This is a fanfic for EndMaster's unofficial fanfic story contest. It's mainly supposed to be a joke, which is why I didn't bet any points. There is 0 chance of my winning so my only goal is to get some laughs. Oh...I guess I should probably mention what the fanfic is about...it's a Harry Potter fanfic. The rest should be obvious.

IDRKY

Check the word count before commenting.

Yes! I finally finished my fifty word story!

A chicken wandered alone in the desert as a snake silently slithered behind it, waiting for just the right moment. The chicken stopped, exhausted from lack of water. The snake pounced. Victory! But it didn’t last. Seconds later, a hawk flew from the sky and the snake was no more.

This was so hard and I spent so much time on it (if you count five minutes as a lot of time).

Wait...

Now we’re doing HUNDRED word stories? Have I missed my chance? Why must people copy others ideas? Now what?

I do now.

Which one? The current one (Rosey1106) is based off of my middle name and the new one (IdiosyncraticPhoenix) was created when I looked up strange adjectives and got “adjectives that mean strange”. I chose Phoenix as the noun because to me they represent new life and infinite possibilities. Also, if I was just unbanned that means I was banned at some point, can someone tell me why?

So, I created a new account because I hate my current username but after about a month on the site (keep in mind I didn't post anything other than comments on the stories) my account no longer worked and I just got logged out whenever I tried to get to a new page. I read other bug posts before this to see if anyone had the same problem, and it seems like I've just been banned (no idea why). My other account name was IdiosyncraticPhoenix and I really like that username so how do I get unbanned. I swear I didn't post anything and only used the site to read stories.

It's automatic after you post something. And some people are too lazy to click "unwatch".

Or maybe the dead person lives in the ware house, for some reason. Maybe the narrator was the dead-person's spouse and they both lived in the warehouse. I left a lot up to the reader's imagination.

True, but I like creepy warehouses.

The floorboards creak as I step into the dark warehouse. I want to turn back but I need to know if he’s still alive. As I venture into the shadows I trip over a body. I see him with a knife through his stomach. Shit, someone else got here first.

Okay, thanks for the feedback! The other story is here. I got a 97% for grammar issues (I can't do commas) but I argued until I got a 99%. 

“Hello Forest Valentine,”said the man in the seat across from me. I think he told me his name in the beginning of these interviews, but I didn’t care enough to pay attention. “We know you say that there is no possible way that your father did this, but all the evidence points towards him and we want to hear your story again, just to make sure there’s not something we missed.” I’ve told them my story a hundred times and wrote it down fifty times after that, but they always want me to tell it again, waiting for me to slip up and show some sort of inconsistencies. I guess I should explain what’s happening. My mother was murdered almost four weeks ago and my father and I are the only witnesses. He’s probably in another room like this one, explaining the exact same things I was.

    “I told you,” I said after a short period of thought, “I was alone in the house with my mother when I heard her falling to the floor upstairs. I ran up and found her dead on the floor. The windows were all intact and I didn’t see anyone coming down the steps when I went up.”

    “Yes, we know all that. It was confirmed that the murder weapon was a slow working poison which means that the person who did this did not have to be in the house at the time of death. The poison could have been given any time within five hours before your mother died. This is why your father is the prime suspect.” My father works in a government lab that does the LD50 tests. The man looked tired of repeating this and he sighed between sentences. “Forest, I know this is hard for you, but don’t you want justice for your mother?”

    “Of course I want justice! But imprisoning an innocent man isn’t justice. If my father is convicted then I have no one!” I was angry now. Angry that my mother was dead and angry that my father was being blamed for it.

    “Fine Forest. Let’s move onto something else since you clearly can’t approach this topic with an open mind. I want you to explain what your family life was like. Did your parents argue a lot?” I hated this question. It implied that my parents didn’t love each other as much as normal parents did.

    “I’ve told you all there is to know. My parents never argued. My mom and dad both work a lot so they don’t see much of each other but when they are both home everyone’s happy.” I’ve said these exact words so many times that I’ve almost memorized them.

    “Okay. So you’re saying your father has no motive?” The man asked.

    “Obviously,” I responded dryly.

    “That’s okay. Now, you said that there was no way someone else could have been in the house, but employee records say that your a father was not at work that day. Is there anywhere else he could have been?” I can feel heat rising to my cheeks. This is the part where my story and his diverge. He says that he was at a friends house. A girl friend.

    “He was at a woman named Clarissa’s house. She’s already confirmed this.”

    “Any idea why he was there? I know you’re a smart boy Forest.” I knew what he was doing. I knew he was unfaithful scum. I nodded. “And now we see that your father did have a motive.”

    “That doesn’t mean anything! If he had wanted my mother out of the way he could have divorced her. Don’t you think I want my father gone? Don’t you think I wish he were the one dead, instead of my mother? That we could all live without the heartbreak he caused? Of course I did. But now I can’t want that because without him I would die too!”

    “Calm down Forest,” the man said quietly. His voice infuriated me. “We understand that you’re mad at your father and that your scared of what’ll happen if he gets sent to prison, but we’re all here to help you. No matter what happens we will help you get through this.” I want to calm down, I really do. But I meant what I said. If everything had gone well I would still have my mother. He deserved it. He didn’t realize how much pain he was causing my mother when he left her. Or worse, he didn’t care. If he had been there to eat dinner with us than he would have had the poisoned dish and my mother would still be here. Yes, I poisoned my mother. I stole the poison from my fathers bag and poured just enough, based on the notes he left on his unlocked phone, to kill him. But he left us and inadvertently caused her death. I knew that I was a suspect, and I knew that another team of lawyers was spending hours compiling evidence against me. But I also knew they would fail. I left just enough clues for my father to be guilty and me to be the poor young boy who lost both of his parents in the span of two months. What I didn’t know was if I could live with the guilt. Could I stay sane in the world knowing my mother was dead because of me? Could I stay sane knowing that my father was in prison because of me? Could I stay sane knowing that I lied to let an unstable murderer go free? What damage could I do if no one stopped me? Could I kill more people? Would I get addicted to death like other people get addicted to drugs? Or would I get caught eventually anyway and end up in prison with my father? How could I be sure unless I was safely behind bars where I belonged? Let’s face it, I was definitely unhinged for a sixteen year old. I knew what I had to do before he even asked the question.

    “I did it,” I said. I really hope he believes me.

P.S: This one is finished, obvously.