Strange Shorts
 

Just as the title says, this is gonna be a thread filled with short stories. each story will only last one post, averaging on about 2 - 2½ pages in Word. they'll be odd, maybe shit, but i'm just gonna experiment and spit them out as i go.

critics welcome.

---

On Holiday

“Good morning, Mr Tarrenesh. I think this is the earliest you've been awake.”

Squint-inducing light.

“Where's that light coming from?”

“Don't worry about that, its just an overhead lamp. Your sight will adjust in a few minutes; its been an awful long time!”

The light steadily becomes more bearable.

“I assume you'll be wishing to see your family.”

“I suppose. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason.”

A typing noise.

“Apparently your mother bakes wonderful cakes.”

“What?”

“And makes cucumber sandwiches to die for!”

“Yeah, I suppose she does. This light is still hurting my eyes.”

“Oh sorry, silly me, I forgot to put your eye's back in!”

I struggle after hearing this distressing news, but discover I'm being restrained by straps or something similar.

“Please, don't struggle. You don't want eyes up your nostrils, do you? Or perhaps on the back of your head! Ha ha!”

The pain. This holiday wasn't worth the bother.

Dear god, the pain.

I left the holiday agents, finally having full use of my eyeballs, and strolled down to the garages where I stored away my car some 5 years ago.

The garages had burnt down. I asked a passing pedestrian what happened. Their reply was long-winded and tedious, but I understand that it was accidental.

My phone rings; another of those silly marketing calls. Then something captures my attention.

“Sorry, can you say that again?”

“I'm calling from Stuff Yer Car 'Ere, sir. I'd like to-”

I end the call, because I have been given a clue. I immediately head towards the local Stuff Yer Car 'Ere.

A fat man wearing mucky green overalls and donning a thick moustache walks up to me, wiping his hands with a rag.

“Yeah?” He grunts.

“Hello, good sir, I've just ended a five year How Do You Do holiday and wondered whether someone had been kind enough as to move my car from those nearby garages before it was burnt down.”

Every single one of these words sparked absolutely no emotion on the man's pug-like face, and I thought I may have to repeat myself if he hadn't given me a reply before I did so.

“Oh. A toff that got a holiday, are ya? Posh bastard.”

“That's me!” I replied, my jovial tone seeming to at last ignite some emotion on his grubby little face. I think it was surprise.

“Come on, then. It's 'round the back.” He grumbled. I don't know why he grumbled, but he did.

Within the hour I was driving merrily through town, wondering how I could staunch the blood flow from my broken nose. As I did this, I passed MacDoggyDouglas: a renowned and well respected fast food restaurant. “WHY NOT?” I thought.

The clerk wasn't very nice, so I shall leave this for now, if ever.

As I wiped the broken glass from the drivers seat, I noticed a syringe.

“Dirty buggers!” I cursed, carefully picking up the dirty needle and placing it in the glove compartment for safety. “There'll be no finickiness with DollDower in MY car, thank you very much.”

Locking the doors, I scoffed my MacDoggyDouglas meal in the most undignified manner humanly possible, and thought i'd finally go home, hoping my hands would turn a normal colour some time soon. The windowless door made the journey refreshingly breezy.

I arrived at my house within thirty minutes, and entered, not even having to unlock the door. It was just as I had left it, nothing had changed. I had so many happy memories here. I met my wife inside, but she was sleeping at the time. After all, it was nearing dusk! I stood and watched her for a while. So beautiful.

I flicked on the television downstairs, hoping to find a spot of Hey Diddle Diddle The Shark And The Pheasant, but was severely disappointed. Instead, I was greeted with a Right-On-Time news broadcast. Apparently, this news was breaking. I sure did hope someone fixed it before it broke beyond all repair. Where would we be without the news?

[A man in his late thirties was released from Telworth's Prison earlier this morning after a successful appeal to his case. He then proceeded to go on what can only be described as a rampage, injuring a mechanic and killing a member of staff at a McDonald's fast food restaurant before smashing the side window of his stolen car with his fists. He then ate his meal and sped away from the scene. CCTV caught the man moments previous searching a rubbish bin, just outside of the McDonald's restaurant, and pulling out what looked like some sort of used drug paraphernalia. The man, who is called Peter Silloway, is considered to be dangerous, mentally unstable and should not under any circumstances be approached. The Hotline for...]

Disinterested, I turn to my friend, Sir Venous Intra. He was a little thin, today. I would have asked if he had lost weight, but that would take time, and I just wanted to take pleasure in following his wise orders.

The ecstasy of it.

My holiday was probably worth it, after all.

---

TELL US WHAT Y'ALL THINK

Uh, weird. But good too.

these will be strange. On Holiday should make sense in the whole context. Sir Venous Intra is actually Intravenous. in other words, he's injecting some drug paraphernalia he found in his car/the bin. the house isn't his, he broke in and watched a stranger sleeping. he attacked the McDonalds employee and mechanic because they were both rude to him, that's how he got a broken nose. he blocks out all of the violence, that's why you don't hear of him attacking people and also why he thought he was having his eyes put back in once released from prison. he comments on hoping his 'hands would turn a normal colour some time soon'. that's because they are covered in blood after smashing his car window with them. most of the other odd little things are simply because he is insane.

---

Boatman

Well, I was standing on the edge of the dock. There was a few tumbledown houses here and there, but not a single soul. Literally!

The Boatman pulls up in this old boat, obviously, and says “Come on, get in.”

Of course, I oblige, despite his unappreciative tone, and we travel down this black river.

I ask “Where are we going?” He says to me “Are you dim-witted, pilgrim? You're going to a place where the dead are many.”

