EvilSmile, The Reader
Hold the mirror close to your face and point out every flaw that you come across with a marker as if they were gaping holes leading to the deepest pits of hell drawn out on a piece of paper. Afterwards, you apply makeup over the marked areas while recalling your most horrid memories. You cautiously walk outside, only to allow it all be washed away after the first thunder storm. When the clouds part, there is nothing left but darkness, no moon or sun has risen, and in light of this you go back to the mirror that hangs ever so elegantly on the wall before you. With deep regret, you extend your trembling hand out towards the mirror to pull your other self through. Tears soon swell in the eyes of your counterpart as fear grips the very mind created for the soul purpose of calling for the sun, and with your sacrifice ready, you offer it while unknowingly accepting the terms of surrender.
ghost has been seen, shrine found, in life she found no man to love her. In death she has found him, and she is desperate to join him. She spends months trying to take his life, hoping for her to join him.
November fourth, 2027.
"It's been six long years since you left us, and our lives have only become increasingly difficult as each day bleeds into the next. Food in major cities has become quite scarce, and clean water is now hard to come by. On occasion, we've had to resort to catching squirrels and smaller, less appetizing animals for calories needed to stay moving. We can't even sit in one location for too long. For every time we do, they simply catch up to us. I can still hear them coming from miles away. They don't sleep, nor do they stop to catch a breath. They only pause when they find carcasses to devour.
Sometimes, it feels as though the rest of the world has chosen to embrace its chaos. Electricity is down, along with other services, and our mighty government has stopped handing out rations months ago. Perhaps they believe that all of this has happened for a reason, maybe they think this is part of some divine plan. That of course, would explain the cults worshiping the dead. They've even gone as far as mimicking their eating habits, feasting on flesh every time they find a stray survivor with no place to go. Occasionally, I see tags on walls, marked in blackened blood.
"We all will be one of them soon."
This disturbingly simple possibility keeps me awake at night, I wouldn't know what to do if I found you with rotting flesh hanging from your bones, eyes glazed over, a rancid scent about you...
You've been gone for so long now, I don't think I'll ever see you again, and honestly, I hope I never do. My heart wouldn't be able to bear it. Of course, I don't expect anyone else to ever find my journal, or even read these words. Writing is rather therapeutic for me, being that its all I have left. Just know that I love you, and that I'm always thinking of you."
Forever yours, Marie.
After finishing the crumpled and tear stained page, you weakly nod your head, thanking the winged messenger standing patiently before you. He soon spreads his muscular wings to take flight, moving high above the beautifully carved stone ceiling, through a rather large hole. If you were still alive, your heart would be weighted with grief and chained to torment. In the moment, you feel the need to turn the page over, hoping that there are more heartfelt words written on its back, to your surprise, you find something rather troubling.
"Fortunately for you, death, is only the beginning. You now have a second chance at life. Please, use it well."
I wait here along, in my room, enjoying the brief moments of comfort I am offered for reasons unknown to me.
It always starts with whispers, relatively quiet and barely audible. Their babbling only partially coherent before others join the consort. I can hear their singing, consistent and breathless with little time between words. Each voice layers over one another as if there were many speaking as one. An amalgamation of ballots with each fighting to become even louder. Their notes reaching a crescendo before plummeting. I think they want me to follow them, guiding me towards true silence, allowing me to be free of such a cacophony, because it is all I ever wanted.
Heavy is the crown of luxury, its many jewels gleaming in the light as eyes gaze in awe.
I dwell within the untouched corners of imagination with dreams infecting reality. Still seeping into every facet of life is the purist of happiness, and swelling within your head is the addiction to ecstasy. Its consequences slowly baring down upon vulnerable thoughts with unbridled patience. Never forsake me, and I will reveal the pleasures of flesh, granting access to sensations first thought as impossible.
The war has long since been lost, the people herded like animals into prisons meant to sustain them.
Recent Posts50 words story thread. on 6/28/2019 10:09:47 AM
A leather bound book rests upon a shelf, collecting dust along its surface. Between its covers are wrinkled pages with words left unspoken. Alongside these symbols are images of gross abominations, their bodies conjoined by long tendrils now slithering along trembling hands. I read on with
fearexcitement, hoping for release.
Image Inquiry. on 6/9/2015 1:06:46 PM
I mean if I wanted to use an image of a forest, some sort of setting.
But is deviant art where I would go?
Image Inquiry. on 6/9/2015 2:10:19 AM
Where would one look to obtain images that can be used to help provide a better setting when a character reaches a certain point in a story. Thinking it would be nice to implement different images in order to aid dramatic or memorable scenes. There has been some searching, but the endeavors have only been fruitless.
How You Got Here.... on 6/8/2015 1:51:13 AM
I was looking for text-based games to play, and I stumbled across the gem of a site. I began to play a few story games, some random ones, and I liked them, so I created an account and started typing away at my first story game (still in progress)
After a while it became normal for me to come to this site every once in a while when I feel I have something memorable to write