This week, we are doing something different...Everyone is still free to join, of course, but this week we have an incentive to join. Madhattersdaughter is going to be giving a drawing to the top writer. For the following two weeks- as well as this one, we'll be hosting my usual writing prompts, except that all writing submitted will be judged by me and a select group of members. (If you wish to be a judge, pm me.) The overall winner will be given a custom drawing :)
As always, anyone is free to join, and there is no time limit.
Prompt #1: The antagonist and protagonist are family, and every Christmas they go home and have a Christmas dinner with their parents. (Doesn't have to be a superhero/supervillain sort of dynamic)
Prompt #2: An abandoned house.
Prompt #3: "I never thought I'd enjoy my own funeral so much"
Stealing the tagging list from Axiom. Please inform me if you don't wish to be tagged to this anymore.
@WouldntItBeNice @Steve24833 @JJJ-thebanisher @bbshark @Bucky @mizal @FrankIevatus @TheNewIAP @Romulus @TacocaT @Crescentstar @Mayana @Zulutrader @MasonJarGuzzi @Ogre11 @malkalack @Charaxes @eshspoyeofdoom @RoyalGhost_007 @StillWatersRunDeep @temporaryaccount @ISentinelPenguinI @Drew8521 @Orange @LickReborn @ZagHero
Good luck to you all ^-^
Ooh. >_> What will we be judged on? Just overall enjoyment of judges?
Well, I'll be judging on:
1) Plot (consistencies, lack of, structure and coherency, etc.)
2) Grammar (Spelling errors, grammar mistakes, typos that make the story hard to understand...)
3) Creativity (How is your story different from other stories with the exact same plot base?)
4) Length (If it's 8 words, I promise you that you will most likely not be able to win.)
5) Enjoyment (Yes, how much I liked your story will play a major part in the end score xD)
If you (or anyone else) have suggestions on how I could improve my judging criteria, feel free to tell me :)
*is thinking* These prompts are difficult. xD *keeps thinking*
Sorry about making the prompts difficult >~<
They aren't that difficult...
EDIT: Might just be me and my insane sense of humor though.
Ooh! A competition! Don't care what the prize is, but I wanna win.
Still gotta finish week 3. Once I'm done with that, I'll get on this.
Alright! ^_^ Good luck, T-Count!
T^T I haven't started anything yet. The deadline is Sunday night right? >~<
I pick number 3.
Once, there were three best friends. They were named Joe, Sam, and Dave. They were all hanging out one day at a random field, when Sam put a whoopie cushion in Joe's pants. He sat on it, and it made the cliche fart noise.
"Ha! You fell for it!" Dave laughed. Joe was furious, but decided to play a prank on his friends.
"Oh no! I'm allergic to... what's this whoopie cushion made of?"
"Ack! I'm allergic to rubber!"
He pretended to die, and his friends were freaking the hell out. They dragged his body back to his house, were his mother greeted them and started sobbing. She closed the door after getting her sons body.
"No need to cry, mom. I'm alive. I'm pranking them."
"What the fuck is wrong with you? I raised you better then this..."
"Prank them HARDER!"
Joe nodded. "Let's pretend to throw my funeral."
Two days later, all of Joes loved ones were gathered for his funeral. He was in his coffin, and couldn't wait to hear what everyone was going to say. He wanted his friends to regret pranking him.
"I'll make the first speech." Sam said, as he took a microphone. "I'd like to say a few things about Joe. First off, he was really, really fat. I mean like, 400 pounds. Mabye more. He was so fat... he walked past the TV and I missed four seasons of my show! He was so fat... when he left the house and saw a school bus, he yelled 'get back here twinkie!' Th-Thank you for your time." Sam said as he put the microphone down and began to cry his eyes out.
Insults aside, Joe was enjoying this.
Dave took the microphone next. "I'd like to make a speech too. Joe was ugly. Like, so fucking ugly the mirror wouldn't date him. He was so ugly, he went into school and the teacher said 'who brought their monkey?'" Daves put the microphone down and cries as well.
Joe never thought he'd enjoy his own funeral so much.
"I'll make the last speech." His uncle Shithead said as he picked the microphone up. "Alright... does anyone know were the nearest Dairy Queen is?" Everyone went silent. Uncle Shithead just ran away.
"Time to throw the body into the furnace." Sam and Dave said as they grabbed the coffin and prepared to throw it in the furnace.
"Ha! Fooled you!" Joe said as he popped out. "I was just tricking you for putting that whoopie cushion in my pants!"
Eveyone was quiet for a moment. Dave and Sam just threw him in the furnace. "Fuck you!" They yelled as they watched him burn. The family and friends clapped, and they all left to go get Dairy Queen.
Edit Lock. Hope you all enjoy it.
Yikes! I don't think I can pull this off. Looks like I need to listen to that creative video again... or maybe this song.
By the way... will the judging start at the end of the week or will it start after the next 3 weeks? Will there be some sort of top 3's or top 5's? Can I put a turkey on my writing prompt?
Don't ask so many questions. Pick a topic and write something, it's simple.