“Jolly good,” I say. “Jolly good.”

Anyway, we stop off at this other place. Now, this dock is like a battleground: its burning, there's smoke obscuring my view, and there are two soldiers in tattered uniforms standing on the edge. One with bandages around his head and an arm in a sling, the other with a slashed throat.

“Oh dear.” I say.

“Get in.” The Boatman barks, covering his face with that overhanging hood. He says this in an uncivil manner, more so than he did with me!

The slashed man croaks. Not again, of course! I simply mean the sound. The other says nothing and they both clamber in, rocking the boat unsteadily.

“Careful, chaps!” I say as I almost dip my hand in the dark waters. It scared me for some reason.

They sit behind me, and I ask the Boatman “What happened to these two?”

“They tried to kill one another during battle.” He said, pushing the boat away from the dock and onwards.

“Well, isn't that the point of war?” I chuckle, quite amused.

“No.” He replies sharply. “These men were on the same side.”

“Oh.” I say, and I turn behind me to look at the men, tutting. I even shake my finger at them. The one with the slashed throat just smiles.

“Hmm.” I ponder, and return my view to the back of the Boatman's robes. “Why did he smile at me?”

“Its because he knows.”

“Knows what, exactly?” I ask, clearly confused.

“Silence.” He simply says, and then I don't feel like talking for a while.

After this time, we arrive at another dock. This one looks very queer: the dock is made of metal, and the tumbledown hovels aren't tumbledown hovels at all! They're built straight and tall, with multicoloured stone. A man stands on the edge, wearing a smart, black jacket and white shirt.

I whistle, signifying that I'm impressed. “What'd he do, Boatman?”

“He did something you wouldn't understand.”

Trying not to be insulted, I ask another question.

“Why does he come from such a strange place?”

“Its beyond your time, pilgrim.”

The man steps onto the boat with no need for instruction, and sits in front of me. This annoyed me, as I couldn't see the Boatman properly.

“Excuse me,” I say to him, tapping his shoulder. “Would you mind moving over slightly?”

“Fuck off, shit-face.” He replies, without even looking at me! I swallow my pride and remain silent.

Eventually, we reach our stop. The two soldiers and the smart-looking foul-mouthed man get off and step onto the dull sand. They walk away towards a tall, very pleasant-on-the-eye building, so I try to follow.

Well, this Boatman stops me, saying “Sit down.”

“Why? I can't stay with you all day!” I answer, slightly amused, but not as amused as I was previously.

“Do you remember that child? Do you remember Misty?”

The colour drains from my face as I look into the black of his hood.

My stop wasn't for a while yet, but I had all of eternity to endure it once I was there.

God help me.

---

There's another.

Bloody amazing old chap could I put in a request on a short story? One about a man trapped in a vault like the ones in fallout. Could be sporting.

+rep

thanks for that. i may do, i'm not sure. i've never worked with requests, i usually just spout whatever pops into my head onto 'paper' for these particular stories.

---

Sleeping Chamber

Its only been two weeks since I woke up, and I still think I'm on another planet.

“Hey, Georgie, they don't sell Daronoff any more. Its all Hale's, now.”

“Well that's not good.” I said in defence. A poor defence.

I placed my pint glass on the side of the bar, and picked up my coat.

“Where you off to?”

“Home, Jim.”

Your house is like a fortress. A fortress for your mind. What's the difference between a fortress and a prison, anyway?

“Nothing.” I muttered, smiling, as I drunkenly made my way through the night.

Yeah, that's right. Nothing. They both keep people in a certain place, its just one keeps people in, and the other keeps people out.

“You're right, there.”

I know I'm right. I always have been.

I brush past the dewy bush just by my garden gate, water soaking my right side, and clumsily open the front door. That key is always hard to get in. I swear.

I stagger inside, turn on the living room light, and fall into a chair. I see something move out of the corner of my eye. Like a face.

I look quickly, but there's nothing.

They're here again, Georgie.

“Well I don't want them to be here, I want them to leave. Now.” I say sharply.

HEY

I spin in my seat, looking at the dark corner of the room. Instantly I think they're behind me, so I spin the other way. Nothing on both sides.

Georgie, I think you should leave this house.

“I'm not leaving for them.”

Then you're a fool, Georgie. Soon to be a dead one.

I hear clicking from up the stairs. I wander out of the dim living room towards the bottom of the stairs, and look up them into the darkness.

“There's no way i'm sleeping up there tonight.”

This is your own fault, Georgie.

“I know. How many times do you want me to say it?”

Ever since I had made that stupid mistake of volunteering to be a guinea pig for those 'scientists' and their Sleeping Chamber, thing's hadn't exactly gone swimmingly. For a start, I had been asleep for just over two years. To be honest, it was more like a coma. During that time, my wife died due to a brain tumour that had gone unnoticed for all that time. Once I awoke, I had been haunted by whatever the fuck they were, and guided by my own conscience. That voice, I swear, it kept me alive at times.

But tonight was going to be different. Tonight, in my drunken state of mind, I've been thinking clearer than ever. It must end. I've only been out of the Sleeping Chamber for two weeks, but so much has happened. I need to rest. With my wife.

I head to the kitchen, and switch on the light. There they are; my kitchen knife set.

What're you going to do?

“Suspicious?”

Naturally.

“Heh, you've been good to me. But I must be insane, as I'm talking to myself.”

Nothing wrong with that.

I hear noises behind me. Animal-like noises.

“No. This is it, now.”

I stride over to the knife set as fast as my drunken legs will allow, and pull one out at random.

Don't be so stupid.

