StillWatersRunDeep, The Wordsmith
Hello world! I'm a student with a love for writing, cooking, and trying new things. I also love nature, animals, books, art, and pretty much anything else that has to do with creativity that I haven't mentioned already. I enjoy riddles, trivia, and problem solving challenges. Feel free to PM me to talk about anything! :D
Some quotes, because why not?
"Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light." - Helen Keller
"I thought this city would be a perfect place where everyone got along and anyone could be anything. Turns out, life's a little bit more complicated than a slogan on a bumper sticker. Real life is messy. We all have limitations. We all make mistakes. Which means, hey, glass half full, we all have a lot in common. And the more we try to understand one another, the more exceptional each of us will be. But we have to try. So no matter what kind of person you are, I implore you: Try. Try to make the world a better place. Look inside yourself and recognize that change starts with you." - Judy Hopps
"The universe is big. It's vast and complicated and ridiculous. And sometimes, very rarely, impossible things just happen and we call them miracles." - The Doctor
"Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light." - Albus Dumbledore
"Many of the truths we cling to, greatly depend on our point of view." - Obi-Wan Kenobi
"Uh, Sandy, why do you have missiles in your sub?" "You know, in case I get stuck in traffic." - Spongebob Squarepants and Sandy Cheeks
"It is a curious thought, but it is only when you see people looking ridiculous that you realize how much you like them." - Agatha Christie
"Sticks and stones could break my bones, but anything you say will only fuel my lungs." - "Sarcasm" by Get Scared
"O, let us hence. I stand on sudden haste." "Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast." - Romeo and Friar Laurence
"Indeed," she murmured, "that was the most interesting cup of chocolate I have ever had, sitting up eight thousand feet over the middle of the Pacific Ocean quite alone." - Amelia Earhart
"What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make." - Jane Goodall
"What can we use?" - Scott Cawthon
"General, may I take a nap? General, I need a papaya! General, my claws are tired! General, look, a butterfly! SOMEBODY IS GETTING STABBED IN THE FACE IF YOU DON'T SHUT UP." - Tsunami
And yes, I am quite aware that my current description is just a big list. Maybe I'll fix that someday... maybe. XD
Currently working on Death of a Harlequin, a rather long storygame in the Mystery/Puzzle category, and on/off on Lies My Sister Told Me, a storygame of the desperate measures taken to reach a satisfying revenge.
You sit in your cubicle, working away diligently. As you raise your coffee cup to your lips you freeze. You sniff the cup. This is not good. This is not good at all. You slowly open your cup... NO! Your cup falls to the floor. You jump out of your chair. You are out of coffee.
Time for a coffee break....
This is my first storygame so I hope you all enjoy it! There are 14 possible endings.
The bitterness of a murder permeates the calm airs of Rjonsford. Can you outwit all the riddles and challenges to catch the culprits and bring justice to the kingdom?
Words can leave scars as deep as any mortal weapon. Scars, like ink, can fade, yet will never quite be forgotten. Much less when you find an unholy object beneath your bed that casts your mind back into its darkest recesses: the world you so desperately had tried to leave behind.
Every decision in this story you unfold sets your past, rather than your future, into the stone that weighs you down.
This story has four main branches that tell separate, distinct tales. Although all four mold the life of the same person, each branch is a stand-alone story and its own, individual nightmare.
I can't take these lies anymore. My so-called sister, of all the people I thought I could actually trust, thinks she can bang up my boyfriend behind my back and get away with it. She doesn't know I know her dirty secrets, and she most certainly won't be expecting what I have in plan for her.
Part One of Three
Recent Posts"We live to be remembered." on 3/30/2017 2:13:44 PM
My name was David R. Besl.
I thought I was smart. That Sunday afternoon, while the rest of the staff members were at the Easter buffet, I disabled the security cameras and snuck into my boss's office, using the pendulum of my old metronome to pick the lock. Bet they weren't expecting that when they let me bring it in. I pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and reached for the document. Case file 880201 became case file 880201 version 2.0, and nobody knew the difference, save myself.
A year later I woke up to a phone call from the district coordinator. She said some discrepancies had been found with a case of mine from a year ago and asked me to come in and talk with her about it. I knew immediately what this was. I still don't know how they found me, but I knew that I had to leave and never return.
I thought I was going to disappear. I got into my car and drove straight through my garage door, much to the awaiting ambush's surprise. I drove right through them, my foot heavy on the gas, pressing harder as the car bumped and lurched over the broken debris. I got on the highway and kept up the chase for a while. After I swerved off the construction ramp on the I-295 and sent those coppers screeching into the barrier, I was sure I'd make it to the mountains.
I made it as close as two exits from my destination. Then a black van came out of nowhere and rammed right into me. I don't know how long I was out.