Like mine! :D
End of the week for each prompt. All entries you want to be considered "entered" for each week must be in by 11:59 Pacific time on Sunday.
I'll submit one soon. I'm still working on it.
^ Same... >-<
I've decided to twist number one a bit.
- - - - - -
Zag walked briskly in the chilly air, holding a wrapped present. His thick and curly hair kept his head warm, and he wore a Christmas sweater and pants underneath his armor. His heavy suit of armor clanked with each step, and his breath created small puffs of steam. On his side was a leather sheath concealing his holy shortsword. His back was covered by his faithful shield, completing his suit. You could never be too safe.
Zag arrived at the two story house, adorned with electric lights and plastic decorations. He sighed a breath of relief, glad to have not been attacked by any monsters while he was traveling. Not that the monsters would be particularly challenging, he simply didn't want to arrive too late.
Knocking on the door, he checked if everything was in place. The present was in good shape, even if the wrapping was sub-par. He had checked out a book on the art of wrapping presents from the grand library, and he still couldn't get it exactly right. But, it was the thought that counted. The door opened, revealing the familiar home of his aunt and uncle.
"Come inside, set your things down, the gift goes underneath the tree," Zag's uncle instructed. Zag smiled and obeyed. He cast a vanishing spell on his armor, and it disappeared, ready to be summoned on command. Bending over near the tree, he set his present down.
"It doesn't look too bad compared to the others," Zag noted, walking into the den, where most of his family and friends were. He was glad to see his cousins, brothers, mother and father, and even Tim and Chris had showed up. They all greeted him with hugs and smiles, before resuming to help in the kitchen or return to whatever they were watching on the television.
"Oh, hey Zag."
Zag turned around, the familiar and gruff voice came from behind him. It was his boss, Count Fenrir. He was a hulking black haired wolf, and his mouth was stained with a crusted red substance. Zag truly hoped he was only tasting his aunt's pasta, and not the horrid alternative.
"Hey there, Boss!" Zag feigned excitement, not remembering if he had invited Fenrir to the party. "What brings you here?"
"Things were getting dull at HQ without you around, so I found out that you were going to this party, and let myself in. You're welcome," Fenrir nodded.
Zag frowned as the dark badge of Fenrir materialized onto his sweater. "Well, make yourself at home, mi casa es su casa," Zag chuckled in spite of the uncomfortable situation. Fenrir made his way over to one of the couches, shoving Zag's brothers off, and sat down. Zag smiled weakly. He didn't really know how to feel now that his boss, the black hound of darkness, and dark father of all wolves, was present and treating his family like they were his underlings. "Sorry guys." Zag's brothers scowled at him, taking a seat on the floor.
Fenrir leered at Zag's two brothers, his eyes glowing red. They flinched and decided against opposing him.
Zag's aunt and older cousins called from the kitchen, signaling that dinner was ready. Everyone was called in to say grace, and they all held hands (and paws).
Zag's aunt smiled, "Zag, will you say grace for us?"
Before our hero could open his mouth, Fenrir interjected. "I'd be happy to." He cleared his throat and his eyes glowed with demonic power. "Lord of darkness, death, gore, suffering, plague, and countless horrors, we come to you to curse this hideous and disgusting meal. We pray to me, the lord of darkness, death, gore, suffering, plague and countless horrors to slay the millions who deny my power and wish to continue with their righteous and pure ways. May my rule expand and grasp the pointless lives of millions. Chaos can and will shroud the feeble minds of those who do not bow before me. In my name we pray, amen."
Zag covered his face in shame. His family shrugged and continued with dinner.
They all sat around the kitchen table, or the counters. The food looked and smelled excellent. Turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, dinner rolls, yams, cranberry sauce, and Zag's mother's revered taffy-apple salad. It couldn't be better. The family and friends ate to their hearts content, even if Fenrir had taken the turkey for himself and massacred it on the den floor.
Zag wiped his face, and cleaned his plate. Reluctantly, he cleaned up his boss' mess. "It's bad enough I've swore my allegiance to him as a joke. I knew I should have never made that costume and fooled everyone. This just shows how much more careful I should be with who I fool around with." Zag scrubbed the turkey grease out of the carpet, dirtying his festive pants. "But, it's all my fault anyway. A hero keeps his word."
Soon enough, it was time for the gift exchange. The group of family, friends, and Fenrir exited the den and entered the front living room, gathering around the pile of presents.
"Was I supposed to bring something?" Fenrir asked, sniffing the presents. He nodded and patted the ground with his paw, conjuring a dark cloud which solidified into a rectangular box covered with pitch-black wrapping paper and a blood-red bow. "There we are." Fenrir sat on the couch, and sprawled out, forcing the others to sit on the floor once more.
Zag's aunt began to speak, "Everyone gets a number, and we'll choose our gifts in that order. You can steal a gift if you haven't chosen one, and it's your turn."
Everyone nodded in agreement, while one of Zag's cousins passed out small slips of paper with numbers on them. Zag received number 13, next to last. Fenrir got number 14, the very last one. Once everyone got their number, the first person, one Zag's two brothers, got up to choose a gift. Instantly, his eyes fell onto Fenrir's present.
