EZunmaker, The Wordsmith
"Write drunk; edit sober."
Recent PostsHere's To Hoping I Can Finish on 2/21/2018 3:59:40 PM
Not that anyone should or will care, but that's it. The rest will be revealed only when it's published, hopefully on time and hopefully much to Ebon's chagrin.
Good luck to everyone still working to publish something nice. :)
Here's To Hoping I Can Finish on 2/21/2018 3:56:51 PM
You Do Not Intervene
It did mean more of a mess to clean up after, but you were content to sit back and watch this time - as you often were - the one kill the other. Something about it was, quite truthfully, arousing in a very feral, very base way. Your favorite rod-stunner, the one with the hand-carved mahogany grip rested comfortingly on the end table next to your chair as you took another puff of your Sicar and set it down on the ashtray.
The one that had knocked the other prone shrieked and stepped over it proceeding to fiercely kick it in its head. Over. And over. And over. The prone one was beaten into unconsciousness after the third or fourth ruthless stomp, but the dominant one continued again and again, screaming and growling like an animal the whole while.
You rubbed your hands around the erect bulge that had developed in your pants, tugging at it slightly and watched, eyes fixed on this newest macabre scene unfolding before you. The air around thick and smokey in a rich, pleasing way from the exhaust fumes of the nearby, still burning Sicar.
The one continued to repeatedly kick the other, apparently intent on reducing its head into nothing more than a gorey, blood soaked pulp of broken bone and squashed brain tissue.
Some minutes passed, you continuing to tug and massage at your crotch as the one continued yet to stomp and kick at the other - its strength fading with the prolonged exertion of bashing another beings skull into a complete paste.
And then, just like snapping your fingers it stopped, freezing in place. It stared down at the other, posture sagging and slinking - released it seemed from the rage that had gripped its mind in a solidarity of purpose only a moment before. It fell down onto its knees, sobbing and weeping.
You stood and walked over to stand behind it.
It reached out slowly to touch the now dead one, the one that it had just killed, but withdrew each time. It was crying uncontrollably. Tears cascading from its eyes as it screamed and shrieked loudly. A remorseful, mourning wail.
You knelt down and cradled the sobbing creatures head in your arms, your mind suddenly afire with an almost guilty pity for the suffering that it was experiencing now.
A sharp twist broke its neck swiftly.
Rotating its head about, you brushed the hair out of its eyes and regarded them a long moment. Such beautiful eyes. So deep. So honest. So, so… pure. Even when staring back at you lifelessly, cradled here in your arms amidst a brutal, bloody scene like this one.
You had always loved her and only her.
Here's To Hoping I Can Finish on 2/21/2018 3:54:39 PM
Getting fairly well in now, so here's a bit more from the front end.
Less to clean up after.
The one had straddled atop the other now, raining a series of blows down onto its chest and stomach, growling in the feral manner they always seemed to do at this point in their struggles to kill each other.
You set your Sicar down on the ashtray and grabbed the bolt-stunner rod that was always certain to be kept within arms reach during these little test sessions. One of your favorites - the one with the hand carved mahogany grip.
The prone one was offering a truly feeble resistance now, its arms flailing about weakly trying in vain to push the other one off of it. The other seized its neck with both hands, squeezing hard and continuing to growl.
You walked over and shoved the bolt rod hard into the lower back of the dominant one, its body arching and convulsing with the shock before collapsing unconscious atop the other.
Disguising them from one another worked only for short periods of time. This was true even with the ones that you had genetically denied sight to - bred blind, so to speak. Vision did seem to expedite the inevitable occurrence of the problem, but did not appear to lie at the causal root of it. So you had thought that, perhaps, pheromones were the link that allowed them to recognize one another. The ones that you had created with no noses that were still able to identify each other made that theory unlikely though, to say the least.