I thought I was done for. I woke up with my chest, legs, and left arm bound to a seat in an oval-shaped office. A man wreathed in cigar smoke sat reclining in deep leather across from me. The silver plaque on the desk introduced him as Gerome Russelford. A voice somewhere behind me thanked me for my coming - even though it's not like I really had any choice. I could see two guards stationed on either side of me, so there was no way I was going to get out even if I broke the straps. Instead of trying to escape, I just nodded blankly at the supposed gratitude of the man in the chair.
The man motioned to somewhere behind me, and the voice I had heard earlier spoke again. He asked me if I understood that forging federal documents was a serious crime. I kept my gaze locked on the chair-man and continued to nod. When he asked me why I had done it, my answer was short, simple, and quiet.
"I thought that the crimes they committed were greater than mine."
Russelford lowered his cigar and stared into my eyes. He asked me if that was so. All I could do was nod. I did not break away from his eye.
"I'd like to offer you a deal, Mr. Besl." The man in the chair spoke for the first time. "How would you like to join us?"
I couldn't hold my tongue. "You're not the government?"
Russelford snapped his head back and laughed deeply. "Us, the government!" he bellowed. His sudden movements disrupted the smoke about him. "No, Mr. Besl. We know all about you, but we're not your superiors. We're the subject of case file 880201, in the flesh. Pleasure to meet our unwitting helper."
I couldn't believe it. "You're... the mafia?" I muttered in disbelief.
"We don't use that term around here," he replied. "We refer to ourselves as the Family. So, what do you say, Mr. Besl?" he leaned forward with his hand outstretched. "Are you with us?"
I broke my line of sight to glance at his hand. "If I may ask, Mr. Russelford, why did you choose now, of all times, to recruit me? Wouldn't having a spy in the system been a better alternative?"
Russelford smiled. "I thought you had greater plans of your own at the Bureau, Mr. Besl. It's a shame you didn't get the chance to execute them, but with the police on your tail and you speeding towards the Appalachians, I had to make a choice. You and I...," he gestured using his outstretched hand and set down his cigar on an old ashtray with the other. "We don't just live. We live to be remembered. I couldn't risk to let you disappear and be forgotten. Maybe you'll have better plans as of yet."
I looked back into his eyes once more. I didn't think that this was possible, yet here I was at his desk. I made my decision. I shook his hand and that was it. That was the end of David's story.
My name was David R. Besl. I was foolish, but I've changed my ways. I'm a member of the Family now, and just like Godfather has his silver plaque that sings his chosen name to those that find themselves in his company, I have made a name for myself as well. They call me - and I call myself - the Devil's Bard.
The Hunted Hunter on 3/8/2017 10:46:42 AM
The couple was house hunting, but the house got them!
The Hunted Hunter on 3/8/2017 8:19:24 AM
“This is such an adorable neighborhood!” remarked Staci, letting the crisp, salty breeze tug at her golden hair and lavender gown as they rode through the quiet streets.
“I know! I absolutely love this town!” replied Pablo, her fiancé. “Did you know that some people say this is the oldest city in the United States?”
“It is? I didn’t know that! I’m so glad that Luan suggested we look here! Even if we don’t see one we like, the whole scene is just so… picturesque!”
They took a moment to survey the beauty around them.
“Sorry to break the fantasy, but heads up: we’re gonna need to turn soon. Left onto Lemoncrest… the house should be on the right side of the road. We’re looking for 393,” Pablo read, looking up from the map on his phone only briefly to scan the area.
“393 Lemoncrest Drive? We’re here!” Staci replied as she turned into the circular drive. As they got out of the car, Pablo checked the time on his phone.
“2:13… Luan should be here by now—” Bzz! His phone vibrated. “Oh, it’s a text from her!” he exclaimed.
“What’s up? What did she say?” inquired Staci.
“There was some nasty accident on the I-95, so she’s still not going to be here for a while. She said that the door’s unlocked, though, so we can let ourselves in for the time being!”
“I hope she gets through the traffic alright.” She looked at the Spanish cottage. “Shall we?” Staci asked, holding out her arm.
“We shall,” replied Pablo, smiling and taking her arm. The couple entered the antique abode.
“I have to be honest with you, Pablo,” Staci said enthusiastically, looking from the chandelier to the tiered archways. “I think this could be the one!”
“Me too!” Pablo beamed, taking her hands into his. They gazed lovingly at each other and then around the foyer.
Bzz. Another text came in from Luan. After reading it Pablo looked to Staci with a grin, joy flooding his face. “Stace, this house just got even better! Luan says it has an attic!”
“An attic? Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s check it out!” Staci replied with equal ecstasy.
“She says it should be right past the kitchen,” Pablo informed Staci as he led her through the hallway. “Aha, right here!” He pointed up.
“I’ll get it down!” offered Staci. She reached for the little rope hanging from the ceiling. “This place is just so cool!” She pulled.
The ladder came crashing down from the ceiling, hitting Staci squarely on the temple with a sickening thud. She collapsed to the floor where her head made another impact before the whole ladder came falling down upon her. Bright blood met the pool of her afternoon dress in seeping rivulets around her.
