I'm putting up some crap I do in my Creative Writing class and everyone else who'd like to post their stuff here are welcome too. All of this stuff is fiction and I hope that all of you freak out or think I am a little messed up. I'm not but I enjoy writing creepy stuff. This should prove that I like horror and am not just one terrible comedian.


This following story was posted on an old thread I made but this is the version that has been edited and extended. It is 15 pages long (7 full but 15 if it is put in book form)and the ending needs work because it is too abrupt but otherwise I am pretty proud of this story and may end up submitting it to some magazine or another. The influence is of a joke I made with my friend concerning butter. Any other creepy details came to me when I was bored and blasting some CAKE or Tenacious D or System of a Down or whatever I was listening to. Whatever it was, it was pretty fucked up.

"Butter" by Joey "I am the 1337 Master"

A man walks into his house through the kitchen door with a large, dripping, red stain on his white dress shirt. He has had a long day at his work, a lawyer firm in the West Village of New York City-and at this work of his he was forced to fire his idiot secretary, a young woman, probably seemed no older than twenty-three. He hadn't really checked her resume, just hired her on the spot, and she had only desperately batted her eyes at his clients or had done that more than she ever filed any paperwork. Yes, he fired her good. He is stressed and needs some relaxation or something to take his stress out on. He could hear his wife in his study, loud music playing in the background, some kind of soft rock, a love mood inducer. Constantly he had told his wife not to go in his study, telling her that it was his room, but she would not listen, taking her own belongings in there and disorganizing his space. He is angry at her, the stress that came had come from that day's work is increasing his anger to a dangerous level. And the music-that loud, hated music that is blasting loudly from the speakers of his computer, a five thousand dollar laptop that she had already loaded up with worthless pictures of cats and multiple viruses pissed him off. Also, the fact that he was paying for everything in the house, including the house itself, started to come to his mind. He goes into his refrigerator, sorting through Wednesday's leftovers and a half gallon of slightly spoiled, whole milk-only spoiled by three or so days. He eventually finds what he is looking for next to a slice of molding American cheese. From the breadbox he grabs a loaf of whole grain Wonder bread, the type that he loves but his wife dreads. His wife is a lover of fatty white bread but he won't buy it, saying that it will eventually end up making her fat and miserable-a waste indeed, for his wife's body was one to die for, the lust of all the men in her workplace and of all his friends. He takes a butcher knife from the set his wife had gotten at the Pampered Chef meeting that one of her friends had had half a year ago. She had never used the knives; another waste of his money since her bills pays for nothing but the credit card debt from previous years. As he raises the knife to the light it glistens, a ray of light bouncing off his eye's pupil. He starts to walk to his study the shiny knife hidden behind his left arm, the blade against his flesh, almost cutting into it. He holds the package of bread in his other hand and the thing he got from the refrigerator in the pocket of his black dress pants. It begins to soften in his pocket as he opens the door. His wife looks up from her spot at his desk, her long legs in a pair of heart spotted pajama bottoms and one of his t-shirts that was much too big for her on her torso.
"Oh, hello Jason. How was your day?" He keeps his straight face but is furious at her carelessness. He would have to make her understand what she had done was wrong.
"Good, good, good," He holds up the bread, taking the butter out of his pocket. "Would you like and something to eat; bread butter, perhaps? You know we both like fattening things." His wife smiles up at him and reaches for the stick of butter. Figures you stupid fat bitch, he thinks. He brings the knife up and down chopping off a few tablespoons of the butter and into his wife's raised hand. His wife screams. He laughs maniacally and shouts out unnatural noises that only make him seem louder and angrier. Jason, or what he has become, an insane man, grabs his wife’s arm by the bleeding stub, digging fingers into the wound. “How do you like that, you stupid whore? Will you ever disobey me again? You better not or I’ll wipe the floor with your fat ass!”
His wife doesn’t understand what is happening to her. She can feel the pain and has decided that this man could not be her sweet, loving husband who graduated from Harvard and bought her every single item she wanted. She knew they could have their fights but only once had he ever hit her; she started to remember what had happened. It was on a morning back two years after their wedding. She woke up before him and walked to the kitchen clothed in an old robe and her favorite pair of slippers. She yawned and put some bread in the toaster. It was some whole grain crap that her husband loved but she thought was well, crap. She popped it in the toaster sleepily and turned to go get make some coffee, not noticing that the rope to her robe had gotten caught in the toaster. It started to burn, material roasting along with the crap. Jason walked through the door, rubbing his eyes and smelled it immediately, his nose being more sensitive to smells than hers. He shouted making her turn and see the burning piece of cloth. They both reacted instantly, her throwing the robe to the ground, him pulling the toaster’s plug and grabbing the nozzle from the sink and spraying it down. The fire was doused and the toast inside the toaster was toast. She found the whole situation comedic and started to laugh. Then she saw Jason’s stern face and stopped. He charged up to her and smacked her in the face. She fell to the ground and started to tear up from the stinging. He grabbed her by the elbow and hoisted her up to his face.
“What the hell were you thinking? You could have set the whole fucking house on fire! Now I have to pay for a new toaster and the damned fire damage because it’s not like you are going to! Like you work for anything! Yet you still manage to get us thousands of dollars in credit card debt! How the fuck does that work?”
“Jason I-” She was sobbing on her syllables and she was smacked once again by her “loving” husband. He tore her out of the kitchen by her arm and when they reached the bottom of the stairs, he unbolted the small closet there and shoved her under it. Then she sat there in the dark for a long period of time, a time that seemed like forever. She sat there holding onto her face, holding onto her life. What had made him burst all that time ago, to this day she had never been able to find out; now as her wound, this time bleeding, stung and flowed out her life, she told herself the truth. Her husband was not sane at all and definitely not the same man she had fallen in love with. Or was he? Maybe he had been hiding these feelings all in attempt to make him look like how he wasn’t.
Now as her husband sat there, knife in hand and blood splattered all over his shirt, which as she could see had been stained red previously, she writhed in pain, not worry or her terrible decisions in life. He took her chin in his hand, smearing the blood against her soft flesh. The hair on the knuckles of his hand is standing up. It brushes up against her skin, oddly comforting.
“Now listen to me, Pat,” he whispers, “If you want to make out of this alive, you got to stay quiet, okay? Seriously, stop your screaming or I will fucking kill you,” She quiets her screams but continues to sob. “Now, now, Pat, we can’t have that, can we? You got to stop. I can make you stop.”
Pat cannot stop crying however hard she tries. Jason takes the knife and holds it to her face. Bits of butter still cling to the knife’s blade. He puts the knife to the side of her lip and runs his blood-streaked hand through her hair. He grabs the back of her neck and pulls her close to him.
“I love you Pat, but you need to learn.” He says this then cuts into the side of her mouth. More blood falls to the floor and stains his shirt some more. She screams again, a thing so repetitive, annoying, and toneless that it doesn’t even faze him. Her scream is gargled amongst the blood in her mouth. Jason pins her down to the floor and tears her white blouse off of her torso, snapping one of her arms in the process. He then does the same with her jeans. She struggles but Jason is a big man-he’s able to overpower her.
He then uses her clothing to tie up her arms and legs, binding the straps tight enough to suffocate the veins. She tries to struggle but in her position she is too weak to do anything or even attempt to try. She is a damsel in distress, like the idiotic blondes in old horror films, and decides that maybe it would be better to let the creature in front of her be done with her sooner rather than later. She already knows she will not make it out of this encounter alive; smart girl. Jason begins to speak, his words are strangely advanced and in another odd manner, comforting.
“Would you like to know how my day went, Pat? Nod your head if so,” She nods as much as she can. “Good. Well, my day started off good, minus that coffee you made me this morning, that thing was shit in a cup. In my eyes, I know you made it that way. You made it like that to make my morning horrible, right?” Pat starts to shake her head, no, but then realizes that disagreeing with him is both stupid and outrageous. She also notices that there are no incorrect answers but in the same way, there are no correct answers either. She does not respond. Jason grabs her nose and breaks that too. She thinks to herself, Oh nose! This can’t be good.
“Now Pat,” he continues, “I need you to respond. Remember, there are no wrong answers,” It’s like he’s reading my mind, she thinks. He’s reading my mind-a twist of her nose interrupts he thought. “Your response,” It’s not said as a question, it’s said as a demand. No, no it’s just a coincidence. She nods. Give him what he wants. “I knew it! I knew it, I knew it, and I knew it! You want to know what I did next, Pat?” He sounds like a five year old on crack to her. She, sobbing and choking on the blood from he lip nods. “I went and got a bottle of wine from the liquor store a bit of a ways from my office. You know that one? It’s the small one that sells good stuff cheap. That’s what this stain is” He points to where the stain on his shirt had once stuck out on the white material. It is blended in with the splatters from her now. “I had a drink with my secretary and then, I’m sorry Pat my dear, we fucked. I’ve been having this affair for a long time now and I did cut it off today, after. She was still lying in those black lace panties when I told her it was over. And then I, Pat, please realize that I had to, she was attacking me, I killed her. I murdered, raped, and then mutilated her body. It was the only way we could be together. I hid the pieces of her body in the safe and left early. For the rest of the day I-”
“Juhsahn,” Pat strains hard to get the words out, desperately interrupting him. “Juhsahn, am drodgning! Am drodging” She was drowning in her own blood. Every word is spat out with fresh blood. She thrashes her head back and forth trying to spill it out but not knowing what she is doing, Jason holds her in place. “Jughshan, plagh!” He stares at her confused, angry, and does not take back his grip.
Patricia Lauren Green, maiden name, ironically Fitzpatrick, chokes twice more before she lays still. Patricia dies with a child in her belly, the good news she had hoped to tell Jason when he had got home this day. Her eyes freeze, staring up at “Jughshan”, unmoving.
Jason stares into these eyes, finally realizing her last words. “Jughshan, plagh” echoes in his head, his skull shakes and pounds. He thrashes his head, him able to unlike his late wife, is able to. He comes in contact with the shelf above his computer desk and falls back to the ground next to a drawer with a lock on it. Jason fumbles in his pockets to find the key. He sticks it into the keyhole and turns the lock.
Within the drawer are a couple of papers-they are overdue bills neither him nor his late wife ever remembered to pay. He lifts the papers up and underneath lies a Colt Eagle .45. He had originally bought this gun in case of an emergency, a robber and such. He declares this an “emergency”, puts the gun to his ear and pulls the trigger. Bits of blood and brain spray across the wall and his body lands on top of Pat’s. They lay there, a dead couple that should never to be disturbed from their embrace.
The next day a Mrs. Ruth Levin walks into the house to go out to lunch and when she walks into Jason’s study where Pat always ends up being, she comes across this site. Ruth then rapes both the bodies and mutilates them. She puts their body parts in her own handbag and in a few of Pat’s. Ruth hides the bodies in her basement, planning to sew them up tomorrow when her husband is at work. That night her husband comes home angry with a red wine stain on his shirt.



