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Post by QueenFoxy on May 17, 2020 13:34:36 GMT -6
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Post by QueenFoxy on Jun 29, 2020 9:42:12 GMT -6
*sigh* Yes. Thank goodness, they do.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Jun 29, 2020 9:51:18 GMT -6
That Dude by Joseph P. Williams & Jamie C. Ruff That’s the Dude right there.
See the dude in the trench?
Yeah, that one. Long, tan trench coat. Black slacks; hard-soled dress shoes; black, too. My man is wearing a beret.
Every day he's on the block, not doing anything but smoking those nasty fruit-flavored cigars and talking to the street people. He’s always dressed like he's going to work, which I guess is appropriate -- that's his job now: hanging on the corner by the store.
He'd be a great snitch. All the people he hangs with are classic street people. But he also knows everyone and everything that's going on in the neighborhood. And if any stuff went down he'd be the guy to ask.
What strikes me is my man is never sloppy. He even comes back from the cleaners with a load of fresh shirts.
"I'll wear the white one Monday, when I'm standing in front of the bodega...Tuesday's blue, for when I'm standing in front of the Chinese restaurant... The plaid one is for the Laundromat... Yellow for when I'm standing in front of the Somali convenience store.... And the pink button-down for casual Friday, when I'm standing in front of that Mexican joint that closed last year...”
He's also the dude who I staggered up to one night, drunk as – you know, and asked who he was. Now I can't remember his name for the life of me.
When I asked him who he was it was because I was interested in who he was.
Also I was really drunk.
Anyway, brother is hanging on to his dignity.
I get it too -- I just think it's interesting.
Fewer and fewer people like that.
There was another old dude I'd run into on the street every now and then; always dressed, even on the hottest day. Bright shirt, loud tie, but he was clean. People would try to crack on him for being dressed up with nowhere to go, but he never cared. All he'd say is that you've got to be sharp if you want to get the women. I never did see him with a woman, but i understand: it was about being who you want to be.
At the end of the day, they all come from the same place: wife dead, or never had one; kid gone, or never had any; all he’s got now is some nice threads, and stories – and he’s happily sharing both.
I don’t know if I should fear it or embrace that one day that old dude just might be me. The End. ⚡ |
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Post by lostineternity99 on Jun 30, 2020 6:20:32 GMT -6
This was a different kind of story and of course ... different is good  |
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Post by QueenFoxy on Jun 30, 2020 11:56:13 GMT -6
I liked it.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Jun 30, 2020 12:06:18 GMT -6
The Joke by Tom Schmidt It was supposed to just be a joke. Really…
Josh, Pat and Casey drove over to the house of Rachel Vessing with the intent of play a bit of a joke on her 17th birthday. The “mooning” of the attractive redhead while singing “happy birthday” was intended to in fun. They were sure that Rachel won’t be offended and would take the gesture in the manner intended.
Hey, it was just a joke, right? But unbeknownst to the boys, Rachel’s father, the Reverend Josiah Vessing, was at home that night and not at bible study as was usually the case for a Wednesday evening in the fall. The widower was protective of his only daughter so what happened was not totally unexpected. So the boys were surprised when both Rachel and Reverend Vessing opened the door. Turned around and bent over, the boys thought that just Rachel was there when she gasped “oh my god” at the sight of their bare buttocks. But they quickly realized their mistake when they heard a male voice boom out “what the hell??”
Fleeing off the porch while simultaneously trying to buckle their pants, boys might have been a bit too distracted to hear the reverend’s final comment to them as they ran off his property.
“That is not what I was talking about last week when I said that we all need to turn the other cheek…” The End ⚡ |
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Post by lostineternity99 on Jul 1, 2020 7:16:06 GMT -6
At least he had a sense of humor ... LOL
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Post by QueenFoxy on Jul 1, 2020 17:10:07 GMT -6
He did for sure, Rick.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Jul 1, 2020 17:24:40 GMT -6
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Post by lostineternity99 on Jul 2, 2020 6:39:22 GMT -6
This was a nice story to read  |
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Post by QueenFoxy on Jul 2, 2020 16:19:37 GMT -6
That sure is the way to treat a child. Let him grow up before burdening him with adult problems.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Jul 2, 2020 16:32:40 GMT -6
Crazy Lady Detective Agency by Walter Giersbach When my dog went missing, I focused on Lamont James. Lamont’s my sometime friend — quote unquote — who brought dog-frickin-biscuits every time he visited to drink my beer. And I think he had a key to my crib cause my one-time girlfriend Monica said she lost the one I gave her last year and Lamont has been seen walking with her on Broadway.