"Oh man." Zag turned to Fenrir, "What did you bring?"
"I can't tell you, it'll ruin the fun."
"It's not anything," Zag paused, "-dangerous, is it?" Zag's voice sounded weary.
"Define dangerous." Fenrir didn't even look up, as he rested his head on the arm of the couch.
The brother unwrapped the rectangular object, revealing a dark book with a leather cover. The texture of the book shifted constantly, showing strange markings or even outlines of faces.
"A necronomicon?" Zag couldn't believe his eyes, and got up to snatch the book from his brother.
Zag's aunt interrupted, "Zag, it isn't your turn."
Zag new better than to argue with his aunt, and sat back down. "Damn you, Boss." He scowled at Fenrir as he sat down.
"I already am." Fenrir flicked his tail, and smiled.
Lol. Never even thought of editing it.
Yipe! Zag started the whole Fenrir-slave backstory thing before I could! Damn my procrastination!
Not so much a backstory, just a story.
I'll have to write my side of the backstory soon, haha.
For Prompt #3 Here we go!
The Church Bells ring as I lay, I'm looking at my own body and I have to admit...its a strange experience.
I remember the flames, the bursts of gunfire, though I also remember a fish talking to my bloated corpse so my memory is more or less a perfect imitation of Swiss Cheese, thus I'm left only with what I'm seeing at this current moment:
A priest saying his usual sermons and a few teary eyed people...Quite a few of them women but some I can clearly recognize as Crime Lords, Mercenaries, and even a Tyrant, ruled a whole nation and everything. Strangely only the Tyrant's tears out of that group of lowlifes is genuine. Was I a son to him? Or is there more going on? Not much to go on except for a few words.
The Eulogies given just fall flat though a few details stick....I remember who I was, though name isn't too important. I wasn't exactly the best person alive, a few words are thrown around, 'Saviour', 'Destroyer', 'Martyr', 'Murderer'. At the end of the day, I would have clarified but dead men tell no tales. Eventually we get down to a specific woman....Now HER I remember but not for any good reasons. Her tears are clearly fake, sympathy votes, of course the Tyrant seems to take great offense at her words and slaps her directly in the face.
No one clearly speaks up as he might note those later...His words tell me all I needed to know. I was the only man he ever respected, the one who would have been his replacement....I know I fought against him but he loved me for not being a sycophant, even as I opposed him. It was respect for a fallen foe at its finest, mixed with grief...I felt pangs of sympathy but all the same, I knew better...He was still the Tyrant he is at the end of the day. All the same, I see my body carted off and I'm following.
The Mercenaries give me a strange look before walking off, my body is soon commissioned to the earth after a few tearful words and everyone leaves, I'm gone for a little while, changing out of the funeral garments and wearing a different set of clothes, something very unassuming...As I drink, every memory comes back and I knew where to go....I see my own grave one last time before walking away with a special woman, while I know who she truly is, she was already commissioned into the earth a long time ago, at least that's what the world thought.
As I left with her, I voiced my own opinion to her, a truth I realized as I felt the burden of my old life falling away....
"I never thought I'd enjoy my own funeral so much."
And EDIT LOCK.
Hey, you chose the same prompt as me! Mine was way better
I like this one a lot :D
Ignore the crossed out thing
Nothing to see here
Mine was better
"Father, I don't want to die," you tell your pastor.
"At a certain point, every person will die. I am sorry death must come at such an early time, but God works miracles. Let us pray in the name of Jesus."
It happens in your sleep. Your body feels heavy, but you do not. With a massive final pain, you feel your body succumb to the illness. It is over. You peel out of the shell that once was your body. The room glows a thousand times brighter than it had just moments earlier. You feel a strange lightness and a sense of peace. You look around the room. It is the same as the night before except more vibrant. In particular, the deep red roses glow on the table next to the bed filled with a dying, now dead, man attached to a monitor.
You look down on your hands to see that they are no longer there. You cannot explain your new existence. What are you? You float through the air around the dead Michael J. William, experimenting with your new state of being. You cannot see anything that could justify your existence, you just simply are.
This can't be true. Where is the heaven? If I'm not in heaven, then am I in hell? Is this purgatory? Hundreds of questions fill your nonexistent mind. You try to speak, but you no longer have a mouth to express yourself to your dead body. Suddenly, a nurse comes into the room and with a sad look in her eye, puts a bracelet around the body's wrist.
"I am here!" You shout, but nothing comes out. You helplessly watch as she exits the room.
Your wife enters the room next. She weeps for you, and for herself. She says nothing as she looks at the dead shell of a man.
"It will be okay Kelley, I am here. Do not weep for me," you want to tell her so desperately bad. The brightness that was in the room fades away into a melancholy blue. You want to be there to wipe the tears off of her face, but you cannot.
Next, your father enters. In all the days that you had lived, you had never seen him shed a tear, but now he sheds many. First his wife and now his only son are gone forever. "I know that I seemed distant am cold, but I could never come to terms after your mother-, " he stops, his wiping the stream of tears from his eyes. "I hope that wherever you are, you know that I am and have always been so proud of you son," he says. You cannot reach out to him, and tell him that you are sorry for not comforting him. You cannot tell him are sorry for being so angry after your mother passed and he crept into himself, leaving you behind. You cannot tell him you forgive him.