That is all. For now.

that was retarded !
you need to check your head man. you have some serious ass woman hating going on there. makes me wonder if you realy are a jaded 40 year old. story is rife with classic domestic abuser point of veiw. the bloody murder, that was rather juvenile, im more worried about the underlying theme of the wife being a lazy fat bitch who wastes her husbands money. and the worthless whore secretary. the women in this story are all subhuman. only the killers motivations are seen, and rather sympathetically. overall it just felt like someone venting their rage at women.
was that too harsh leet ?

Not at all lothar! I'm open to improvement since I never really edited this.

A few notes though are that this is supposed to be really cruel because it's just how it went, there are...stereotypes and I can't see how to fix them yet like making her be able to put up a fight, extending it, and it needs more action/anger.

I also said that this is a story in thus I am able to torure my characters as much as I please or until it pleases me. The ending is also just written so that I'd feel like I could joke about it. I thought "how can I make this worse on the people."

Sorry that I enjoy my cruel horror.

I'm not an old pervert by the way. I'm a young one. :). How young no one can know cause they'd never really take me seriously. I'm not like 12 year old young but...only a couple of years older... only one person on this site who knows actually... but who that is and the number are secret. Unless she goes and tells everyone...kinda something she'd do. I think.

I have nonviolent stuff too but I don't like it very much. It seems like a Rick Riordan or Darren Shan style and where I sometimes like to read that, I do not like writing it.

And that's the truth from our 1337 Master.

I liked it. Great story.

It's a bit unrealistic...
rape, murder and winestains don't really mix...

So I got 1 "retarded", 1 "not blended", two "not my thing"'s (cup of tea in ozone's case), and one "great story". 20% of the world's not that bad...

To lefarce: thank you. I do enjoy hearing that....reading that.

To Kroatz: Well not to seem jerkish but neither does a falling tree branch and chocolate strawberries...Sorry. Guess your story's not the style I like to read either. But as to the winestain, I just wanted to tell my readers that a first guess as to it's a bloodstain is wrong. The rape part at the end was to make me giggle insanely.


I have another one I'd like to put out but I have it on a different computer and need to go get it. And I should do a book review...

I never said I didn't like it!
It wasn't a bad story...
And mine is 80% a true story!

A man I knew did die while walking his dog, He did die because of a big branch falling on his head, he really used to eat chocolate strawberries every valentine's day when his wife was still alive! The only thing I imagined was what the dog and the man thought and what the man saw when he died...

And I never said that you said it was a thing that you didn't like.

Still need to get that other story from that computer...

...and write a couple of book reviews...

Good times. It pretty much nullified any Lifetime movies I've ever seen.

Sea_Cow
Good times. It pretty much nullified any Lifetime movies I've ever seen.

that's good right? :D

I had sent this in before but DD's having its issues again and I just had a log out crusade in the middle of my posts.

Three double-spaced pages I wrote today for Creative Writing. I kinda like it. Almost the same basic plot though...The Beatles part explained is a whole other thing too. And it also is kinda just a joke even though I kinda don't like them.

The Eggman by Joey

Crouched on a building he stands, stalking his prey, the vermin of the streets below. He must show them how to be a man, how to be a fighter in this war against the politicians of this time. A man takes a right into the alley. He is clothed in a costly suit, a sly black fedora, and shiny black shoes that glisten amongst the trash in the alley. He carries a briefcase with him. It has a combination lock on it. It is who the hero has been waiting for. He soars down from two stories up and smashes head on into the man walking below. The man’s briefcase flys up in the air. When it hits the ground, the lock breaks and the case is busted open.They tumble and fall, dirt and grime smudging onto the well dressed man’s clothes. His face goes into the pavement and cuts and abrasions scar across his face. Through bloody eyes the man stares up at the person before him, the one holding the knife to the side of his nose.
“What…what do you want?” He is choking out every word in fear.
“I’ll tell you what I want in due time, but first…tell me your name. I never bothered to figure that out.” The hero’s voice is calm and friendly. “All I know is that you’re one of those idiotic politician scum who need to know how I take their policies.” He spits out this last phrase, every drop of saliva dropping into the eye of the businessman. Every drop causes him to wither because of the pain and revoltingness. This man who could kill him very easily is of disgust to the businessman and he does not want to give him any satisfaction. But his fear already gives the hero satisfaction.
“I am…” Momentarily the businessman loses all memory of his name. Wasn’t it Paul or something like that? Paul…Paul Manchester…no it was something else…Pe…
“Out with it.” The hero tightens his grip.
“I’m trying! I’m trying! Why are you doing this? I’m trying!” he is crying to himself now. He cannot control his feelings. Feelings can only be witheld for so long.
“You piece of shit.” The hero tosses the man against the wall and his head cracks out loudly. “You lousy piece of shit!” He storms up to the man again and lifts him up. “Your godamn name is Peter. Peter Goodwin. And you my idiotic politician scumbag are the godamn head justice at the court down the street. You always finish up work at two thirty then clean up your office. You always end up leaving the building at three thirty and taking a nice big relaxing sigh on the courthouse steps You always take a a left and walk down this street with a half-assed smile planted on your face and then you always get to your house, your wife and fuck her till tomorrow when you’ll get up and go back to work. This is your routine all the time Peter. I know your life better than you do apparently.”
He shakes he businessman, Peter, back and forth through this whole monolougue and on every “always”, the hero smashes Peter against the wall and makes the break in the back of his head larger and larger. Peter or as he now remembers, “Petey” to friends, is deep in thought amongst the pounding in his head. He is remembering not only his name but his life. He is seeing how many people’s lives he has ruined, millions of them probably ending up like the one before them. Some of them had no chance anyway. He is seeing the thigh of his wife and smelling her sweet perfume, feeling his nose against her hair. This is a pleasure his victims have never had he bets. He is seeing his own face in the mirror staring at his fat body, the look of disgust he shows at his gained pounds, a look of disgust that he realizes has probably shown to millions of other people who never deserved it. Then “Petey” thinks he sees the one solution to this problem.
“I can pay you.”
The response of the hero is a smack across his face and the gouging of two unclipped fingernails into his eye sockets he screams. His screams are heard but not reckognized by the people of this world. They juast turn and walk quickly away. The hero accepts that that is how man will be if it chooses to be that way. He knees the business man, Peter, in the chin and drops him. Peter is whining and whimpering in pain. The hero crouches down to become eye level with the man.
“That is absolutely quite in fact a wrong, the wrong answer and I don’t think you should have said it. Did you realize nothing? No? Well I guess there is no point to continuing this” The knife raises in the air.
“Wait!” Peter is trying to buy time. To lengthen his life for even a small second more. He can faintly hear a siren in the distance and believes that maybe that can rescue him. “Don’t you want to…tell me your purpose…?”
“My purpose? That’s a good one” He chuckles and starts his knife’s descent.
“No! No! What you want! Don’t you want to tell me what you want!?” The hero stops.
“Want…? I want…to teach.”
“Teach…teach? ...Like history, arithmetic, English, Spanish?”
“I wasn’t done. I want to teach…” The word has escaped the hero. It then comes back to him “silence.”
The hero drives the blade through the front of Peter’s skull and punctures the brain of this once “great” judge. He then tosses the body under a couple of trash bags and walks towards the darker end of the alleyway. Behind his back he calls out something.
"I'm sorry"

