f*ck dude did you even care?" Jack shouted turning away from Rob.
"Yeah but shit happens ya know?" Rob shrugged nervously.
"Not that kind of shit! That doesn't just happen! That takes planning and thought. It didn't just f*cking pop up outta nowhere!"
"I didn't mean to do it ya know? I mean we talked about it but I never thought it would actually go down man..."
"f*ck that! f*ck. That. How do you discuss something in detail and then say I didn't see it coming? I don't even know the method of being pissed off for this situation. I mean I know I'm pissed, but goddamn it!"
"Well I just said I wanted it and we made a joke about getting it man. I'm sorry dude."
"f*ck 'I'm sorry'! Just, just get the f*ck...get the f*ck away from me man."
"I'm sorry..." Jack held his hand up.
"Apologize again and I swear to God almighty on high that I will turn around and blast you in the face. I swear to God."
"Dude..." Jack whirled around getting in Rob's face.
"Don't dude me! Don't you f*cking dude me! You sit around with that stupid b*tch and talk about how you're gonna f*ck even though you know I liked her. Fine. I can take that shit. You run over my goddamn cat. Go ahead, it was an accident. But you go into my room. You open my mini fridge, and you eat MY f*cking SNACK PACK?! f*ck you!"
|
|
|
Post by Pheonix Metabashi on Mar 15, 2012 19:05:52 GMT -5
The darkness was cast aside by the single glow of cigarettes cherry. The panting of Harold could be heard as he attempted to take his last drag.
"Five bullets, four knives, three targets, and one life" he whispered to himself. "thirteen, how could i have missed it. She warned me of the number thirteen and i thought i dodged it. I thought it was all in my head. That because I was seeking thirteen that I repeatedly found thirteen."
"WRRRRROOOOOONNG," screamed the demon that had crept into his head. "It was the girl. She caused this. When she was thirteen she wished for your death. She wanted you to suffer for thirteen years alone, just like she did.
Harold began coughing blood and his cigarette fell out of his mouth into his wound. The slight sting of the heat barely phased him as he began replying," You really think that she would go that far for revenge. So far as to curse a dying waste of life like me. thirteen years of suffering are nothing in value to the comparison of her soul."
The demon in him began snickering," Worth. She didn't just ask for you to suffer for thirteen years. She asked that after those years you would burn in hell for eternity."
Harold's eyes became bloodshot and jarred wide open. his body convulsed as the demon began consuming his mind and soul whole. His eyes began to glaze and his breathing began to halt.
The demon laugh manically taunting Harold. "Foolish humans and their emotions. Two souls for the price of one and all it took was convincing her that he was her real father. The price of revenge is far too expensive these days."
|
|
|
Post by The Chronic Dragon on Apr 23, 2012 17:11:57 GMT -5
Everything in the mansion was layered with dust and mold so thick that they obscured the surfaces on which they rested. Cracked mirrors had become slabs of grime. Countless pieces of furniture long since mangled by termites and rot, once beautiful, now lay in dismantled, green-tinted piles. What stood out most was the glass, scattered about the rotted wooden floors. No matter where the gaze fell, shards of glass glinted in the moonlight like diamonds. Jagged edges rimmed broken windows; mouths opening to the wild overgrowth beyond. Ivy and kudzu vine crept cautiously through shattered panes, careful to avoid the glass. Many were destined only to shrivel and collapse to the floor fragile, lifeless, and brown. Yet some resilient strands had taken root, and decorated the barren walls with color.
A ballroom or what was one. The grand stairs into the chamber had lost their glory, collapsed in places. Faded tiles well acquainted with water covered the floor of the cavernous room, showed in all their pallid luster by the moon’s rays streaming through the many holes in the decrepit ceiling. The wallpaper ripped and the paint chipped, the wood laid bare and defaced by the rain. In the center of the room, a shattered chandelier adorned with so much dust and cobweb as to become part of the floor. Off to the right, a marble mantle collapsed over a spacious fireplace.
Throughout the entire house, graffiti covered the walls. Ranging from beautiful murals that did their best to bring back color to the lifeless manor, to vulgar scratching which plastered the walls and floors in obscenities and depictions of amoral acts. The mansion lay forgotten by all who cared to clean it. Buried by time, and erased from memory, its beauty faded with it.
|
|
|
Post by Sir Kiken on May 14, 2012 18:18:24 GMT -5
In that moment he felt a shove, a push. Out of reflex he tried to plant his foot behind him. He tried to catch himself, to keep standing, to stay upright. This would prove impossible, and James knew why. Behind him, was an open chasm. Eye wide with betrayal and shock he gasped as his hands sprawled forward grasping and catching nothing. Even the air seemed to dodge between his fingers and nothing could stop gravity. The smile on Sharon's red lips tipped off her intent all along. She didn't love him, hell she didn't even like him. Her hidden hatred had turned to joy on her lovely face. Though no matter how beautiful she was. No matter how many nights they'd shared before. No matter how many sweet words had crossed between them; at that moment she was the devil. She was twisted, flawed and jagged at the edges. His stomach was too full of fear to house his rage, so instead of screaming out and calling her b*tch, c*nt, whore, or fuckwit, all he could come up with was a low wheeze. His body cascaded into the chasm, dark and deep. The wind thrashed against his body hurling his clothes about on his form. There was nothing to grab, there was nothing to break his fall. He had no supernatural powers save his screaming in his head that must have shattered every rational thought in his mind. The screaming of a dying man. The screaming of someone beyond help. So loud, and yet the wind blew it back into his throat when even a whisper was attempted to be uttered. The bottom couldn't be far. He'd fallen so fast. There was no time. There was no...no hope. Nothing but the bottom. Nothing but death. His family, his friends. Would they even know what happened? Would they all be fooled like he was? Goddammit, so many regrets, so little time! Tears, tightening fists, clenched teeth. I'm going to die...