The face. Its coming. I can feel it. Its hideous face, looking for me. They did something they shouldn't have while I was in that chamber. Something that's angered something else. I just don't know. Why me? What did they do to me in there? That's why I was in a coma, the bastards. It was them.

Think about this, Georgie.

“I already have.” I say out loud, terrified of what's coming.

I take the knife. I put its cold edge against my wrist, and pull down quick and hard. The pain, and then the blood. Its an odd sensation. It becomes hard to grip the knife with the other hand, and the handle is already slippery with blood, but I try my best to cut my other wrist also. I fail, and slide down the cupboard onto the floor.

“Jesus. How morbid.” I say, feeling a little light-headed already.

You silly, silly man!

“Bah, don't worry. I'll b...be alright.”

The face is coming for me. It wishes to devour me. I cannot hold on.

I slip into, what seems like, nothingness. Black. Then I realise I have merely closed my eye's. I open them again and see the giant face before me. I scrunch my eyes shut and yell “No! I was meant to go!” My arms feel too heavy to try and lift to protect myself.

It's lost, but so have you, Georgie. You've both lost. You old fool, George.

“Geor...George?”

It's me, baby. I'll see you on the other side, hopefully.

---

ANOTHER ONE FOR YA

That was quite hard to grip but I like these so it was good!

yeah, that one is quite hard to follow. i don't think this one will be much easier, though. and thanks for reading!

---

Sunny Day

The sun was shining and I was strolling along the pavement, looking around at the busy people potterin', the birds flyin' and the insects buzzin'. It was a glorious afternoon and I didn't need to do a thing. People rushing about, wrapped up in their own task-riddled worlds, trying to meet mini-deadlines for everyday tasks. It was so nice to sit back and just watch the world work.

…

“Are you okay? Can you see me? Yes? Right, I want you to look at me. You'll feel a sharp pain. No, hold still, quickly, yes...there we go. Hold on, someone will be with you in a second. You just hold on, darling. Stay with us...that's it, good girl. Hey! Lets get someone over here! Okay, don't close your eyes, you hear me? That's it. Isn't it a sunny day? Don't you think? Okay, someone's here, you do as they say, now.”

Running footsteps treading on broken glass. A skid.

“Shit! No I'm alright, get to those in the van.”

A scrape, stagger, running again. Creaking metal, a car door opening, a metallic crash.

“Whoa, you still awake? Hello?...One unconscious over here!”

Scraping against broken glass.

“Shit...shit! There's petrol leaking here! Everyone, clear the area! We need to get this guy out! Clear the area! Don't worry, buddy. I'll get ya...”

A click and a tearing sound. Then a thump.

“Come on, buddy. We gotta-”

An explosion.

Metal crashing onto the pavement.

Sirens.

Screams.

“Clear the area. All pedestrians remain behind barriers. This is a danger zone.” A megaphone demands.

“That...that lady...she saved my life.”

“Sit down, ma'am, you're still in shock.”

“What a...sunny day.”

---

i've only just written this, so if it doesn't make sense or is generally shite, blame me for not giving it a couple of days before posting. i haven't checked over it that much. although, bear in mind, this one is meant to confuse, to a certain degree.

Nah that's good but quite...sad

Oh, I like these. I like these very much.

You dun good

Are you doing any more MA?

yeah, when my brain decides to cook up some more random shite.

thanks for reading, chaps.

I'm worried purely because that's what you said about Sligs Weird ;)

about Slig's Weird: i don't know if it'd be worth it. i could cook up a final article just to finish off, but like i say, i don't know if many people would read it. half of the FC regulars back then haven't even logged on for a long time, and others have lost interest in my work. i'm in a bit of a predicament.

I don't mean finish that, I do mean continue this ;)

The power of Christ compels you! XD

here's some shit i found on my computer the other day. i typed it while pissed out of my goddamn skull, and didn't even remember until i found it the next day. ENJOY

---

The Sea Dog

So little life left inside me, and now my fingers pry

So little life left inside me, and now the deck is dry

So wonderful, so beautiful, and yet the deep wood creaks

It grows amongst the darkened sea, it grows under the peaks

He crept to me, that dark figure, and there in shame I lay

Amongst the sea, amongst the sand, forever I will pay

I told him not to see that man, he drifted on the ocean

I told him not to see that man, he stirred upon his motion

Open eyes, empty stomach, he felt the dead witch call

He filled his belly more than should, his spirit did not fall

Once filled he told of prophecy, a treasure to behold

The greatest man has ever seen, the greatest we will hold

He told of beasts, and monstrous creatures, something that did delay

Horrible things in horrible darkness, things that would betray

Into darkness he did fall, deeper he did go

Deeper still into that black, submerged in thick limbo

He tried his best to fathom their work, and eventually he did sleep

For he did not have knowledge or passion, and this did make him weep

Five thousand days and five thousand nights, this ritual did continue

And still the man had not worked out the essence of this venue

For he was still upon the sea, he thought he had adrift

There was no telling what he was, his spirit had no lift

I've got to say these are pretty good. :)

cheers. i've posted some of these and a few others on a number of different fiction and writing forums, but out of all of them i only received one piece of feedback, and even that was in a private message. i've found that members of those types of forums are more interested in ramming the rules down your throat than actually reading your fucking story and giving you pointers. i find it so frustrating. so i decided to carry on posting them here, at least they have a chance to be read, shit though they may be.

---

Madness

I once stepped into the realms of madness. I spent three years recovering after one day there. I've seen things no man should see. I tried to turn away in my horror, but instead committed crimes against humanity in my sudden debauchery. The temptation was just so great.