What Beatles part?

Why the story's called The Eggman and other parts I took out. Forgot that I removed em.

“I was born ready...” The word has escaped the hero.
The hero drives the blade through the front of Tom’s skull and punctures the brain of this once “great” department admin. He then tosses the body under a couple of trash bags and walks towards the darker end of the alleyway. Behind his back he calls out something.
"I'm Ron fuckin' Swanson."

I'll take that as a compliment.

Next one's cool or at least I think it is.

They say hes not there. They say hes just in my hed. That’s rong. Hes there. Plane as day, he is there. I somtims end up talking to him. When mommy hears me saing things to him she wories abowt me. She wories, and wories, and wories, till theres no tomorow and then she hits me. She hits me because she wories so much abowt me and doesnt want him botharing me. She hits me rite in front of him and that bothars him. He tells me that is bothars him, that she shudnt hit me. I tell him that it bothers me too, mommy hiting me. Isnt mommy supossed to protekt me? I never tell daddy. Hed be angry at both mommy and me and may end up hiting her, I don’t want that. Neethar does him, my frend that is. He tells me of things I only see on the TV, things like divorce and sex and murder. Im scard of that last one. M-U-R-D-E-R. That one word is the stranjest seming. One day, as I was talking to him abowt murder, mommy ovarherd me. The face she made scared me alot. It was messed up, freaky, disgustid. That nite mommy and Daddy telled me to nevar use that word (murder) again. He telled me that that wasnt the word that was rong, that it was mommy and daddys fer of the word that really was rong. I like beeing rite. It is way betar than beeing left (Hee hee! That was a jok!). He also telled me that I shud show mommy and daddy murder and pruv to them that it is not a bad thing. We went to the park one day and there was a very prity catarpiller krawling on the grownd. He telled me to tak my foot and stomp down on the catarpiller. I didn’t want to but as I hav lerned, he is very perswaysiv. Mommy didn’t noteice but still I was scard of it and of what I had did. I did a smal prair that the catarpiller wud have a nice lif in hevan. He didnt like me doing that but I did it aniway. Nother time we murderd was when there was this kitty trying to croz the road and my daddy was driveing. I was telled to make my daddy make a rong turn so we could akcheve our plan for daddy’s sak. I was tired so I didnt remimbar what the deetails of the plan was so I screemed and we hited the kitty. Daddy got angry at me and telled me not to make him mess up agan or he mite hit somthin. Instead of feein sad for the kitty or teling daddy that we alredy hited the kitty, I hoped that I wudnt be the thing hed hit. It is bad enof when mommy hits me. I dont want both of them hiting me. Me and my frend had a very gud talk today. It was on happie thots. We talked abowt Pokemon (one of the few “advancd” words I no to spel rite) and recces and cooties, or what cooties arent (apearantly they arent reel). I lov my frend. Hes a reely gud person and we wil be frends forever and evar! Or at leest I hope. With mommy and daddy triing to mak him not exhist, he may go and leav cus noone wants to be were they aint loved. I lik being loved here. By mommy and daddy and my frend. I hope we can liv in peece toogethar as a gud famly.
…
Yestaday ended very badly. Mommy and daddy got in a fite. It was loud and hurt my ears. My frend, he tells me to call him Robby now, I dont like his name, telled me to go down and tell them to, “Shut the fuck up.” I dont know what the word “fuck” is, me and Robby havent talked about it yet. I didnt go and do it. Insted I cryd and sobed. Robby called me week but no mater what, I didnt do it. Then Robby left me. Hes still not bak and sleping withowt him neer is difecult. I think its mommy and daddys falt. Had they not argud, Robby wud not hav left. I need Robby. Hes my best frend and I need him bak. He likes murder. Shud I murder to make him come back? Maybe mommy and daddy need to lern that murder isnt bad, once and for al.

Epilogue: And so it goes that the child descended down the stairs to go murder his parents. His mother took her foot and kicked the child’s skull, ending his life but not before her husband was stabbed in the back by the child. The father, mother, and child were inside the house when the woman went and burned down the house.



ending is written for evil satisfaction and so I don't go on a series of killings.

no not really ...yet...

Had to follow a prompt on this. It's my big quarterly test thing. I like it. Relatively. Granted I was thinking The Stand The road (didn't finish either yet but soon will finish the Stand) and very post-apopcalyptic.


“Prophecy of Jim”

Something arises in the west.
Be it good or bad?
How will it know the side of best
choosing will be hard, not glad.

This here hero or villain
or whatever the sort,
will be a going killin’
whoever he feels like for sport.

In the end finally he’ll realize
all of his large mistakes.
He’ll take them as truth, not lies,
but still the truth will ache

And in the final battle of will
will he win or will he succeed?
Is either way good for the ‘people’
and the blood good to bleed?


A head smashes into the ground and splatters into bits of flesh, skull, and blood. The man who has crushed this is not a man, no he is much younger. He is built strong, strong for one of only nine years plus ten. He is young yes, but he is also alone. Other than the head smashed into the ground and himself, there is not sign of any other human alive or dead. There are signs of human existence though, things such as the cars scattered across the road and the casino with its lights flashing still on and off, almost rhythmically, sarcastically. He pulls a toothpick out of his jacket pocket, his jacket is blue, faded and torn in areas to apply to a style, and made of jean material. He takes this toothpick and sticks it in his teeth, not using it to clear out any leftovers from some kind of meal.
“Yeah,” he says “I look real cool now,”
He says this sarcastically on purpose, as to almost make him cry because he is alone. He turns around from the spot on the pavement and struts back into the casino. He was in here earlier, that’s where he met that man. The one whose head is now mush and whose body…he opens the door. The body is sprawled on the carpet inside the entrance to the casino. It is naked and blood has emptied from the open wound and has formed a puddle of noticeable darkness against the bright red carpet. That’s real blood. That’s a man’s blood. He had to kill the man. The man was dangerous. He hadn’t wanted to but...but…it was necessary. Survival of the fittest as his father had liked to say. But his father was long dead.
They’re all long dead.
It was scary. He had just heard the man’s voice, that rough southern accent that spoke death and hatred. What had the man said? What was it the man had to say?
He had walked into the casino with doubt that it would be a good shelter for him. He had been drifting across the states, trying to get from Oklahoma all the way to Colorado, and during that time he had had many shelters. This one didn’t look like it would shape up as one but he had to try it out. That’s when the man approached him.
“Hey, you,” He turned around and drew his hand to his belt, to the knife resting there. “Relax I’m not dangerous. Not that dangerous. Guess we all are now.” The man laughed and sat down on a car. Inside a body was rotting, almost fully devoured by the maggots. “C’mon. Sit down.” He sat next to the man.
“Who are you?”
“Me? My name’s not important now, is it? Are any of our names important anymore?”
“I suppose not.”
“Yeah they’re not, a name doesn’t get you killed anymore. Other stuff does. If you must call me by something, call me Jim. It’s a common name, it works.” The man was admitting it wasn’t his real name. That was probably something that the other should follow.
“I suppose you can call me Jim too.”
“I’d say that’d be confusing but there’s no one but us to go and confuse each other, right? I mean, they’re all long dead anyway. We’re the only ones left.”
“No, that can’t be true. They’re got to be others. I’ve seen others.”
“Nah, them suckers probably got killed by each other, themselves, or nature. Can’t beat nature.” Jim, little Jim, stood up.
“You’re wrong. You can’t be right. They’re are others and they’re still civilized.”
“Civilized? Nothing’s civilized anymore kid”
“I’m not a kid, Jim.”
“Yeah, you’re just a little pussy who don’t like to face the truth. That’s a cowardly pussy. You don’t want a cowardly pussy, Jim.”
“You know what go die.”
Little Jim drew the knife and finally the other Jim showed fear. He ran off into the casino. Little Jim followed. A gun fired off but Jim missed Jim and then Jim saw the outline of Jim and he stabbed Jim in the stomach and Jim fell and the Jim saw that Jim, he wasn’t the man. He wasn’t Jim. It was a dead body, one that had been stripped naked and crudely hung off the chandelier overhead. Jim had never been there. He hadn’t been Jim. Little Jim cut through the head of the body and went outside to smash it.
The truth hurt.