The everything shook. A black veil of silence became James, and whatever he had been before was no more. He never expected to wake again.
Which is why when he opened the eyes on that broken yet fortunate body, he was quite surprised.
|
|
|
Post by Sir Kiken on Mar 15, 2013 7:48:16 GMT -5
They were all gone now.
Black armor gleaming, his bare face slick with blood, the man ran a metal clad hand through his thick hair and stood straight. A long, heavy, black sword scraped along the red caked earth below him as he repositioned. He now stared into the moon, full and red, his breath showing in puffs of white on the cold air in front of him.
All gone.
Should he smile? There was no one to smile for any longer. After all, his quest for revenge had driven him here. Here to a place they may as well have been the edge of the world. The edge of the entire universe. As now, in the venture to kill one man, the whole of his world lay dead before him.
His fingers loosened and the blade fell to the ground. The dirt was so thick with clotted blood that not a single particle of dust plumed from the impact. The man said nothing as his foe lay there in a pool that announced his ending. The black armored demon, the avatar of wrath, the final one standing simply stood there and breathed. He breathed air that only he was around to savor. It had a taste now, a flavor it had never had before. It was sweet, but not like sugar. It was sweet in a different sense. In truth he wasn't sure what it tasted like, only that he had desired that taste for a long time now, and as delicious as it was, it wasn't enough.
There was no one left to slay, no one left to exact his anger on, only the bright moon thousands of miles away staring down at him. A man whom by his own hand, was entirely alone. No one to breath his air. No one to question him, no one to comfort him, no one to pity him. No one there at all.
He smiled.
|
|
|
Post by Pheonix Metabashi on Jun 29, 2013 23:09:27 GMT -5
I remember saying that nothing was going to ruin the day today but apparently that wasn't in the cards. Today I discovered that in my conscious there was an undiscovered area that the general populace likes to call the moral gray area. The place in your own personal reality where right and wrong come into question. We all have that moment where we are thrown into a situation that we normally would consider wrong but for the moment seems absolutely right. Allow me to use my experience as an example.
At noon today I decided to go burger devil for lunch. I was having quite the horrible day at the time because four hours prior my house had gone up in flames. All I could recover was what was in my safe which was a .45 magnum, two issues of playboy magazine, and my third grade yearbook. I entered the unholy burger domain ironically praying for a burger so delicious that it would take my mind off the unforgiving girlfriend who had torched my house. The order was simple. I ordered a devil burger with cheese and a large fry. No tomatoes because in my personal opinion in solid form tomatoes are garbage. Since I was six I have hated the texture, smell, and taste of the repulsive fruit. Suffice to say when I bit into the sin filled burger I could taste the red devil had mated with my meal. I calmly returned to the counter and told them my dilemma. In front of me stood a 30 year old shell of a man. He took the the atrocity and returned with another devilish burger. Unfortunately I did not realize how devilish it truly was until my first bite. The horrid residue of tomato was present. Someone had made it wrong a second time and removed the tomatoes before delivery. Now far beyond irritated I returned to the counter once again asking for another burger. Once again a deceitful burger crossed my path. With ignorant faith I bit into a saliva filled burger. At that moment the grey appeared.
I shot up from my seat whipped out my gun and fired it twice into the ceiling. I walked straight to the counter and demanded to talk to the failure of a cook. The honorless cashier pointed straight to the 30 year old soulless a**hole who had taken my day from horrible to psychotic. I screamed at the top off my lungs and beckoned him to front off the store. With my .45 aimed directly for his forehead I could feel all my hatred concentrating into the next bullet. It strongly wished to mate with the void in his skull where his brain should have been. After 15 minutes of absolute silence and extreme tension I lowered my gun.
"I'm not a murderer," I thought to myself,"there's no way I could willingly take a life."
At that exact moment a police officer barged in screaming those famous fear instilling words. Simultaneously the a**hat who had just escaped death decided to spit in my face and attack my family jewels. The officer barked an order at him and then at me. It was at this time I accidentally dropped my gun. It discharged and filled the void of the devil's employee's with hot lead. The officer pinned me to the ground and called for help. As I was being walked away I saw an officer check his wallet so they could figure out who he was. From his wallet fell a picture, a picture that threw me into the grey. This one photo took my guilt and turned it into confusion. Twas a picture of my girlfriend and the now deceased laying naked in my bed with gasoline jugs.
Is it okay that I blew his head off?
|
|