I loved my dog, Marvin. Not one of these yappy little candidates for a squeak toy, he’s a mixed breed pit bull who holds his own in the park. Marvin would get down off the porch and wrassel with the big dogs. That’s the test of character.
Next thing I thought of was my gal Charmayne. Charmayne coulda been a bulldog herself. She’s the toughest, hottest babe in the hood, like when the summertime came and the sun went down, she’d peel off layers and make traffic stop on Amsterdam Avenue. That one always looked foxy, with her short shorts and her headlights hangin out of a blouse open to her bellybutton. We saw each other for a few dates. Nothin more than holdin hands.
But she got on my case later when she thought I’d done wrong by one of her girlfriends. She waltzed into Small’s Bar and slapped me side of the head.
“I want you to get your shit outta Kereeka’s hooch and don’t bother her no more. You two-timin her and gonna break her heart. And don’t touch the Nespresso machine cause it’s mine.”
I said, “You confusin me with some other dude, Charmayne. I’m not down on Kereeka. I got a job running a parking lot ten hours a day.”
“Mind what I say, mofo.” Then she walked out of Small’s and everbody was laughin at me. Humiliatin is the word for it, but I know Charmayne has character and was probably havin her monthly or got troubles with her mother.
Tough. That’s why I called Charmayne. “Somebody stole my Marvin, Charmayne, and you the only person can get him back from Lamont, who I think is the perp.”
She says, “Any whyn’t you do it? It’s your dog.”
“If Lamont did not steal my dog, my accusin him would cost me our friendship. And if he did steal my dog, he might try to whup my ass cause he a mean….”
She laughed on the phone like a fire siren. “You think I’m some kind of ladies detective agency?” And the siren went off again, like to make me deaf.
“Give you fifty bucks you find Marvin and kick Lamont’s ass.”
“A deal.”
With fifty bucks on the table I had to protect my investment. I knew where Lamont lived on 126th off St. Nicholas Avenue. So I hang at Biggy’s Pizza. which smells like Lysol, till he waltzed up the street. Charmayne steps out from a beauty parlor storefront right behind Lamont.
“Stop right there, Lamont, and face me like a man,” she shouts.
“Who you talkin to, girl?”
“I’m talkin to you, a dog-nappin low-down thief in the night who done my friend wrong, and he wants his dog back.”
“I don’t got no dog!”
“What’s in that Gristedes shoppin bag? Open it!” She was shoutin and I could hear it through Biggy’s open window.
“Ah, man, you got no call….”
Well, Charmayne grabbed the plastic bag from his hands and a dozen eggs hit the front stoop.
“Gah-damn,” Lamont wailed. “My eggs.”
“Don’t make me mad! Now the other bag!”
Kind of embarrassed, he opened it slowly. She snatched the bag and turned it open so her and me could both see it had dog kibbles. Not Marvin’s brand, but he’s not picky.
“Ah, you got no call to do that, Charmayne.”
“Lamont, you go upstairs and bring me that dog or I’ll call the cops on your sorry ass. Dog nappin is against the law. Right now, I say.”
I finished my pepperoni slice and threw the crust in the street for the rats just as Lamont came out the door with Marvin. “Lamont,” I shouted, “you found my dog. Bless you, my man. I been lookin’ everywhere.”
“This Charmayne say I stole your dog.”
“Ah, nah, man. Ain’t the first time Marvin decided to go for a walk. Why, thank you too, Charmayne.”
He stepped backwards up the stoop. “You got this woman to hit on me, accusin me of dog nappin?”
“Why, no, Lamont, I told her there was a fifty dollar reward for returnin Marvin.”
“Hey,” he said. “I found the dog! I get the fifty.”
“But she returned him to me. Besides, you owe me seventy-five from getting your stuff outta hock at the pawn shop. Or you can give Charmayne fifty and me twenty-five…and the key to my crib. Or I can call that Irish cop who’s usually around the corner on Martin Luther King Boulevard.”