Warning: Lots of F bombs…and takes in ideas of racism, sex, and murder. This is Winnie on crack…or just fuckin' insane. I did say there were a lot of F bombs…A LOT. MANY.

Winnie the Pooh

Fuckin' Christopher Robin. Left me out in this stupid fuckin' forest with all these nimrods. There's that druggie Tigger. Gonna' get one of those little ones high along with him. Then both'll be addicted and bouncing off the fuckin' walls. That's great. Just fuckin' great. There also the midget, a retard I say. The stupid pink thing just clings to me and I've had to save its ass more than one time but do I get a fuckin' break? No. God fuck it. Tigger's probably fucking the kangaroo. That's why she lets him near her kid. What's a fuckin' kangaroo doing in a fuckin' forest here anyway? Aren't they…African? Oh get those damn things back to their own country. Tigger you sick fuck.

There's also Owl. He's a fuckin' control freak. Thinks that he's Einstein. If Einstein was a Nazi then maybe he'd be right. Rabbit is a pig to me, a miser who's out to get us all. He wants us to starve. Too bad we're made of fluff dumbass. Eeyore? That little emo shit? All he does is complain. God bless the day he finally offs himself.

One day these idiots will realize that I'm the sane one. The only sane one. They call me crazy well I think not. I'm the only one with any sense. They're just gonna' fuck with each other until somebody realizes that. They'll realize that. They will. If not then they're just gonna' die as wasteful pieces of shit and both their children and their children's children will too..

FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. Oh god I did it. I know I did I did it and they know I did. They're gonna catch me. Catch crazy ass Pooh bear. Gonna lock him up in his cage and shoot him till he dies. Oh I've fuckin' done it now. I fuckin' did it and I'm fuckin' in it. In trouble. I, I…I killed Christopher Robin. Maybe they don't know. Maybe they won't find out. Maybe if I…no fuck it. I gotta' get out of here. I fuckin got to get out. I got blood on my hands and it is dripping, sliding down my skin and it's slipping, slipping so easily out of his body and I can feel, happiness. I am happy. This is great this is just…divine I, I have to try again. I have to feel what it's like again. Oh fuck fuck fuck in joy this is it all. This is it all.

Oh hello, hello Kanga hello indeed. How's you baby? The one that Tigger fucks after he fucks you? The Tigger that takes your boy and he does whatever the hell he wants with him. After he's done with you? Well what happens after I'm done with you? Well bitch? WELL?!

She's squirming resisting. WHY ARE YOU RESISTING? Make it easier on yourself. Oh fuck FUCK FUCK. "FUCK!" She kicked me in the fuckin' balls. Now that's dirty ya' dirty little African shit. Get your ass over here. GET OVER HERE!

CRACK. There it is. That sound again, a sound that rings in my ears, a sound that came from a bullet ringing in her ear. At least it was somewhere in here skull. She's dead, dying? No, dead. Dead. She's dead. Must be. Pierced skull. People or fuckin' kangaroo's don't get up from that shit. The blood comes out of her skull. It's like knowledge leaking. Knowledge. Or maybe it's just blood. But that blood brings me a peace. A joy.

Dammit. They're after me. They'll find me. They're gonna get me now. There's no way they won't. I may as well turn myself in. NO. No I will go down fighting. I will fight till either all of them are dead or I am. I will not be terminated.

Tigger

He fuckin' killed Kanga. That sorry son of a bitch ruthlessly murdered her. And then Roo walked in. And he has Roo. That crazy fucker has Roo. And I'm gonna kill him for it.

He's so stupid. Left a trail of blood all the way. If he has so much as laid a finger on him…I'll…I'll do worse than kill him. What's that I hear? I hear panting and a rustling in the grass. The trail has gone off into the woods. He must be there. What's he doing to Roo?!

I'm running now. My bat's in my hand. It was the only thing we had in the house. No guns. Christopher Robin wouldn't allow that. Too bad because we obviously needed it. Everyone's known he was a psycho from the start. We were too stupid, so stupid that we let our guard down. Now we got at least one dead and a man to catch. And I'm going to kill him. Whether or not I had wanted to not I would have to. Not like the others have the willpower.

I turn. I'm at the river. On a stump he sits. And Roo is there too. Roo is bound and gagged. He has a black eye. The eye inside is not moving. He fucked with his eye.

"YOU BASTARD." I start going forward.

He shrivels up and drops Roo off. "No, no. No don't hurt. Don't hurt. I'm sorry. Pooh sorry! Pooh sorry..."

It's sad. Quite sad. I can't bring myself to go forward. He's faking it. I know he is. I'm frozen and he's coming closer. He's got the knife in his hands and he's next to me and he's breathing on my neck. He's panting, hyperventilating and smiling. His grin is so wide...so...

"FUCK YOU!" I scream.

I bring the bat in my hand around and thwack it in the back of his head. Oh the crack it makes is lovely. It rings amongst the silence. But it's not silent. Actually he's screaming. That fuck is screaming his little head off. Shut the fuck up. I hit him again. Blood is flowing out now. It comes in waves. But he's not dead.

"Fuck...fuck...fuck...I fuck...I fucking...almost...almost made...it...it...you...you just...ended...it...I'm gonna...fuck..." Each few words he speaks are interrupted by a breath, a hack, a cough.

And with those last few words that don't make sense to me he slips away. The fuck is dead. Fucking dead.

Everyone turns the corner in a few minutes. They aren't sad and neither am I. Next to the log we find Christopher Robin's body. We can bearly tell that it was him. That fuck got him before we did.

And no one reads these anymore.

First Chapter of Plastic. Gotta develop a plot before I get it done.

and I have like 4 more to put up but...I can wait for a response. I do like criticism. :D But I could be stubborn about it...

She reached down into her pocket, felt the small box and smiled. Inside she could feel the plushy cotton around her most prized possession. No one knew of this thing, and she would never tell anyone anyway, just for fear that someone would be scared of her, afraid that maybe she had finally lost it. They wouldn’t understand why that was in the box, why she would keep it with her always. They would not understand why she needed it or why she would have it. But still it made her smile; it made her feel right in place. Right like she belonged there, belonged here.

She never had fit in right. There’d always be something that set her aside from all the others. It was something that she could not always see until the effect of her being singled out took full effect. She only really realized the full of it at the beginning of her teen years, the beginning of the ones where she changed in a different way from all the others. The other girls all matured and advanced onto boys and gossip and sex and all kinds of things that she could not understand herself. She couldn’t understand them and they didn’t understand her. It was all a cycle, a cycle of life.