Dipping your foot into a cool pool on a sunny afternoon. That is what indulging yourself in the realms of madness is like. Now look at me. A mess, both physically and mentally. You don't even want to look at me, do you? No, don't say that. I know I disgust you. I'm not even sure if I still count as a human being.

Look at these pipes, keeping me alive. These machines, these fucking machines. They keep me awake at night with their ceaseless pumping, whirring, beeping and flashing. That guard, it hasn't slept for years, and yet it still remains. What is it guarding? Is it protecting me? Protecting a mound of rotting flesh? No. It's stopping me from going out there. Not that I could go out there. I mean, I can't even see my own legs. What do they think I'm gonna do?

Look at me when I'm talking to you. Have the common fucking decency to look at me when I'm telling you what you asked to hear. I'm doing this for YOU, no one else. I don't care whether I die in the next five seconds without telling you all this. I've lived my life, now I pay the consequence. That's all life is really; a bunch of actions followed by a huge consequence. Well, that's all mine was anyway.

Oh, so you're talking to me now? Getting brave, aren't we? Yes, I went there of my own free will. I don't regret it. Don't look so surprised. If you thought I'd regretted setting foot on that plane of lunacy, then you're a bigger fool than I. Yes, I went there. Yes, I don't regret it, and never have. That is why I pay this consequence. The consequence of being here now. Death would be the easy way out, that's why they keep me alive with all these cold machines. I'm probably more machine than man at the moment. I need to stay alive so that they think they've served justice. And they are. Oh God help me, they are.

That guard, it never leaves. You seem confused about it. Can you not see it in the corner of this very room? Its eye is ever watchful. Sometimes I wonder if its alive at all. Camera? Well of course I know that, I was being poetic you dunce! I see my insanity is wasted on you. And do you know what the craziest thing is? No? Come here...closer...closer...

I'm not insane. They think I am, but I'm not. I went to the realms of madness, I drank from the pool of ignorance, ate the decaying fruit of lunacy. It cured me. Dear lord, it cured me.

But now you must kill me. I have paid my debt to humanity, and yet they keep me here, rotting, just to try and justify their carelessness. When a bad dog is sick, its put to sleep. When a bad man is dying, its better to just let him die rather than purposely keep him alive as punishment, is it not? Come on, man! Just pull out a tube! Anything! A wire, needle; just grab and pull! I'll be dead in seconds.

Do it. Now. Why? Because I killed your mother. Is that what you want to hear? Huh? Come on, lets see some rage in that chalk-white face of yours! Do it! Kill me! Stop my withered heart from beating!

Eurgh.

Thank you...but there's one thing you should know...before I die...

I lied...I am insane...

great really great *___* I like especially the schizophrenic one ..."Sleeping Chamber" :D

I look forward to more! :fuzcool:

good to see you back, and thank you! i'll post a few others when i get around to it, they just need to be tidied up.

I can't believe I missed this for so long. It's great stuff, man, some of it reminds me a bit of Franz Kafka (like Boatman and one or two others). I used to write abstract poetry, but I stopped quite a while ago and have lost most of it.
Keep on with this stuff.

thanks, man! it's great to know people have actually read these. i actually dislike a few of them, i have to force myself to post them so i can see whether people like that style or not. On Holiday and Madness are a couple i dislike, as well as Help Will Come which i'm still trying to tidy up and improve.

anyway, let's do stuff.

---

Celia Neen

“Come on, Celia. You've got to eat something.”

I felt I should say something back, but I had past caring about social niceties. It seemed like a chore nowadays.

The nurse sighed. “I know you miss him, but this will do no good.”

I remained silent, staring at an old lady sat by an open window in a state of comatose.

“Promise me you'll have something for dinner.” She said, taking the plate of cold scrambled eggs away from me.

Even if I had wanted to reply, she wouldn't have heard me. She was already out of the room.

I unsteadily got to my feet, and wrapped my dressing gown tighter around me. Glancing around the room, I saw those all too familiar vacant expressions. The residents here were not like me. What had happened? How did I end up here?

The same nurse that was trying to coax me into eating earlier came in again.

“Celia, I've got some good news! There's someone here to see you!”

Not another examination.

The expression on my face must have give away my distaste, so she amended her statement with “I think you'll like this visitor.”

“Hey, ma.”

I recognised that voice. A handsome man walked into my view, and I fell back into my chair. This wasn't right. This wasn't real.

Suddenly, talking wasn't such a problem. I couldn't believe it, my son was visiting me. He was actually here, in front of me. Although I wanted to speak, wanted to tell him how much I had missed him, I struggled to make words. Eventually, I managed to whisper “Jake?”

The nurse gasped. She had never heard me speak before, not in the five years I had been in this place. Jake laughed and said “That's right, ma! Its me! I thought I'd do a little catching up.”

“I'll leave you two to it.” The nurse said, walking off and looking almost dazed.

“Why didn't you tell me you were in here, ma?” Jake asked me, sitting on the arm of my chair.

“I...I couldn't. You weren't here.” I stammered.

“What? I'm always on the other end of a phone, ma.” He replied in a trivial fashion.

“But...”

“But nothing, ma. I wrote my number down so you wouldn't forget like last time. I told you to keep it safe, my number hasn't changed.”

“Don't you remember what happened?” I asked, looking up at him.

“Did the nurses accidentally throw it out? I'll tell them to be more careful when they clean your room.”

“But Jake...the gun?”

His smile dropped. “Now why'd you go and bring something up like that, ma?” He leaned in closer to me. “Unless...are you saying that you keep a gun in your room? Huh, ma?” He joked, winking at me.

I looked past the façade.