The final man that enters your room is your colleague and closest friend, Alexander. He says nothing, but stares at your body solemnly. He says nothing and just stares blankly.
"I am glad the bastard is dead. He thought he could shove me under the blanket, and get all the glory. What a jerk! I'm so happy that it worked. The poison will make it look like a heart attack, and I will be credited with the greatest invention of our time. What irony that the man who invented the cure to cancer will have thought to have died of a different illness," you hear. Alex does not move his lips. These must be his thoughts. He must have killed you.
On the day of your funeral, over a hundred people show up. You are surprised to see distinguished men in science, such as the president of Harvard and the previous head of The Cancer Research Center, show up. You watch from a bird eye view as you are brought out and one by one, your family and previous colleagues get up to tell stories about the good times.
The final speech in given by Alex. As he gets up to the microphone, anger fills you. Does this man have the audacity to speak at my funeral?
"I have known Michael for a very long time. Through the long nights at each others houses in school, to the long nights at graduate school, to the long nights research center he has always been there for me."
You are not going to let this happen. You propel yourself with all your spirit's willpower toward him, and push into his body. You feel yourself inside of the body of Alex. With all the power you can muster, you silence Alex's spirit and use yours to talk.
"The man that stands before you today is not Alexander Robinson, but Michael Williams. I am here for many reasons, but I will make this short. Dad, I am sorry for being so angry at you, and I forgive you for everything. Hopefully you can forgive me. Secondly, my dear Kelley, I love you. I will always love you, here and in the afterlife. Please do not cry for me, but live a life looking towards tomorrow and not back at me. Thirdly, I did not die of a heart attack, but I was murdered by Alexander. My time here is finished."
You let go of Alex, and of the world. Now it is over for real. You have finished your goal. A beautiful light fills your vision, and you are at peace.
Hey, are you only allowed to join if you're tagged?
Thanks, I'll get to writing one.
"This door won't budge will it," Stan asked.
"Guess not," I replied. "Maybe this will help." I stated, just before kicking down the door.
The door flew down.
"Seems like it will," Stan chuckled.
This house had been on the market for the past 10 years, and was being held by the city bank. It's age on the market was probably because of the fact the house hadn't been cleaned by the owners since they bought it. A terrible waste of money. In that time the house had become overrun with foliage and little critters. Still, we saw the potential in the place and we bought it for cheap.
When we first entered, it didn't seem to bad. Most of the original framework and furniture was still present and intact. A few fancy paintings and mounted heads lined the walls as well. Making our way through the house we began to see problems. Small cracks littered the floor, and there was a massive water stain in the living room. Then again, there was a fully functional television in the den, and amazingly enough running water.
"Looks like someone's been living here." Stan said, pointing at the fridge. I turned over to see a fully stocked fridge, decked out with beers, some Chinese takeout boxes, and some microwave pizzas.
It took a bit of time for the panic set in. Stan and I began running up the house, checking the entire top floor as well as the ground floor, from the sofa to the yellowed mattress in the office.
"Damn," I said "Maybe we were wrong about this guy."
The wind whistled through the house, sending a slight chill down a spine.
"On the listing, didn't it mention a basement?" Stan asked.
We split off and began looking for doors or entrances to the basement. Finally, one door showed us the way.
"Over here!" I called.
Stan ran over and we cautiously entered the basement.
"Maybe it was a little...foolish of us to forget the basement."
"Hey, that's on you Harry."
I squinted past the stares into a field of boxes. The basement was lit with Christmas lights. The wallpaper was peeling off the walls, revealing a wooden log textile. We began to explore further, and we found a rug, television and gaming console, and a couch set up in the middle of all the boxes. Slowly we inched towards the makeshift living space. As we got closer, we discovered a stack of microwave pizza boxes stacked next to the sofa. A cracked beer bottle leaned against the sofa as well.
"Seems like we found our guy." Stan whispered.
There he lay. On the couch, arms and legs splayed all over. His mouth gaped open, revealing yellowed teeth and even a gold one. The man seemed as if he hadn't shaved in a while, his beard was gray and ran all the way down and past his chin. Just as I was about to wake him, he suddenly (but slowly) rolled up out of the couch and rubbed his eyes.
Stan and I stared at him with empty eyes, and jaws open.
The man squinted into our eyes and opened his mouth,
(Did it work?)
This is really good! :)
@Seto @Madhattersdaughter @ any other judge
Is it possible that we can change the deadline to 11:59 Eastern Time? I mean it's not like anyone likes those weird Western states anyways. Only the places like New York count.
Nooooo I need the extra three hours! Please!
I wrote mine in two minutes xD
What I suggested would give you three extra hours, pushing the deadline back.
What are you talking about? It's about 4:50 in Pacific Time right now, which would give you around 7 hours to finish. It's 7:50 in Eastern Time, which would give you 4 hours.
11:59 Eastern is in just over five hours but 11:59 Pacific is in just over seven hours.
Oh yeah. My b.