But now when she sat on top of the roof top with her hand on the box, everything was right again. No more noise but the wind, birds, and distant people below. It was all right. She was alright. She took out the box and held it in both her hands. She missed them, the others. There used to be others like her but they were gone. They either morphed into the plastic people that she didn’t care for or they escaped. They escaped, ran away from this lifestyle, this lifestyle of no meaning. She didn’t know how they did it but they did. She wanted to know. She wanted to know how to get away like they did. She wanted to be free, to feel like she did when she was on the roof top with her box.

He box, it glittered because of the bright sun. The sun felt warm against her face and she stared up at its bright rays. This was peace, this was a makeshift nirvana.

A shout came from down below her. She was only four stories up so she could still hear the louder noises. Only the muffled remarks that ridiculed others like her could she not hear. It was such a beautiful day.

The shouting came again.

“Mandy! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?’

She’d know that annoying sound anywhere. It came from the three people here that she hated most. The “three bitches” as they had been named by an old friend of Mandy’s who had turned and become one of them stood below, three bright pink dots amongst the sidewalk below.

“Nothing…” Mandy said this but realized as usual she was much too quiet. She needed them to hear her. She needed them to go away. “NOTHING!”

They didn’t answer back instantly; instead, they sat and waited a minute. Mandy could hear her heart thumping hard in her ears.

“WE’RE COMING UP!” they shouted.

No, no, they weren’t supposed to come up. No, don’t let them come up. They were going to ruin her one hour of happiness. If there was a god he wouldn’t allow them to bother her. Why, why, why?

They came up the steps and opened the metal door. There they stood each of them in a pair of pink sweatpants and a pink sweatshirt. There was no difference between them. They looked the same, dressed the same, and acted the same. There was no originality in their appearance or personality. Why would they do that? They were so plastic. Plastic…

She looked the opposite of their smiling faces and bright clothes. Her clothes didn’t cling to her figure, she had none, and her complexion was terrible along with the knots in her hair.

“Hey Mands,” the middle one, Klaire said to her. “So just sitting up here?”

She said everything the same smile on her face the entire time. Mandy didn’t like it. They were invading; they were walking closer to her.

“Yeah…” Mandy could barely get the answer out.

“So we had to ask you something, Mands.” Joan said this, stepping a foot closer to her and in front of Klaire in this one motion.

“We just wanted to know,” Faye spoke this time. “If you could give us your ten minutes of bath time for tonight? I mean you don’t really use it, right?”

“I guess…” The way they could finish each other’s sentences and smile and tease her at the same time all

“Okay cool, Thanks Mands.” Klaire said.

And they were calling her Mands. Like little Mands with a man’s hands. Mandy had hear that one one too many times. Mandy stared at her feet embarrassed.

Then they charged, they grabbed her by the arms and held her against the ledge of the building and punched her. They took her arms and legs and tossed her off the ledge and she plummeted to the ground. It was all going to end and Mandy knew this as she fell.

But she never fell. They never attacked her. The “three bitches” turned around and headed back for the door.

“Retard,” Joan said over her shoulder. They walked through the door laughing.

It slammed behind them.

“I’m not a good revolutionary,” Mandy said to herself and then laid down with tears in her eyes that rolled down her cheeks and left a stain on the front of her sweatshirt.

She fell asleep there that night.

The first story was completely pointless and nonsensical. All it did was reveal the author's disdain for women at the time of its writing.

I then skipped to the last story. That was worth a read. There is the beginning of characterization. Some symbolism is also set up. How it turns out, depends on the future chapters.

To Mlai:
Yeah, people didn't like butter very much. hmm.
It was based off a joke I came up with so it was a bit of a stretch to write. Everyone's allowed their own opinion so I won't really yell at you for it.
Surprisingly I was not upset with any woman at the time. Not even Mrs. 1337's mom who is going through her midlife crisis right now and is annoying the hell out of me. But I do HATE feminists. And masculinists. That could be a factor. And I know they are stereotypes as I've stated.
Glad you like the beginning to Plastic. It will turn into a science fiction I think. It will not turn into a typical annoying young adult fiction where the the heroine overcomes her outcast life and finds peace with herself.
Strange though because if you read The Eggman and Prophecy of Jim, you will notice that they flow in just about the same way. These are all basically first drafts anyway.
What is going to be hard about Plastic is to not use bigger words and keep my rough style since when you use "garments" instead of "clothing" it sounds so fake and shitty. That really has nothing to do with this really but someone did that and otherwise it was a good story but they tried to hard to extend it with "higher quality" words and just described every stupid thing the person did that was meaningless to the story. "She seated herself on top of the chair and crossed her legs so that no one could look up her skirt" became three long sentences about eloquence when the character was NOT eloquent or fancy or whatnot. It annoys me so much. I can't even give an example of what she wrote. It was so badly Plastic.
Plastic will be a story more like Carrie but not 'cause Carrie wasn't that good.

long response.

I will fix the whole cliff hanger/"Aw it's an unhappy ending" in a lot of these. Mainly just the "aw" part of that.

I could rant off in things that annoy me or a full description of each story and why it was written but I'm supposed to do that after I get famous, if ever.

I like the take on winnie the pooh, I will come back later and read some others.

Genejoke
I like the take on winnie the pooh, I will come back later and read some others.

Cool. that may make me write some more 'cause I've been lazy with that.

Awright, so I just want to say I'm very impressed, because what you have done is very hard to do. You write quite well, you just tell really bad stories. I've seen it the other way around quite often, but really you've got the benefit of having the hard part out of the way.

Okay, your first story is just flat terrible in every aspect. That really never needs to see the light of day again. However, the story about the kid as well as the Winnie the Pooh story are doing some really interesting things stylistically. I like that you wrote it with the grammar of a kid, and with the Winnie the Pooh story you kept it within his consciousness. I would suggest getting rid of the crap epilogue for the kid's story, and think of a way you might be able to work around the the quotations in the Pooh story so you can keep it strictly in his mind.

The problem with your stories though is that they have no point, at least not that we've seen, for several it seems you just gave us clips. Instead what we get are these direction-less violent actions from the mind of a sadist, which is not a good thing by any means. You are so obviously trying to be controversial you come off purely childish. You are just being a shock artist, somebody being unnecessarily disturbing because the reactions get you off.

Now that last story actually looks like its going somewhere real. Sure it smells vaguely of Mean Girls (just come up with something other than 'plastic' and you'll have made a step in the right direction), but at least we are actually getting to know the character before people start being raped and/or murdered, this a good thing. In fact, the reason I think I enjoyed the last story was that you almost seem to be making fun of yourself which is great, and these violent tendencies.

The violent and the graphic have its place, but if you start slinging it around like a jump rope it loses its emotional value. Get some direction in your story, you can still do dark and do it well.

Some short stories you might be interested in looking into are Flannery O'Connor's "A Good Man is Hard to Find" and "Good Country People" and also Donald Barthelme's "The Game." Both author's are very strong and can be quite dark.

Aw...

Well I respect everyone's opinion by giving some info out.
In other words I'm gonna probably rant a bit, don't get offended.

Well I'm sorry my ways don't appeal. I like horror but I still need practice before it becomes really natural and gets set up easy peasy.

A lot of my characters are not right in the head. They are psychotic, have a different take on how things in life should go, and are without feelings.

I hate phonetically spelling things. That's why the little boy story was a pain to write.

Wait. Way off track here.

Butter is one of my favorites mainly for how cruel it is in that I just wanted to mess with my characters. I took the keyboard and thought "Okay, what next.". I don't really write to please anyone but myself so I guess that it was something that not many would like. ...but it's Butter! :(

Winnie the Pooh? I just wanted Pooh to kill someone and get his ass beat in the end. Like in this terribly photoshopped picture.


Oh the epilougue isn't really supposed to be there. It's mainly cause I needed an end and to freak people out. It's worthless, I know.

If they weren't short (REALLY short) stories then I could probably have more time to enhance characters and make a larger plot. Yes most don't really have plots. Some were based off of a prompt my creative writing teacher gave us and I liked.

Not Mean Girls. Please don't let it turn into Mean Girls.
*shudders*
A good example of why it's so short and hard to tell is actually found within Plastic chapter one. This book takes place in I don't know...2030 AD and is at an all girls highschool and involves brainwashing and etcetera. It seems odd at the moment but I'm still piecing it together myself.
Plastic is the finalized title at the moment though. I don't want to change it either because I love that word as an adjective meaning "fake".

I will go check out those stories soon hopefully.