“Why did you do it, Jake?”

“What the hell, ma? I come by to see how you're getting along – I didn't even know you were in this place – and you start talking about that? Just leave it.” He said quite forcefully, looking down at the floor afterwards.

“Of course you didn't know I was in here, Jake. You couldn't have. It happened after...you know.”

I looked into my sons eyes. He was weeping.

“Look at me, Jake.” I said, trying to keep my own voice from cracking.

“No. I can't.” He said back to me.

“Jacob Neen! You look at your mother right this instant!” I demanded in a tone I hadn't used in a long, long time. He didn't move a muscle.

“You don't know what its like, ma.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, knowing exactly what he meant but disturbed by my sons usual jovial attitude sinking into something I didn't like.

“You don't realise how sorry I am for what I did. I want to be...if I could turn back...”

I left him hanging on this last sentence. I wanted to tell him that everything was all right. That he didn't do any harm. That I still loved him because he was my boy and nothing would ever change that, but I couldn't. I knew that if I did so much as open my mouth, I would show him how weak I had become since then. It was best if he didn't know. I was an old lady, and I was trying to put up a motherly front from when I first held my son, but I was exhausted. I wanted to scream and shake him until I found out why he did it. Why he had destroyed his own life, everything he held dear, and why he made me go through that pain.

“I've got to go, ma.” He said, wiping his eyes and standing up.

I couldn't say anything.

He took a couple of steps and then stopped, half turning to me. “I won't be visiting you again, ma.”

As much as it agonised me to do so, I still couldn't say anything to him. God only knows how I wanted to at least hug him again. Pretend nothing ever happened. But it was too late for that. Just...way too late.

Jake forced a little laugh, as if to make light of the situation. It hurt him.

“Goodbye, ma. I love you.”

“Celia? Celia, its getting cold.”

I opened my eyes. It was breakfast time. A nurse was sat in front of me with a plate of scrambled eggs. The same nurse as before.

Of course. It made sense. I never had seen my son. I never got up, I never spoke, I never saw his face, nothing. I just fell asleep. Of course.

The nurse was holding a spoonful of egg when she looked at me. And I mean truly looked at me. Looked past my fixed expression and into my eyes.

She dropped the spoon onto the plate and grabbed a tissue from inside her top pocket.

“Oh my god, Celia. You're crying.”

this one was sad... but i liked it! :D & it was well written! :fuzcool:
I look forward to more! :fuzgrin:

cheers!

for anyone who's interested i've just finished tidying up this thing so there might still be a few errors and shit. i'll have a proper look tomorrow.

---

The Proposal

Monks sang as Joe cut off his servants finger to take his ring. "Than' you, sire." Said his servant as he hurried to the bathroom.

"Monks!" Joe barked, dropping the finger on the floor and eyeing his new ring. "Sing somethin' a little more...I dunno...upbeat?"

The monks hurriedly agreed and began singing a different tune.

"That's more like it!" Joe praised, grabbing a half-peeled banana from the table and flinging it at them, laughing insanely. Suddenly his face dropped, and he apologized. "Sorry lads. Sorry. Shouldn't have done that. You carry on."

Joe leaned back on his chair and banged his armoured boots cross-legged on the table, knocking plates of food off as he did so.

"Hmm. Yeah. It's been a good day." He sighed.

"Sire?"

"What is it, Mankrin? Can you not see I am trying to relax?" Joe answered, irritated.

"I'm sorry, sire." The scout replied, bowing his head.

There was a silence between them, filled only with the singing of terrified monks.

"Well? What is it you fucking idiot?" Joe yelled, scowling.

"A man from the desert, he approached our camp saying he was an old friend of yours. He wishes to see you." The scout informed, his head still bowed.

Joe thought for a moment, wondering what the most likely scenario would be if he did let this man in. He dragged his armoured boots off the table when he remembered something.

"I don't know how he got to us alive, he should have been harpooned the second he came within five miles of us. We did ask him but he just said he didn't see anyone." The scout aired, finally lifting his head.

"Put your head back down." Joe snapped quite forcefully, rubbing the stubble on his jawline. The scout dropped his head immediately. "Well," Joe continued, "He would do. I think I know this man. Send him in."

"Yes, sire." The scout replied and sprinted back out of the building.

In a sudden fit of anger, Joe pulled his dagger from it's sheath and threw it at the monks, who scattered. The knife bounced off the stone floor and clattered against the wall. "SING!" Joe roared, seething over their lack of endurance.

"'Ere he is, sire." A guard announced as he walked in.

Joe turned to him and looked at the man he was escorting.

"Ah!" Joe exclaimed, finger in the air and face full of joy. "You're-...hang on..." He said as he stood up, face turning serious. "Can't let these other clowns know of my business. Get out." Joe mumbled, and looked at the guard.

"...Sire." The guard begrudgingly agreed, turning on his heel and shutting the door behind him.

"Well, now that we're alone." Joe said, and then suddenly looked towards the monks. He changed posture, drew his sword and stepped over the table, knocking more food off as he went.

The monks stopped singing and begged for mercy, but they were all things Joe had heard a thousand times before. Hacking and slashing, the old monks soon met their grisly demise in a fit of bloodthirsty violence. Joe sheathed his sword, still dripping blood, and stepped over the bodies towards his guest.

“Now we're alone.” Joe amended.

“You know me” The man said.

“Of course I do! You're Harry! Heinous Harry!” Joe laughed.

“How did I lose my eye?” Harry quizzed.

“Bad slash across the face from a particularly lucky Kareel lieutenant.” Joe answered smugly.

“What about my nose?”