The other was in bad shape, but still very conscious as it struggled to crawl away and out from underneath the unconscious one. It was covered in its own blood and looked to have several broken ribs in addition to its damaged jaw. Yet still wonderfully intact for easy insertion into the MatRec.
You jabbed it in the throat with the stunner-rod, smiling to yourself at the birdish sort of squawking, gurgling sound it made as it passed out, jerking and spasming briefly.
Kneeling you brushed the dominant ones hair out of its face with a tender touch and gazed upon it a long moment. So beautiful. So pristine. So, so… pure - even posed here amidst a brutal, bloody scene like this one.
You had always loved her and only her.
EndMaster’s Romance Story Contest on 2/21/2018 1:03:18 PM
EndMaster’s Romance Story Contest on 2/20/2018 3:25:30 PM
You may be surprised, Eb. ;)
Here's To Hoping I Can Finish on 2/20/2018 2:05:56 PM
Pretty much. It's two clones of the same woman that you are in love (albeit a sick kind of love) with. You've cloned her many times, and done som, uh... questionable things to the clones. For some reason once two of them realize they are clones of the same person they go insane and try to kill each other.
Here's To Hoping I Can Finish on 2/20/2018 4:34:11 AM
Here's a preview of the beginning of my entry for End's Romance Contest. Hopefully I finish it on time. Should be able to if I don't get too distracted towards the deadline.
Leave your initial thoughts or don't. Seems like those are really the only two choices you have if you read this. No hard feelings either way. Lol. ;)
-This Always Happened-
This had proven time and time again to be an infinitely occurring problem, but that had never stopped you from always striving to find the root of the problem and a solution to it. Searching for a way to perhaps breed it out of them. The moment they recognized each other for what they truly were they would snap, flying into a crazed rage and attempting with a singleness of purpose and a maniacal fury to rend each other limb from limb. Not stopping until one of them was dead or they both were subdued. While you had to admit that this was a beneficial trait in preventing them from ever uniting as a pack against you, you could not deny within yourself a deep desire to own at least one pair of them that could exist peaceably in the presence of one another.
They knocked over a table in their continued struggle to snuff out each other’s lives, the contents of its surface sent clattering about the room.
Their reactions after one of them had killed the other was what truly captured your thoughts these days. Some of them would revel in the kill it seemed. Bashing and biting at the other one long after it was dead, stopping only when one of them was reduced to a pile of broken bones and viciously splayed puddles of blood. Others would cradle the the creature they had just killed, stroking its hair and rocking it gently, clearly remorseful, or so it would appear. And still others would act indifferently - almost oblivious even - to what had just transpired.
With an audibly bone-breaking crack one of them struck the other in the mouth. It fell down and grasped at its bleeding jaw, wailing at screeching.
You often wondered if the reason that they inevitably sought to destroy each other was inherent in their biology or in something else. Where did the root of the problem lie. Was it some mechanism built into their psyches? Something hard wired into their DNA - a biological design to ensure that only one of themselves could exist at any given time? Or was the root of the problem imbedded in other ground. Spiritual or maybe psychological soil?. Identifying the root cause of the problem would doubtless yield the tools necessary for you to finally solve it.
The one that had just been struck took another savage blow to the head from the other. More blood and spittle spattered with the strike. It fell even further into a prone position on the carpet.
If you wanted to stop the clearly dominant one from killing the other, this was the moment you would have to step in. Exhaling the smoke from the *Mayan Sicar you’re smoking you decide to...
- Stop the one from killing the other
- Smoke your Mayan Sicar and watch the one kill the other
- *Mayan Sicars
TheCrazyDoc conspiracy on 2/19/2018 10:41:09 PM
*I mean, he literally just said it.
TheCrazyDoc conspiracy on 2/17/2018 11:33:18 PM
After a bit of research, I am fairly confident that TheCrazyDoc is one of these: https://www.dndbeyond.com/characters/races/aarakocra
Hello on 2/15/2018 8:37:52 PM