Thank you for your input,
-Joey.
...-1337

^I wonder if I ever make sense...


Well without further ado here's this.

Based off a prompt mind you.

And god, this guy talks like freaking Yogi Bear.



Step right up people! Be the first to try out my brand new spectacular invention. It does it all, everything, anything you could even imagine. And right now you could get it for the low, low price of only fifty thousand dollars. That’s right folks, a complete deal but this offer will not last for long. Soon enough the price will inflate and you’ll be left without it. You’ll be left in the dust, in the trash; you won’t be able to live without it. No one will like you if you don’t got this thing.
You, you, you! You fine sir! Come here.

“…Yes?”

How would you like to have a free trial with this amazing invention?!

“…No thank you.”

No, no, no sir! No Sir don’t leave yet sir! I believe that I can convince you sir! I believe I must. You must have one of these come here!
Ah sir, you are back. A wise decision, a wise decision indeed, sir.

“Why are you saying sir so much?”

Why sir, aren’t you sir?

“True. So what now?”

Well sir, it is my plan to make you buy this sir.

“I don’t want it.”

Not even that free trial sir? Hey? Hey? That a proposition that you can buy? Buy, sir? Like you should buy this great thing sir!

“I don’t want it! Leave me be.”

No I am sorry sir. I cannot leave you be sir! That’s a preposterous proposition there! I must make you have this.

“But I DON’T WANT IT!”

That is what you think sir but that is not what is in your best interest now is it. A mother only does what she knows is best for her child, is that not true sir?

“I guess that's true but as far as I know you’re not my mother.”

Oh ho, ho, ho! What comedy sir. That was indeed funny. You my friend are a clever man, sir. Now since that was a mere example do you see my point? I must help you sir. Help me, help you sir. Eh, sir?

“Why can’t you just ask someone else man? I gotta’ go, there’s plenty of other people you can bug into buying this…thing?”

Yes sir but I picked you.

“God. What the hell does it even do?’

‘It’ my sir is not an ‘it’! It is the Hobknocker! The best invention of our generation. It does everything whatever you want it to. You tell it your command and it will accomplish the task no matter what it takes! It’s fantastic, never runs down! It’s unique and it’s only FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS! DID YOU HEAR ME?! ONLY-

“Could like please stop yelling? I’m right here and no one’s even paying any attention to you.”

And that is why I must yell sir! They must hear of this brilliance, they must spread the word and all must come and buy theirs so that their lives are never needy again. Eh, sir?

“’Eh’ indeed…so it can do anything?”

Yesiree sir! Anything at all!

“And it costs only fifty thousand bucks?”

Only FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS! BUT COME QUICK, THEY’RE GOING FAST!

“Again with the yelling? Hmm…I would like to buy one of these Hobknockers.”

Gasp! Sir do you really mean it sir?

“Yes sir, I would. You have swayed me in with all of this...chatter. Fifty thousand?”

Oh yes SIR! Fifty thousand dollars!

“Fine. Here you are. You do accept checks don’t you?”

Of course sir! Why thank you, THANK YOU!

“Now how do you use it?”

Oh yes. Press the red button and speak into the microphone right…here.

“Quick question. Why does it look like a banana?”

I...I have no clue. Not a designer sir, just a seller. Sorry sir.

“It’s okay. Now so I push here then…I can say anything into it?”

Anything sir!

“Fine. Eat this annoyance.”

Wha-wha-what sir? What? No, no no! Ahh! Sir?!

“And I’ll be taking my check back.Good day sir.”

Good day…good day…good day…good day…good day…good day…


Only fifty thousand dollars!

ANOUNCEMENT


If you follow the link below you will come to the comic versions of these short stories. They update every day. Currently I am doing "The Suicide Story", one I haven't put up yet.

Go there now!



below this sentence is there!
http://www.drunkduck.com/13_A_Short_Story_Collection/index.php

Visit the comic!
The link to the comic!
(it's on page four)

And here's the story.

(I already know the problems in it, don't point em out please unless you think you see something I already don't even thought they are pretty obvious...oh well state the problems you see. Don't get annoyed when I tell you that you've stated the obvious.)

"The Suicide Story"

Here I am again, on a ledge, in a bad position, creating havoc for the ones who may love me. No one else is here, well here in the room. I don’t want witnesses. Mama’s downstairs. She’s cooking dinner, doing dishes, you know, mom stuff. I can hear that she’s also singing her head off to the latest big band shit that she listens to. By latest I mean the thirty year old stuff that no one even knows exists anymore. Whatever, any way it goes she still won’t hear me or find me for a while. I planned all this very sneakily. I didn’t let anyone show my emotions, they would have done something already, done something like got me a psychiatrist or locked me up with the other loonies. I’m not a loony. At least I don’t believe so.
I think there’s a real reason I should be stepping off the edge here. Stepping off this edge and dropping down only a couple of inches before the rope will pull tight against my neck. Upon impact my neck will make a large cracking noise but it won’t kill me. I’ll hover in mid fall choking and gasping for air. I will grip at my throat-or maybe I won’t; maybe I’ll decide to tie my hands together after all-and then I will start to see blackness and it’ll keep getting darker and darker until finally I stop strangling and my hands, if they’re untied, fall to the side unwillingly. I guess you could say willingly since I couldn’t possibly say no even if I didn’t say yes to it either. My eyes will roll towards the ceiling, towards heaven, towards the spot where the rope connects to the hole in the ceiling I have been blaming on the rats. The fat, underneath my chin not the stomach fat that pulls me down and tightens the rope around my neck, curls up and presses against my titless chest. I forgot to mention that I’m buck naked. Thought it would add to the whole “oh shit our daughter’s dead” thing. And if it’s my brother who finds me won’t matter much. I won’t be able to be embarrassed and he will only see a hairless pussy. I will then be dead and good riddance with it. I never did anything for anyone and I deserve this.
When my mom sees me she’ll just run up to me and grip my cold clammy body, that is if she can even grip my skin, and I bet she’ll start pressing her mouth to mine and blowing in an attempt to revive me but I know I’ll be too far gone. No reviving this one. There’s no extra lives, no restarts, no second chances. You only get one life and if this is your choice then it’s your choice and you gotta die under your decision, whether it is right or wrong. Is this right? Is hanging the right choice? I mean the whole snapping of the neck, suffocating, and lifeless body, well that’ll happen anyway, thing, is that the way to do it? I wouldn’t know, I’ve never committed suicide before. Hope I don’t fuck this up I mean like if I miss and end up just tripping off the bed or getting so low to the ground that I’m just standing on it. That’ll suck cause then I know mom will hear the thud and come upstairs to find me naked and with a rope around my neck. Maybe I can just say that I was masturbating and that can be a less excuse. Don’t know which would be worse getting caught doing. Either way she’ll probably send me to be locked up with the loonies.
There’s that word again: “loonies”. A loon’s some type if bird, state bird of Minnesota, Montana, an “M” named state, I think. Don’t know why I’ve been using that term anyhow I mean it’s not part of my regular vocabulary. L-o-o-n…I don’t know. It’s kinda a funny word…maybe I am a loon. Those sentences before support that I am. Actually I’d rather be a psycho. At least when you’re a psycho you usually know it. Stupid big band music. Rather be listening to my own current stuff.
“Maybe I’m the one. Maybe I’m the one, who is, a little bit psycho-”
I just sang that out loud. Great. Well she’s still going on downstairs, Deeni Martini or some shit like that. Is this rope really the tool I want to use? I was thinking before about the knife. Maybe a couple of slits on the wrist would teach me a lesson before I go. It could teach me that being a little fucker, a little bitch, won’t get you there, won’t get you anywhere. Knife seems more relaxing, like there’s more to get out of it. Like there’s more pain to feel and the warm blood against your skin should make you laugh in comfort, in horniness. Yeah, I like the knife plan. Let me go get that.
Snap. Fuck. FUCK. Why the FUCK didn’t I think of the motherfucking rope round my motherfucking neck?! WHAT THE FUCK! Goddamnit I tied the motherfucking rope right and now I can’t get the motherfucking knife. FUCK FUCK FUCK.
Who the fuck is that? Oh fuck, they’ve already fucking found me. They’ll probably fucking cut me down and save my fucking worthless life. FUCK. C’mon Mom, fucking cut me down. You going to fucking let your fucking daughter hang as you fucking watch? Are you? …Oh fuck, you are! FUCK.