“You cut it off after an argument with your brother.”

“And my fingers?”

“Oh, everyone knows that one! A Dyran Dog bit them clean off while you were taking a short cut through Old Colonel's land. They're his dogs, by the way. He's an inspirational man.”

“He is. He truly is.” Harry agreed, as if reminiscing. “You know me.”

“Yes.” Joe said, trying to gauge his mood.

“Well I know you.” Harry retorted, provocatively.

“Good.” Joe replied.

“D'you wanna hear what I know?” Harry asked, clearly aggravated.

“No.” Joe said simply.

Harry calmed down immediately and just stared at Joe, there was silence between them. Joe broke it with a question.

“Anyway, now that formal pleasantries are out of the way,” He said, sitting down. “How are you doing? Or more importantly, why the fuck are you in my territory?” Joe said with an air of carelessness.

“I've gotta kill ya.” Harry answered, pulling out a jagged, serrated sword and throwing it towards Joe for inspection.

Joe caught it and examined the blade. “Good edge, nice and painful. Who wants me dead?”

“Dunno. Said his name was Franko.” Harry replied in a factual tone. “Gave me four hundred and fifty jots just for taking the job. Says I'll get another five hundred after, and I've gotta take your hands back to him. Bad choice if you ask me. I'd prefer your head, or just your eyes. Something with character.”

“Yeah, same here. About you, I mean.” Joe said, throwing the sword back to Harry.

“Exactly. They could be anyone's hands, but it's only gonna be one persons head. It's principle.” Harry said back to Joe, sheathing the jagged sword.

“I don't disagree with you, Harry.” Joe replied, standing up. “Anyway, are you gonna try and kill me or are we robbing this cunt and splittin' the money, fifty-fifty?” Joe asked.

“Nah, I'm killin' you and cuttin' off your hands.” Harry condemned.

“Fair enough, Hazza. I'll take your false eye afterwards.” Joe informed.

“Good choice.” Harry agreed, and drew his sword.

Joe drew his and sprinted towards Harry, thrusting forwards but missing his gut by inches as he dodged him and counteracted with an armoured elbow to the face, bludgeoning Joe's nose. Joe backed off, and swung his sword in the direction of Harry's head, but Harry always was a good fighter. He ducked fluently as he thrust his jagged blade underneath Joe's attack, piercing Joe's breastplate.

Joe felt the pain and backed off once again, resulting in Harry's sword slipping from his grasp and hanging from Joe's breastplate, connected by twisted barbs of metal on the edge of the blade. Joe pulled Harry's sword from the wound and wielded both.

“I'll keep Viper. I'll hang it up for display on my bedchamber wall. The girls will love it.” Joe snarled, slightly out of breath.

Harry stood there and said nothing, no weapon in hand. Joe ceased his chance and sent both swords crashing down onto Harry's shoulders. But Harry was quicker. The swords never met Harry's armour, because Harry had already pulled out his dagger and plunged it into Joe's neck. By the time Joe realized what was happening, Harry's one eye was staring into Joe's face, watching his life ebb away second by second.

Harry pushed the dagger even deeper into Joe's neck. The slender, thin sliver of metal sliced through fat and flesh, and was eventually engulfed in blood. Joe spluttered, and dropped both swords, Harry holding him up by the dagger blade.

“You see, Joe.” Harry whispered, holding his dagger deep within Joe's bloody neck. “I have no heart. I am a monster. Can you say that with me? Monster.”

Joe tried to say the word 'monster', but only gurgled and salivated more salty blood.

“You can't say it. You fucking freak.” Harry mocked venomously. “Mom always liked me more. Don't you get it? There was no reward for your death. No one wants your hands. You're an embarrassment. Who the fuck would want your filthy, scarred hands? Fucking beggar. I am the stronger species, I've evolved, learned how to survive, you're just a worthless maggot festering in his palace of shit. Fucking scum. I don't even want a trophy.” Harry ranted, and finally let the dagger blade slide from within Joe's neck. Joe slumped to the floor, a crumpled pile of blood-splattered armour, his hair matting in the pool of blood he lay in.

“Sorry, bro.” Harry said, wiping his dagger blade and sheathing it. “Mom always liked me best. You were always meant to be the stepping stone I took to another level of existence. That's all you ever were. A stepping stone.” Harry picked up his sword, Viper, and threw it into the blood surrounding Joe with a splatter. “There. I'm sure the girls will love it, just like you said.” With that Harry left the building, closing the door behind him.

Joe said nothing. Instead his dead eyes stared up into the high ceiling, where a shadow was sat in the roof space, silently watching.

“You keep thinking that, Harry. Mom always said you weren't too bright. You stupid shit. You keep thinking that.”

the last update is great! :fuzcool: the way how you wrote it is inspiring! :fuzgrin: You come up with interresting personalities, great job :D

thanks!

-----

Travelers

Joron stepped onto the podium and made his speech to the people. Afterwards, once spirits were raised and hearts were pumping, he left the scene to return home and was never seen again. All he left behind was a handwritten note in his bedside drawer, completely contradicting everything he had said during his speech. It read:

To the people of Garrleway,

I'm sorry. You're doomed, and so am I. Torrel has destroyed everything and everyone we're able to reach, and who knows beyond that. We're on our own, and won't survive. That's why I'd rather take my chances in the wasteland, a slim chance is better than no chance. Again, I'm sorry.

Yours fearfully,

Joron Edgarte.

This did not help morale.

A few hundred miles south of Garrleway a wretched soul from another time and place stalked the desert, not belonging. For the convenience of it's grisly troops it called itself Torrel, but it had no real name. Torrel and it's army of degenerates marched north with murder in their minds and Old Harog at their backs. Old Harog was Torrel's otherworldly keeper and spurred them on with bloodlust and hate.