“Oh God, Stace! Say something, please, are you alright?” Pablo dropped to his knees and tried to move the ladder off of her, but he wasn’t strong enough. He pulled out his phone to dial 911.
“Of all the times to not work!” He looked at his fiancée, terrified. It only took him a moment of witnessing the seeping blood to dash towards the front door.
He ran straight into the door, despite trying to push it out of his way. The impact made him bounce back onto the foyer floor. Rubbing his side, he cautiously rose up and reached for the handle of the doorknob. It didn’t budge.
He sat there for a moment, blinking at the scene in front of them. He attempted the doorknob again. Nothing happened. He attempted to call the police again. Nothing happened. He attempted to text Luan, then his mother, then Staci. Nothing happened. He feebly reached once more for the handle of the door. The lights of the cottage went out.
Luan finally arrived to a clean house, missing the couple she was supposed to meet. If only the traffic had kept her away, then someone might know of the awful rue that awaited all those who came inside. Instead, Luan entered. She was struck down by the chandelier that Staci had admired so.
February Flash Fiction Contest Submission Thread on 2/22/2017 6:00:45 AM
February Flash Fiction Contest Submission Thread on 2/22/2017 5:57:58 AM
Word Count: 295
“‘Overslant Hospital,’” read Lieutenant Perelman as he finished with security. “You know, Doctor, hospitals are some of my favorite places.”
“You don’t say?” replied Surgeon General Knast as they traversed the stained linoleum floor.
“As a matter of fact, I do. I see them as a place where people are given second chances to lead a better life. A place where the community comes together to help the fellow man out: a place where commitments are made and miracles happen.”
Knast stopped at the elevator junction and turned around slowly to face Perelman. His face was full of contempt as he shook his shrewd head.
“I don’t want to sink your boat, Lieutenant, but from what I’ve seen through my personal experience – that’s twenty-four grueling years – the ‘hospital’ is a dreaded hole. Sure! I concede that rarely, every once in a lingering while something we do may cause a smirk, but in reality, we’re just spinning the casters of misfortune and deceit. This is a place where promises are broken and living corpses are left to rot. This is where old souls are brought to die and where new, unfortunate souls are brought into this miserable world.”
“But, sir—” started Perelman, but Knast cut him short and called for the elevator.
“No, I much prefer the prison. That’s a place that hides you away from the troubles of this world. One of the few places, I believe, where you can actually feel safe and secure. Delighted by your own ignorant bliss.”
Perelman chose his next words gingerly. “But, sir… then why do you work here if you despise it so?”
“Well, Lieutenant,” said the Surgeon General as he stepped inside the elevator. “This is the closest I can get to that without doing something ‘wrong.’”
February Contest & End's EdgeLord Contest on 2/20/2017 9:32:37 PM
Still have four days!
February Flash Fiction Contest Submission Thread on 2/20/2017 1:40:12 PM
"After Two Glasses of Gin" - Word Count: 300 (Edit Lock)
February Flash Fiction Contest Submission Thread on 2/20/2017 1:37:07 PM
Monsieur Le Roux looked down at the poem on his desk. His mind was locked up, yet, having nothing better to do, he just continued to stare.
“Stand alone in the bustling marketplace,
As careless faces pass you by
Stand up proud! because here you have more grace:
Among the hopeless passerby”
Lacking the ability to conjure a title, he turned to the letters beside him, reaching for an important-looking envelope perched on top.
“Third Annual Writers’ Convention!” he read enthusiastically. “Well, there’s a first time for everything!”
He reached to dial for a taxicab, but caught curious eyes watching him. “I’ll be back before you know it, mon petit chaton!”
The parlor of strangers was much too congested for the poet, so he invited himself to the Egyptian garden outside. The gentle wisp of the fall air rejuvenated him as he sat down on a bench by an ancient-looking fountain.
After a brief relaxation, another figure stumbled into the garden – alas, a familiar face!
“Why, if it isn’t Madame Juniper, Queen of Nomenclature!” he called. “What a pleasant—”
“Not now!” the women trilled. Her hair was as frivolous as her cascading voice. She smelled like firewater. “I haven’t had inspiration for weeks!” she cried, pacing amongst the shrubbery. “I’m a wreck!”
“Hm… I might have a way to help,” suggested Le Roux carefully.
“Yes, anything, please!”
“I haven’t practiced what I’ve preached… but try to come up with the title first. See where it takes you… just look around here! Any ideas?”
She stopped pacing and took in the scene around her: the vineyard, the garden – and, turning around, the magnificent mansion.
“Aha! I’ve got something!” Forgetting all pleasantries, she dashed back into the parlor.
Le Roux responded to the now stabilized serenity around him: “As have I.”
February Flash Fiction Contest Feedback Thread on 2/18/2017 10:39:43 PM
All finished! So much great work so far - can't wait to see what other amazing writing comes out of this!
February Flash Fiction Contest Submission Thread on 2/18/2017 10:30:44 PM