Which would be? *gestures for you to continue* I haven't even started. *homework* T^T
Welp. Though I want to do prompt 2, I has no time ;-;
Please, no! As a huge procrastinator and even slower writer, my worst piece of writing known to mankind masterpiece won't be complete.
I take a long look around the church, admiring all the work that went into my funeral . It’s a nice little ceremony, with flowers and wreaths hanging from hooks in the walls. Several bottles of liquor lie on the floor, ranging from Jack Daniels to Everclear. An open empty wood casket lies before me, its shell smooth and shiny. “The coffin looks nice.” I note out loud, turning to face the other three occupants of the small church.
“I never thought I’d enjoy my own funeral so much.” I chuckle, taking a deep drag of the cigarette sticking out of my mouth. “But I guess it’s not mine anymore, is it?”
I let out a burst of uzi slugs, several of which find their mark- the man formerly known as Joe Cage. He’s torn apart in a hail of metal and heat, as the bullets tear through his ugly mug. Blood and bone are sent flying everywhere as my divine retribution sends that fucking rat bastard right into the arms of the Devil.
Wordlessly, I walk over to Joe’s motionless body, and let loose with the uzi again, shredding what’s left of his face to bits. Just to make sure he won’t get back up again. You look better now than you ever did, Joey boy. But you got off easy.
I blow out a mouthful of smoke, having held it in my mouth for the duration of Joe’s gruesome death. “Joe got off easy,” I announce, echoing my thoughts. “But the rest of you backstabbing motherfuckers won’t be so lucky.” I turn to face the remaining two of my former associates, showing off a demented grin stretched wide across my scarred and webbed complexion.
Eddie Carbone winces at the sight of my face- and why wouldn’t he? He’s fucked, and he knows it. After all, it was him and Joe and Mary who made me look like a reincarnation of Freddy fucking Krueger. Carbone was a small guy, no more than maybe 5’3, with greasy black hair slicked back and a permanent slimy grin fixed onto his pudgy little face. But that smart-ass mouth of his easily gave him at least six more inches in height. Carbone could talk down a rottweiler foaming at the mouth if he had to, he had his own special way with words.. Me and Eddie used to be good friends, actually. So I was a bit surprised when he and my girlfriend and her brother decided to kill me.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been so surprised. I was a rich guy, after all, and I had a lot of money in a lot of safes throughout my various apartments. They wanted the money, but I kept the combinations for the safes on me at all times. So, one night, they got me drunk with whiskey and drove me to the beach. They took the combos, lit me on fire, and drove off laughing into the night. They botched the job, though. I managed to crawl into the water after they left, although it hurt. Saltwater stings a lot if you get it in your eye, but having it being soaked into your open burns? I screamed my throat raw that night.
I was a changed man, oh yes I was. They may have taken my body and my good looks, but my mind was still intact. And it was hungry for revenge. I managed to trace them back to this mock funeral, where they were supposed to throw a party over my “death”. Only I showed up uninvited, and I shoot Joe Cage. Eddie, Joe Cage...and Mary.
Mary is my girlfriend, and she’s probably pissing her panties right about now. She’d probably find some way to make it fucking hot, though. I’m not into piss, but Mary was a fucking stunner-hell, before she turned me into human barbecue, she could have smeared herself with dogshit and I still would have fucked her. She’s a redhead with shining hair that goes down to her shoulders, and her body has just the right curves and angles to make anybody, man or woman, cream their jeans. Her eyes were a bright blue, and her cheeks were bright and rosy, with the occasional freckle or two.
How a succubus like her could have such an innocent face, I don’t know. But I guess God creates the beauty, not the personalities.
“Now…” I suddenly break the silence with a raspy interjection. The damage to my voice was courtesy of Joe, whom I had long since paid back. “I’m going to ask you two a simple question. Whose idea was it to burn me alive? It wasn’t a very pleasant experience, and I’d really like to know who made me go through that pain and suffering. Don’t try to say it was Joe, he was dumber than a pile of cow shit. No, I know one of you came up with the idea.”
Eddie stammers desperately for a moment, his typically slick tongue fucking up at this crucial moment. Mary seizes this chance to squeak out a reply, crocodile tears starting to form at the corners of her eyes. As if that’ll help her.
“I-It was him! All of it was his idea!” She whimpers, pointing a shaking finger at Carbone. “I-I never wanted to hurt you, baby. Please don’t kill me, I only went along with it because him and Joe were going to kill me if I didn’t!”
“What?! Fucking lying cunt!” shouts Eddie, finally having found his voice. “You bitch, you were the one who wanted to burn him in the first place!”
Mary starts to wail, the tears that she’s built up finally spill over onto her smooth cheeks, smearing her makeup and leaving dark streaks as they roll down. “He’s lying, fucking lying, he just wants to ruin what we had, Tom! Please believe me!”
“Oh yeah?! You said you hated the way his cum tasted, and that pouring all that oil down his throat would make him realize how you felt!”
I tense up at this. “Is that fucking true, Mary? Does my cock taste that bad?” I ask, taking another drag. Her momentary lapse in her sobbing is all it takes to convince me. “How about I give you something else to suck on, then?” I quickly stride forward and grab a fistful of her red locks, which I pull down on to bring her to her knees. “It’s big and black and thick, Mary, you little slut. You’ll like it.”