With sheriff Joron out of the picture things would be a lot easier for Torrel; Joron's cowardice had condemned Garrleway to whatever fate Torrel and Old Harog so wished. There would be no prisoners, no survivors. Garrleway would be razed to the ground and it's very existence hidden by the winds of time.

But things weren't as simple as Torrel assumed. Back in Garrleway, a blacksmith by the name of Earl Sunwick chose not to ignore their impending doom at the hands of Old Harog's strange hordes and stepped up to the challenge, assuming military control of Garrleway and replacing Joron as sheriff. With a wife and child, he had to fight for the future of his family; they wouldn't survive in the dusty, harsh wastes outside of Garrleway.

Using the best patchwork radio they could fix up, Earl contacted Old Harog's marching masses and eventually found Torrel itself.

"Speak." It's voice crackled over the radio.

"My name is Earl Sunwick, sheriff of Garrleway. I must insist that you leave our town out of your plans, we have no quarrel with you." Earl said tentatively.

There was a few seconds of radio silence before it replied with: "Your fate has already been decided. You will be destroyed. Old Harog demands it."

"There are civilians here, innocent women and children. Please." Earl begged.

"Define 'innocent'." Torrel answered.

"They have done nothing to you! They don't even know who or what you are, neither do I!" Earl retorted desperately. "Is that not enough to spare our miserable lives?"

"No." It said.

Earl remained silent for a moment, thinking. Maybe he could bargain with them?

"Don't bargain with me. It's insulting. Do so and I will drink your soul." It said curtly in reply to Earl's thoughts.

Earl, slightly shaken by it's telepathic powers, asked a question.

"...What are you?"

From within Earl's own mind, it screamed 'I AM IN YOUR HEAD' causing Earl to fall off his chair in shock.

"Don't do that." Earl said after recomposing himself.

Torrel laughed through the radio almost demonically, tapering off into a guttural roar. "URGH, pathetic! Today you all die! TODAY! How dare you defy me! Defy something you do not even have the slightest understanding of! All of you have done nothing for the human race! All of your men, and your women, and your stinking children, today I crush you all and torture your collective consciousness for all eternity! Such horrors you have yet to endure, that you will never comprehend. It excites me, for I will be delivering them. How do you expect to survive the corrosion of time? Such fragile, bendy creatures. Such ignorance. They do not understand, they never will. It offends me! But the deadline is fast approaching. Old Harog will defile your souls!" Torrel babbled and snarled this inhumanly, it's voice seeming to grow tremendously in volume as light bulbs in the vicinity of the radio overpowered and popped.

Suddenly the radio violently exploded in front of Earl, cutting his face with flying debris. He immediately rallied the local militia, the only defence they had.

-----

hopefully i'll finish this tomorrow.

yeah.

i couldn't be arsed to finish that.

here's some shit that may still need to be edited and changed and shit.

-----

Murky Depths

Too little

Too late

The fog will dissipate

Hanging on to sweet Jesus

Hanging on to fate

Forks rise from the sea

Rise from deep below

Rising, rising, no stopping

Above the deep sea low

Heaven help me, I am in hell

Please help me dearest lord

I will rest amongst the shell

Below the deep, deep core

Heaven help me, please dear god

For I am nothing but a pawn

But It does not care for me

I will drown until the dawn

And when I awake, eyes dry from salt

I'll return to long lost life

My skin the darkest tone of grey

My stomach with worms is rife

Until then I will wait below

Down here in the deep

Crushing pressures, down below

My form I hardly keep

God himself will look on me

Ponder what I am

But naught will spark in memory

My humanity a sham

But still I stalk the ocean floors

My soul it drives me on

An outcast of your mortal laws

All trace of character, gone

Time will pass, your empires rise

My very coexistence a crime

You'll fear me in my tattered guise

But I'll be down here for all time

I search for you, but cannot see

I search for myself, but cannot feel

For this is my reality

But for you it isn't real

I don't always enjoy your written work, but for some reason, I really like this one.

These are great, good work!

Write more poetry please, this is great.

thanking you's! i appreciate the feedback.

i don't think i've posted this before but it's something i wrote a while back and never really did anything with, if you're interested in poetry and shit.

also why does the word 'poetry' make me feel like a big girls blouse? ain't doin' nothin' for my street cred.

anyway have at it

-----

Monster

Once imprisoned, forever alone
On this accursed plane
Once a roaming menace
Now a recognised bane

I sit, and wait, and fester
It's all that I can do
I think of things I could have done
I think of me and you

Why did you desert me so?
What was it I had done?
I did what we agreed to do
But in the end you won

You won and left me rotting here
Seething over past
How dare you double cross me
Your victory will not last

For I will return to your world
Break free of this glass cage
Rape your world of life and mercy
In a future age

Once through with your pathetic world
I'll desecrate the dead
Rejoice I will upon your sight
Your dead eyes filled with dread

Until that time, do not forget
Our deal that you did break
Never knowing when I'll come
You'll pray for your own sake

Not quite as good as your last in my opinion. Again though, not sure if I can explain why.

Poem and poetry really are rather big blousey feeling words. Though I wish they weren't.

Tell that to Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon.

I liked the first one, honestly I didn't bother to read the second one because I'm lazy. I wandered into FC for you though so you should be proud of yourself.