Everyone likes Plastic...

Here's another untitled possibly to be called Inside Me.



He picked at his scab furiously. Each time his fingernail would tear at the spot a spark of pain would let out but if he just let it be, it would itch like crazy. It was a lose-lose situation but the pain was more bearable. He nibbled at it and it peeled off into his mouth. Blood started to seep and ran down into his mouth and off his chin.
"Shit." he said.
He spat out the scab to his left and ripped a tissue out of his pocket. He clumsily pressed this to his arm, ignoring the crusty, green "substance" on it. He rubbed his chin on his shirt to try and get the blood off. He coughed, gagged and heaved a wad of spit and blood out the window.
Underneath the tissue, the spot where his scab had been, it started to itch again. I lifted it up and dug his nails into the skin around it. That was better. It was still there but it was better now.
He stood up and walked to the door. He opened it with the hand on his bleeding arm and headed down the hallway to the bathroom. The door to the bathroom was already open. He went in and dropped his arm into the sink.
He took off his "bandage" and dropped it in the trash basket next to the toilet. One of his friends from last night hadn't flushed it. The shit in the bowl was watery and smelling. He flushed the toilet, reminding himself to yell at them later.
He turned on the cold water and started to wash the dried blood off his arm and into the drain. Goosebumps ran up and down his arm but he did not care about the cold. Instead he cared about the itching because, it was back.
It was ten times worse than it had been before, pre and post scab eating. He scratched at it but it did not go away or lessen. The itch seemed to amplify itself in irritation and became red under the cold water. A rash; maybe. And infection; probably.
The blood still ran but he took out his arm from the sink, shut the water off, and fumbled around in a drawer for a band-aid. Once he found one the blood was already dripping to the floor.
"Shit!" he shouted this time.
He ripped out a towel and put it on the wound. The towel was white and he decided that deserved another cuss.
"Aw, shit!"
No, he was not too bright. First he had bitten open a wound. Then he had trekked blood throughout the hallway and now...now he still had to stop a simple cut from bleeding. He dropped the towel into the trash, no amount of bleach would save it, and he slapped on the band-aid. Phew, he thought. Just a little cut. He itched around the band-aid and found his fingers soaked in blood.
He looked down at his arm again and the band-aid had become a dark red. Blood had snuck underneath the adhesive. The band-aid wilted off his arm and hit the ground making a large splat.
This bleeding thing had gotten out of control. His arm still itched and hurt and now the gore was everywhere. He grabbed the towel from the basket and ran out of the bathroom to the kitchen. He tied a knot with the towel around his arm and pulled it firm with his teeth. He sat on the arm to try and stop the blood flow. He picked up the phone from the counter and dialed those three special numbers.
"Hello, nine, one, one. How may I help you?"
The voice of the woman answering was so cheeky and optimistic that he would have been infuriated and agitated at any other time. But he had something to stop. He had to get some help.
"Yes? Hello...I am having an uncontrollable bleeding..." He struggled to come up with the word. "...disorder...and I'm in need of medical assistance...Can you send me an ambulance as soon as you-"
"I am sorry but bleeding is not a real reason to dial for nine, one, one. Good day."
"Wait! But-"
"Do you think I have time for your shit?" All "niceness" was gone. "I work too many hours and for too little pay for this. Get a damn band-aid and fix yourself up, asshole."
A dial tone followed.
"What?...the fuck?..."
Something was going on. Something weird.
He placed the phone back in its place. His arm had begun to itch even more, if that was even possible. He took out his arm from underneath him and held it up so he could see it.
The skin and towel were red not only with blood, but with some kind of rash too. Blood still came out his wound and it was starting to make him feel faint. What the fuck was this?
That's when the noises came.
"Hello," it said. The voice, or voices, echoed and changed speaker each time. I switched accents, it changed whether it was a man's or a woman's, it changed age.
"Hello?" he asked. No one replied. No one was there. Why would someone be in his house? "Hello?" he said, gaining in volume but losing in the game of fear.
He went to the beginning of the hall and looked down it. No doors were open except the ones he had left open, his and the bathroom's.
"Shit," it said. "What?...blood...shit,"
He shook his head. It was all in his head. He looked behind him. Nothing. Nobody there but himself. He went back to the counter unsure that he'd actually solved anything for his sanity. He had left a trail of blood all on the floor, puddles where he had stopped.
"All in my head," he said. But the head was something to fear. Didn't someone say that? He didn't know.
He grabbed another towel from above the kitchen sink and removed the old, drenched one. The wound had entirely worsened, becoming wider and larger. Pus and blood now jetted from it and sprayed him in the face. He turned his arm away from him and wiped the much from his face with the towel. He looked upon his arm again and this time saw the mouth.
Inside the wound was a mouth. Its teeth were crooked and blood seeped out from its open grin. Or at least it seemed to be smiling. The mouth then spat a cluster of blood, pus, and saliva at his face. It hit him in the eyes.
"Fuck!" he shouted.
"Fuck," it said.
The mouth in his arm had been the talker and that was more of a problem than the disgusting loogey on his face.
"What are you?!" he shouted at it.
"You?...what are?" it replied instantly.
He didn't understand any of it. His arm still itched and it annoyed him of all things. Then the was the sparks of pain that drove him to the floor, crippled. He stared at his arm.
All up and down his arm were openings and slowly coming out of these openings were various body parts. Two eyes could be clearly seen at the wrist and an nose was protruding out of his bicep. An ear was coming out of the inside of his elbow and more were on their way.
"What is this?!" he shouted then shrieked in pain.
"This...is what?" it said. "This is...shit?"
He had to get them out, get it out, whatever it, them, might be. He struggled to his feet and grabbed hold of the counter. He pulled his body up and scanned for them. The knives were over to his left. He stumbled over to them and tore out the first his hand touched. A good old fashioned cleaver; nice choice.
It gave off a shine in the light as he raised it high in the air. Before he could bring it down his knee buckled. They were in his leg now? He took the knife to there first, ripping through the flesh and jeans easily. He screamed and dug his fingers into the open wound. He grabbed hold of a soft sphere and pulled it free. He tossed it at the wall. It splattered against the wall, much louder than the band-aid had, and slid down the wall. It got up from its spot and crawled back towards him.
He took the knife to his arm and sliced at the mouth. He slit its lips but the knife slipped from his bloody hands and skittered away out of reach. He took his teeth and bit at the skin around the mouth, frantically. The skin tore and sprayed even more blood in all directions.
"Not...a...shit," it said, the first two words as the lady from nine, one, one, and the last as he had. His battle was over.
He laid back and let it consume him.


Optional Epilogue:

Cops found the body three days later and immediately called it a suicide. It was quite a gruesome suicide at most.
Most though, had a different approach to the case when the mouth was opened.
When they opened it out spewed a couple hundred body parts.
The approach they had after that was:
"What the fuck?!"

Hello.

This is a poem I was forced to write.

But I'll keep putting stuff up here when I do Nanowrimo and stuff.
My Nanowrimo's going to be on gargoyles at the moment.
I don't expect to finish.




"Hello Someone I Didn’t Know" by Me

He stares back at me coldly.
His Dark brown eyes spot more than me.
He runs a hand through his hair,
and he shrugs at me without a care.

He strokes his chin and tilts his head,
and then he smiles wide.
His tongue moves round and pushes outward,
the patch of hair sticks out clumsily.

Most cannot-do not see him smiling,
or even speak a single word,
just a small boy in a big man’s world
Could he liven up a bit please?

But deep inside, he explodes with feelings,
he sings and acts and writes it out.
He laughs, he cries, and someday something
he’ll let it loose and shout-

So he really is something deep in there?
He’s so much more than just a square.
Look beyond that face of his.
Let him out. Set him free.

This is the script to a video that I'm making based off 12th Night act 2, scene V for my english class and as soon as its on YouTube I'll get the link here.