I shove my uzi into her mouth, holding her in place with my grip. I realize that Carbone could easily rush me at this point-but he doesn’t. He’s frozen in shock in his corner, trembling as he watches the action.
“Suck on it. SUCK ON IT YOU FUCKING WHORE.” I mutter harshly, shoving the uzi deeper and deeper into her mouth. Her arms flail pathetically and beat lightly against my body, but it’s no use. She’s crying for real now, tears pouring down her cheeks and snot bubbling thickly out of her nose. Mary screams and moans in pain as I ram my gun around, breaking several of her teeth in the process. Blood starts to leak out from her stretched mouth, staining the darkness of my uzi.
“Mmmm...you’re so wet, Mary. I think you’re going to make me cum. I hope this tastes better than usual.” I let loose with the uzi, pulling the trigger and holding down. The bullets tear through her face and skull, bursting her head open in a spray of pink mist and brain. I keep holding down until the chamber’s empty, and Mary’s face is nothing more than a battered mix of bone, teeth, and wet chunks of fat and flesh.
Wasting no time at all, I draw my secondary weapon- a large black revolver. Whirling around, I aim carefully and fire two shots at the still-frozen Carbone. The bullets find their targets, smashing through his kneecaps, shattering bone and cartilage as they pass through.
Eddie screams in agony and falls to the ground, his hands grasping at the ruined mess that used to be his knee. “FUCK! OH GOD IT HURTS IT HURTS!” He shrieks, the sound echoing off the walls. But nobody’s around, are they? We’re in the middle of a goddamn desert after all, there’ll be nobody to hear Carbone die except the rattlesnakes and the gilas.
My cigarette’s almost gone at this point. I’ve been smoking it since the moment right before I killed Joe Cage, after all. But it’s all I need to complete my revenge. I grab one of the bottles of vodka lying near me, having been knocked over by my struggle with Mary. I walk over to the still-screaming Carbone, and pop off the cap of the bottle. I start to pour the alcohol all over Eddie, who barely seems to notice it. I would imagine he’s got more important things on his mind at the moment.
“I’m not going to make a big speech, Eddie.” I mumble, not caring if he actually hears me or not. It don’t matter either way. “It’s real simple. You hurt me bad. So I’m going to hurt you how you hurt me.” I take out what’s left of the cigarette from my mouth, and drop the still-lit remains onto the alcohol-soaked Carbone.
His screams intensify to a high-pitched falsetto as the cigarette ignites the alcohol in the vodka, spreading flames all over his writhing body. The smell of burning flesh makes me grin with satisfaction. “Revenge is usually a dish best served cold, but I think I like it better hot.” I chuckle, heading towards the door.
“So long, Eddie, you scumbag!” I call out as I head towards the doors of the church. “Hope it’s not too hot...because it’s gonna feel a thousand times worse where you’re headed.” Eddie doesn’t deign to reply, and I doubt he can even hear what I’m saying at this point over his own shrieking.
I wait at the doors until his screams subside and his thrashing turns into twitches. I’ve got to make sure he’s dead and gone...I learned that lesson firsthand.
I guess this is one of those rare cases where the student bests his master.
This so-call "story" is so shitty it just might qualify as shitpost. Can't even call it story because it's more so an undetailed list of ideas that I just failed to get on. So again, me making big bold promises and then not using the time I have to actually be productive.
But I kinda wanna beat that deadline, so I'm just gonna do this and revise it later. If next week Sunday comes about and I don't post an actual story out of all this on one of the writing prompt threads, feel free to call me out on it by calling me a piece of shit.
The body was perfect. Nothing ached. Nothing hurt. Nothing even itched. The pain stopped. The discomfort stopped. The shivering stopped. It was a success.
It was mine. Control over the body made me feel safe. I finally achieved the task.
My consciousness was uploaded into another body. Age wouldn’t be the death of me. My mind preserved by the support system.
The body was an improvement of my own. It was an improvement of the very human genome.
It was an experiment that I fully supported.
I was a prototype for the first immortal and perfect human being.
The concept was that better individual citizens would create a better society. It was exciting. It was awe-inspiring.
I wasn't perfect yet. There were further developments to be made.
The next phase was reached, but I felt strange.
There were complications.
Control was compromised.
My reputation was ruined.
I couldn't control my own body.
It was maddening to not have basic control. Sickening even. It was something I simply needed. How could I not have control? It was my body!
I longed for control, but soon enough I just wanted the suffering to end by any means.
They shut me down.
Slow. Shrivel. Wither. Crumble.
I saw myself die.
Rose petals fell.
Gravestone erected. Epitath written.
The funeral. Never thought I'd be so glad to lose my body.
Never thought I'd long for death so much.
Never thought I'd enjoy my own funeral so much.
You know what? Let's just say this is some kind of poetic opening. The real story's coming soon.
Well, I lost. But who cares. I'm like totally a master artist anyways; I'll draw my own prize.
Don't worry tcount. I'll draw you a penguin.