I like both, this whole thread is inspiring imho! :D

i haven't slept for well over 24 hours again and this is what happened

---

Bargainers

Harry and Andy were escorted by a man wearing a scuffed suit and with a nasty scar through his lip to a dimly-lit back room, hazy with cigarette smoke and other narcotics. A dozen men sat around an elongated table playing cards, smoking and drinking. By the look of it they'd been doing it for some time considering the many empty whisky bottles and cigar butts that littered the floor around them.
“These are the guys, Jorra.” Said the escort.
One of the men at the table looked up to identify Harry and Andy after snorting a line of white powder noisily, displaying his warped face and blood-red eyes. That's when Harry realized that none of them were human. Physically they resembled the human form, but they were severely corrupted and it was obvious once up-close.
“You got business for me, Andrew?” He croaked, showing a multitude of yellow, jagged teeth.
“Enteh Rebels.” Harry replied. “We want their Eastern battalion gone.”
Jorra looked offended and half turned to someone to his right, saying “Who the fuck is this guy, Hov? Why is this guy talkin' to me?”
“I dunno, cap.” Growled a man who looked more like a crocodile, dribbling as he did so. “Maybe he thinks he's doin' business with us.”
Harry took the hint and kept quiet, leaving Andy to finalize the deal.
“We want Enteh's entire Eastern battalion wiped out before they mobilise.” Andy repeated.
“Oh yeah?” Jorra chuckled. “And what's in it for me?”
“All the souls you can harvest. All of them.” Andy bartered, pretty confidently.
“Souls, huh?” Jorra nodded. “A whole battalion. All the souls I'd ever want, right?”
Andy nodded in agreement, as did Harry.
“Can't ever have enough souls.” A man to the far right drawled in a gravely voice, his face having warped into a dog-like muzzle but with messy rows of jagged canines. “Maria can vouch for that.”
A majority of the men around the table chortled at this, sounding more like a collection of guttural groans.
“Maria? You mean...my Maria?” Harry asked, tentatively.
“She sends her regards.” The dog-like man said plainly without looking up from his cards, as if the matter were trivial.
“Shut your runnin' mouth, Kol, and play your fucking hand!” Rasped a man with a completely scaled face and a black, forked tongue. “I want the power you're offerin', so here's the fucking anti I've been trying to give you for the past forever.”
“Then that means...” Harry tapered off into the realization that his wife was dead.
“Urgh, then there's this guy again!” Jorra snarled at Harry, his mouth and face twitching in distaste and anger. “Get him outta here, Frank, before I do something rash.” He said, indicating to the scarred escort that had led Harry and Andy into the back room. “I don't want to see his pathetic hide in my den ever again. Savvy?”
“You got it, skip.” The man replied, shoving Harry out of the room with no trouble.
“And now for you.” Jorra murmured darkly to Andy. “What the fuck do you think this is? A goddamn tea party?” He said, raising his voice.
“No, of course not!” Andy answered, truly bewildered.
“We don't want souls. We can harvest souls any time we want, from anyone we want, so a few thousand more isn't going to sway my mind. We want more.” Jorra proposed, quite aggressively.
“Name it.” Andy tested.
Jorra seemed to be thinking for a moment, as if mulling things over in his mind, weighing up the pro's and con's.
“There is a stone with strange power that the Vorsheh possess. I don't want amulets or trinkets, this is a specific goal. I want that stone, and I want the whole of that stone, or there's no deal. And if there's no deal, that means there's no business and if there's no business, there's no need for you to be here. And that makes me mad.”
“It's for the best, kid. This way we become stronger allies.” Hov spluttered through criss-crossed crocodile teeth, stuffing a wad of chewing tobacco through his jaws and into his naturally-armoured cheek.
“Okay...” Muttered Andy, still processing Jorra's demands.
“What the fuck is this? An audience with my mother? Do you get it or not?!” Jorra yelled at Andy, agitated. A rumbling emanating from within his chest.
“Yeah, the Quox stone. Got it.” Andy added hurriedly.
“Good. Now get the fuck outta here, and don't come back until you have what I asked for.” Jorra barked, snorting another line of powder.
“You pay us up front, then we do whatever needs doin'.” Added Kol with a curl of his lip. “You know that for next time now.”
Andy walked over to the door and reached the handle when Jorra suddenly said “Oh, by the way, Andrew. Do you play cards?”
Andy didn't turn around to face them and replied with “Yeah, a little.”
“Would you like to play, Andrew?” Jorra asked hoarsely.
“Nah...my mother always told me poker was the game of the devil.” Andy countered, his hand still on the door handle.
They laughed amongst themselves at this, as if it were some kind of in-joke.
“But how do you know we're playing poker, Andrew?” Jorra asked with an air of mystery. “How could you ever know?”
Andy could feel his stomach doing somersaults, but at the same time he felt an overwhelming curiosity. He knew the only way he'd ever understand the game they play nigh constantly would be to play it himself, but he wasn't sure if that kind of step was a one-way ticket.
“Would you like to play, Andrew?” Jorra repeated.
Andy heard the scrape of wood from behind him, assuming one of them had pulled up a chair for him.
“He can't handle it.” Goaded the man with the forked tongue, rasping and wheezing. “What did I tell ya? Complete fuckin' Jesse.”
“I can't.” Andy pleaded.
“Yes you can. Play.” Hov spat like a gutter drain.
Seeming to slow down almost to a stop, Andy used all his weight to turn the door handle. Before he could swing it open into the real world once more, he felt himself being pulled backwards. Being drawn into their never ending game.
“I've already paid for you, Andrew.” Kol salivated, his tongue lolling from an indent in his jaws where a number of canines had broken and worn down.
“Play with us, Andrew.” Jorra insisted, smiling.

It was in that moment

that time

seemed

to stop