STAR WARS
Episode 12, Part 2, Scene Five
Written by Joseph B(1337)i in a Parody of Shakespeare’s 12th Night Act 2, Scene V
Filmed on 1-8-11 on Tug Hallow Road in Richmond, RI

CHARACTERS:
• Han Solo (Sir Toby Belch) played by the very glorious, Joseph D***a
• Chewbacca (Sir Andrew) played by the very furry, Joseph B(1337)i
• Obi Wan Kanobi (Sir Fabian) played by the very cross-dressing, Rachel N***s
• R2-D2 (Maria’s False Letter) played by the very cardboard, Cardboard Box.
• Princess Leia (Olivia) played by the not cross-dressing at those moments, Rachel N***s
• AND… LANDO Calrissian (Malvolio) played by the even furrier than Chewbacca, Nate L***s


Stage Directions/Camera Directions- Italics



Start Scene with a black starry background. Text rolls from the bottom of the screen to the top of the screen slowly so that it can be read. The Text is Yellow and centered on the screen.


TEXT
A long time ago…In a galaxy far, far away…
After that scene it’s no wonder that everyone’s all testy. Who’d have guessed that Lando was such a little pain in the BUTT anyway? But as we all know (but as Lando is clueless to) R2-D2, Han, and Chewbacca have a plan to get back at him for it.
They plan to abuse his love of Leia to make him think that Leia actually does love him! Then he’d finally be able to control those drunken monsters (and one of them IS a monster) Han and Chewy.
Han and Chewbacca have pulled yet another into their plan because the more the merrier.
Plus, when making an idiot out of someone with a blaster it’s always best to use a Jedi as a defense. Especially when it’s Obi.
But anyway…the movie…

Transition lamely (like a Windows Movie Maker transition) to our three “idiots”: Han Solo, Chewbacca, and Obi Wan Kanobi. Han and Chewy are standing together under a tree laughing at Lando and we enter in the middle of the conversation. Obi Wan is iffy on the whole thing so he (she) stands a little whiles away from the group, his (her) hood over (his) her head, concealing his (her) face from the camera.

Han Solo
(Camera on Chewbacca and Han Solo) This is gonna be great Chewy. (He looks over at Obi) C’mon Obi, this is going to be great!
Obi Wan Kanobi
(Camera on Obi and Han Solo-smiling stupidly. Obi sighs) I’ve got a bad feeling about this.
Han
Don’t you want to screw around with Lando? I mean he is pretty annoying.
Obi
…yes…yes he is… (Sighs) fine…
Han
That’s better. You ready Chewbacca?
Chewbacca
(Camera on Chewbacca and Han) I’m So-oh-oh-oh ready. We shall take him and like…uh… (Growls out of confusion)

Han
(Camera on Han) Make him look stupid Chewy?

Chewy
Exactly what I said, right?

Camera on Obi, Han, then Chewbacca. Obi takes off his hood and looks confusedly at Han, Han shrugs, and Chewbacca looks like an idiot. Yay.
Camera on Obi and Han.

Han
Of course you did Chewy. Look! Here comes R2. That means Lando’s not too far behind. Let’s hide… (He looks around) In that tree!

All three go up into the tree. Next shot is from after they’re all up in the tree.

Obi
How did a tree get to Cloud City anyway?
Han
(Whispers) Chewy bought it for me. He won big in Vegas and I’m helping him spend it.

Obi nods and smiles.

Chewy
(Growls out of seeing R2-D2)

Enter R2-D2 leading in Lando Calrissian, furry ‘stache and all.

Lando
What do you want droid?! I was busy looking up the Princess naked on Greedo (It is recommended we get some kind of Thumbs Up! picture. To briefly be put up here) I mean…going on Spacebook…
Han
(Camera on Han) Weir-dy.
Lando
(Camera back on Lando. R2-D2 beeps twice) Oh. You wanted to give me a message? (R2-D2 beeps again) An IMPORTANT message? Well, (He says this twiddling his cape in his hands) I am pretty important.

(Camera on the three in the tree. Obi is laughing hard and Han and Chewy are laughing too but are still a bit of a distance away from Obi because they laugh TOGETHER!!!…not alone…And Chewy laughs like his growls.)

Han
He is such an IDIOT!
Chewy
Yeah he’s dumb. He is so (He growls because it’s the running gag, goddammit. I hope people get the other joke here-Antoine Dodson.)
Obi
…well yes…I’ll agree he’s dumb but be quiet you two. Let’s enjoy this.

Camera goes back to Lando.

Lando
-and when I become head Jedi I’ll remember this moment R5-D5.
Chewy
(From offstage) Stupid (Growls to censor the word @$$)!
Lando looks around at the sound but sees nothing. He shrugs.

Lando
Then I’ll have all the power I want. Then I can take down that stupid Han Solo and Chewbacca. All they do is waste their money away on trees and shrubberies. Stupid shrubbers.

Camera on the three in the tree. Han and Chewy are furious, Han more so than Chewy because Chewy’s too stupid to get it (the joke too).

Chewy
Blast him! (Chewy and Han draw their weapons)

Obi uses the force and knocks them and their blasters to the side.

Han
What are you doing?!
Chewy
Yeah! Let us go kick his (Growls because you know why)!
Obi
You’d ruin everything. Sit down, shut up and just enjoy it.

Chewy and Han grumble angry things. Camera goes back to Lando and R2-D2.

Lando
Well anyway Q2-F2, message me away.

Camera a little closer on R2-D2 but Lando still in shot. R2-D2 shakes a bit, beeps and a blue light comes out of him. Princess Leia appears in the light. Camera on Leia and Lando. R2-D2 exits

Princess Leia
Woah. This is trippy.
Lando
My Princess! (Tries to grab her and sniff her but falls. Camera angle has to be modified so it looks like Lando passes through her) Oh yes…You’re a hologram.
Princess Leia
Precisely. (Quick camera switch to Obi Wan who does a face palm then back to Leia) Anyway here is my message, whoever finds this. (Leia pulls out monologue on piece of paper. Each time she says stop she looks up from the paper.) My beloved. STOP. I wish I could speak freely to you. Unfortunately our situations keep us apart for no L, O, A, D. STOP.
Lando
L…There’s an L in Lando, right C-3PO?

R2-D2 From offstage beeps in agreement even though Lando just messed up his name with the stupidest character in Star Wars and the creepy droid that loves him. Camera on the three in the tree.

Han
Well if all else fails, at least we’re smarter than Lando.
Chewy
Obviously. Right Ovi?
Obi
(Hesitates) Of course. But shut up and just pay attention now.

Camera back on Leia and Lando.





Leia
I’m sick of hiding. STOP. I long to be with you always. STOP. I don’t care that you’re a poor peasant with no control of the force and that I’m a fancy billionaire princess who’s really, really pretty and stuff. STOP. But I believe that some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have the force thrust upon them. STOP
Lando
Aww, what a well thought out and pretty quote.
Leia
Don’t hide from this destiny any longer. STOP. If you love me as much as I got the “hots” for you, wear that sexy little yellow top with those pants that make you so nice lookin’ next time I see you…STOP. …Oh and wink at me. STOP. Farewell, my sweet. You’re one of my many hopes at love. STOP

Camera stays in same stop but pauses so Leia can get offstage and fades into a shot of Leia not being there as to make it look like the hologram has disappeared. Blue light goes away and we go to Lando with the Camera and stuff. We stay on him for a second as Lando thinks about it then switch to Obi, Han, and Chewbacca who are STILL IN THE TREE.

Han
Think he bought it?
Chewy
I thought it was very convincing.
Obi
Of course you did.
Chewy
What’s that mean?!
Han
That it was very convincing.
Chewy
Oh.

Camera goes back to Lando.

Lando
(Smiles) YEAH!!! (Does victory dance-YES NATE. YOU’RE DANCING-as if you haven’t embarrassed yourself enough yet. Once he’s done he runs off screen)
Obi
(Camera on them climbing down the tree, Obi coming down the tree first with style, Han second, and Chewbacca last.) That was fabulous! (Dropping onto the ground)
Han
Absolutely splendid. (Drops to the ground)
Chewy
Completely (Falls off the tree about four feet from the ground.Growls afterwords)
Han
You okay?
Chewy
Just a flesh wound. (Han helps Chewbacca up)
Han
(R2-D2 rolls into the shot) Good job R2! Convincing.
Chewy
She hates yellow, right?
Obi
No, no she doesn’t. (Everyone looks at him, the other stalker) Um…It was her status last week…
Chewy
He Growls. Everyone laughs because of how stupid Chewbacca is, Chewbacca’s laugh being like before and R2’s being beeps. The camera pans to Lando looking all sexy and stuff. END SCENE