Not much quality to speak of, but it's not like I deserve much more.
Here, i'll make a person.
(I did prompt one and three and am turning this in minutes before the deadline because this is my life.)
Reuben laid a bouquet of white lilies on his older sister’s grave. His heart sank as he said goodbye for the hundredth, no, thousandth time. He then swore, as he had so many times before, “I will find who did this to you. I will get your revenge. No matter what it takes, no matter what horrors I must endure or inflict, I can promise you this: your hardships, your murder, it will not go unavenged.”
He then slowly got up and walked out of the graveyard, knowing that this time, for the first time, he wasn’t just handing her an empty promise. He knew that he could really do this. Reuben’s sister, Jennifer, had died one year ago to the day and he had given her the same promise every single day since she was murdered in her own home. Of course, the official report told a story about an accidental overdose of her prescription medication, but Jen’s little brother knew that was a lie.
Reuben walked home, not wanting to take the bus, despite the December cold. This time, he had a plan for how to take his revenge. He knew who did it, who killed her. It was a horrible, evil organization, full of grotesque monsters and vile creatures. They had poisoned Jen, killed her because she knew too much. His only hope was that he could stop them from continuing their wickedness and killing others like his innocent sister.
The twenty three year old man walked around a mile to the public park and ducked into a restroom. He took off his backpack in one of the stalls and began his transformation. Off went his jeans, long sleeve shirt, and windbreaker, and on went the outfit he'd been designing for months. It featured black pants, black gloves, and a black turtle neck accompanied by a long black silk cloak with a hood. He wore a wooden mask on his face painted all black except an intricately painted blue Mari Gras mask design. There were holes for the eyes and tiny, unnoticeable holes around the mouth for breathing purposes. Reuben thought himself very clever for pinning the hood of the cloak to the mask's strap so that it wouldn't slip off his head and expose his fiery red hair.
Once his black shoes were tied, he exited the public bathroom, ditching the backpack with his street clothes inside. Dusk was just beginning to hit and the streets were practically empty, but he snuck along the woods anyways, not wanting to be seen. Reuben snuck two miles to the headquarters of the evil organization that killed his sister. It was a plain, white building with a red sign to signify all the blood they had spilled.
The man stood by the front door, waiting for one of those murderers to step out. After about half an hour, one did. It was a horrible creature! Nine feet tall, claws sharper than knives, bared teeth even sharper than its claws, and blonde fur matted all over its body. Reuben had a recently sharpened seven inch knife in his hand and did what he had to do. One stab, two stabs, three, then he lost count. Finally, the evil monster was dead.
Looking around, he noticed two more evil creatures coming through the door of the building. They cried out a battle cry that assuredly meant his death. Reuben ran. The monsters in close pursuit. He ran and ran and ran and ran and ran. Soon enough, they were no longer behind him and he thanked every god he knew that he was such a good athlete. He placed first in New Hampshire in the 1600 meter in high school track. Eventually, he arrived back at the park's public restroom. After a quick outfit change, he sauntered home, already planning the next monster hunt.
Across town, detective Simon Banks received a phone call that stopped him dead in his tracks. He rushed over to the downtown Rite Aid and was horrified by the sight before him. The first thing he noticed was blood. Blood was everywhere. The five steps leading to the front entrance had become a red waterfall. The source of the blood was a cadaver laying sprawled out in front of the front entrance to the pharmacy. Upon inspection, the body was a young girl, not a day over twenty, around five feet tall and with a mess of blonde hair on her head caked with her own blood. Detective Banks was shocked and abhorred, but mostly, he felt a strong sense of sympathy for the girl. Just beginning her life, and suddenly being brutally stabbed to death outside her place of work. He bent down beside the girl and told her, "I promise I will avenge your death. Your murderer will not walk free."
By dawn, the body was identified as nineteen year old Emily Ross, a part time employee at the Rite Aid. She had taken a gap year and was saving up to pay for college, hoping to enroll in the University of New Hampshire the following fall. Luckily, there were two eye witnesses to Emily's murder. They apparently ran after the masked assailant but the suspect was too fast. After an interview, Simon Banks learned the suspect wore all black, including a shiny black cloak. The most striking characteristic was a blue Mardi gras mask design on the otherwise all black mask. One of the interviewees sketched the mask so the detective could have a better handle on what he was dealing with. Detective Banks began interviewing everyone even slightly connected to the girl, hoping for some kind of lead, but none seemed to come in. Dead end tips were flying in after the media went into a frenzy about the murder. Hours passed, then days, and he was at a complete loss in the case.
Reuben, on the other hand, was amazed at how much mourning was going on for this one monster. It had been a week since he killed that evil creature and the world should be glad to be rid of it. "Oh well," he thought to himself, "I'll finish them all off next time. No point in taking them out one by one, that'll take forever and I'll be caught before I finish."
Reuben didn't mind being caught, in fact, he expected it sooner or later. All he wanted was to finish his revenge beforehand. He feared surveillance cameras for the park would be found and he'd become a suspect, as he was in the park at the right time. If he became a suspect, he'd most likely have police tailing him. If police were tailing him, he couldn't exactly finish the job, now could he? He had to act now. Reuben grabbed his necessary supplies and headed towards the public park. Once again, he ducked into the restroom and changed in into the same outfit as he had worn when he killed the first of his sister's murderers.
Once night fell, Reuben exited the bathroom and walked to the evil organization's headquarters. This time, it would all be over. He strolled into the just reopened Rite Aid and was surprisingly not stopped. He ran to the center of the store and stashed a hunk of metal in the aisle in the center of the monsters' lair. Once the item was deposited, Rueben dashed outside.
A customer noticed him and immediately began shouting and running towards the masked intruder. The customer, Enrico Martinez, recognized the description given by the news as the same as the masked person who just ran out of the store. Enrico immediately ran after the suspect. Unluckily for Reuben, Enrico was an even faster runner than him and caught up before long. The Rite Aid customer tackled the murderer to the ground and tried to pin him down. However, Reuben pulled out his knife and stabbed Enrico in the throat, killing him instantly.
In the distance, Reuben heard a loud bang and smiled to himself. The deed was done. He had officially blown up that horrible, evil, murderous organization and taken revenge for his sister. The only thing left to do was to fake his own death so that maybe, just maybe, he might be able to get away with it. He quickly and quietly stripped, then dressed the deceased man in the outfit of the masked killer. Reuben knew the police didn't understand how horrific those evil monsters were. He looked down at the innocent man he had just killed. He felt a small pang of guilt for killing a human, but he consoled himself by thinking of the monsters he killed. Pathetic. They were pathetic. So easily taken down. He hoped his sister was looking down on him and proud of him for ridding the world of the monsters that killed her. Reuben then stalked his way back to the public restroom in the park, grabbed his things, then walked back to his small apartment.
Simon was called yet again and looked on in horror at the remnants of the Rite Aid. It was completely destroyed. Witnesses say they saw a masked man enter the store holding a large hunk of metal, then saw him run out, a man in close pursuit. A handful of witnesses called 9-1-1 but by the time the police came, the Rite Aid had completely exploded. There was no doubt in Simon's mind that the 'hunk of metal' was a bomb. Soon after the bomb squad showed up, another call came to 9-1-1. Someone found the masked bomber. Dead.
There was evidence that suggested Enrico Martinez might not be the masked bomber, but he still hadn't been scratched off the list of perpetrators. The main reason being he was still the only name on that list. The family denied the possibility of his guilt and demanded he have a proper funeral. His body was still being used for investigation related reasons three days later, but a funeral was held anyways.
Detective Simon Banks decided he couldn't not go to the funeral. He hoped he could get Enrico's family to work with police by showing he cared enough to come to the funeral. Simon hated to go alone so he brought his little brother, Reuben Banks. Reuben enjoyed the funeral immensely. "I never thought I'd enjoy my own funeral so much." He whispered in Simon's ear when one of the speakers said this was undoubtedly the funeral of the masked bomber.
Detective Banks' blood went cold. "What are you talking about, Reuben?"
Reuben gave a sly smile. "You didn't really think Enrico did it, did you?" He figured if anyone would understand the killing of all those monsters, it would be his brother, who also witnessed Jen's murder.
"Reuben, what in the hell are you talking about?"
"Well someone had to do it. I wasn't going to let Jen's murderers stay free."
Simon's mind fell into a state of panic and shock, but he somehow managed to keep his composure. "Jen wasn't murdered. She accidentally took too many of her pain medication and overdosed. How is Rite Aid at fault for that?"
"Those monsters gave her poisoned pills. You're a detective, how did you not notice she was swallowing poison?"
"Reuben, she had an autopsy. There was nothing in her system except the opioids she accidentally overdosed on. That's it."
"You're just blind to the truth. Those monsters had to be taken care of."
Simon didn't know what to do: turn in his own brother or take vengeance for all those Rite Aid employees and customers murdered by his own brother. He fought himself for a moment, then remembered where his true loyalties lie. Despite his promise to Emily, he had already promised his older sister years and years ago that he would take care of poor, mentally ill little Reuben no matter what. Simon supposed it was only a matter of time before his brother was caught, but for now, the murderous secret was safe with him.
A few weeks later, Christmas Day arrived and the brothers were at their parent's house the next town over. They were sitting around the table, a giant turkey in front of them. Simon was carving, their father was telling a horrible turkey pun, their mother was stressing over her son using such a big knife, and Reuben sat laughing at them all. He was so glad his family was together, if only Jen was there to see it. He consoled himself with the fact that he got her revenge for her.
Before the turkey was even carved, the door burst open. Five police officers stormed into he house and nabbed Reuben on the spot. His mother screamed in horror and his father sat in silent shock. Simon didn't realize they found the true masked bomber so quickly. He cursed himself on not doing more to protect his murderous brother. Reuben was handcuffed and dragged out the front door, screaming all the way. Simon watched with stoic eyes as his brother was stuffed into a police car.
I have a strange urge to play simon says.
When will we know who won?
My thoughts exactly.
Also, still debating between jep's and Orange's entries.
Will will it be published by 1st, 2nd, 3rd place?