And that’s how me and Marvin got reunited. And Lamont apologized a little bit when I got my key and twenty-five bucks back. He said Marvin loved him and no one ever loved him before.
Later, Charmayne tells me, “You got character, Lamont. What they call psychology. And I’m sorry for slappin you at Small’s.”
“I’m glad all is well again in the hood,” I say with my best smile. “And I got an idea, Charmayne. Let’s get a beer at Small’s and I’ll tell you my idea about startin the Crazy Lady Detective Agency.” ⚡
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Post by lostineternity99 on Jul 3, 2020 8:33:13 GMT -6
Cool story  |
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Post by QueenFoxy on Jul 3, 2020 14:08:55 GMT -6
The Sanctity of Home by Paul Beckman
We watched the moving truck pull up next door. We were still in our pjs and looking down from our bedroom window. My brother, Wilson and me high-fived each other and got silly because we were finally getting rid of the bully, Norman, who’d been tormenting us for years. We knew mom and dad were happy too, cause Norman’s parents had been annoying them for years.
Finally, around one in the afternoon while they were still packing, another moving truck pulled up in front of our house with a van and a pickup truck right behind. A large, bald tattooed man got out of the pickup and a lady and two kids got out from the van. The dropped the tailgate on the pickup, pulled a ramp out and backed down two three wheelers which the kids got on and drove around the cul-de-sac. Around and around.
The mother, after a bit, took out a blanket and a picnic basket and walked over to our front lawn and made themselves to home. The father motioned for the kids to come over and they did wheelies and gunned their bikes over and parked in our driveway.
Mom was speechless because dad was going to be coming home soon and the lawn was his pride and joy. The two kids, they looked about twelve, listened to their father and came up and rang our doorbell.
“My father says we should use your bathroom to wash up before we eat our lunch,” one of the brothers said. He looked over at me and Wilson and grinned a bully’s grin. Before my mother could answer my father pulled up to the house and began to turn into the driveway. Blocked by the bikes, he honked his horn and looked over at the picnickers who waved and motioned him over,
Dad did that and tattoo guy stood towering over dad by a few inches and lots of pounds and they shook hands. They talked for a few minutes and Mr. Tattoo yelled for his boys to move their bikes which they did leaving ruts in dad’s pride and joy yard. Dad put his arm around Mr. Tattoo and spoke into his ear.
Next thing you know dad walks into our garage and returns with a sledge hammer and we know that those bikes are history. Instead he walks over to this tricked out pickup with racing stripes, 4 doors, extended bed and beautiful wheel hubs and starts to beat the shit out of it. He knocks out all the windows, lights and dents every surface he can. The Tattoo guy is standing and watching.
Dad calls us over and hands us the sledgehammer and points to the bikes and we look at him and he nods and we go and beat the shit out of the bikes. Mom is outside watching and Dad takes the sledgehammer and reaches it out to Mom and points at the van.
There are now neighbors out watching this scene play out and Dad takes back the sledgehammer and walks over to Mr. Tattoo and swings it down on his foot as hard as he can. The neighbors murmur and then applaud which is unusual because my folks really don’t know the neighbors.
Mr. Tattoo calls his moving driver over and they talk and then the moving driver gets in his truck and drives off. Mrs. Tattoo gathers the food from our lawn and gathers everyone into the van and they drive off just as they came—in a squeal of rubber. An hour later two tow trucks pick up the truck and motorcycles and haul them away while dad is outside on his lawn raking the ruts.
That night we sit around the table after dinner and dad explains why we have different names and can’t talk about our past. He says that the tattoo guy is also in the Government Witness Protection Program and they made a mistake moving him next to us and that all he had to do was explain it to the man and get his attention and everything would be alright.
Two months later Dad gave us our new names and we moved in the middle of the night from Tempe to Pasadena. We only took some clothes and toys and left all of the furniture.
When we got to our new house it was furnished and on a lake and very private. Dad said that he was no longer a manager at McDonalds but that his new job was selling life insurance which he was obviously very good at. ⚡ |
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Post by lostineternity99 on Jul 4, 2020 6:28:34 GMT -6
Wow ... at least they ended up living in a much nicer place |
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Post by QueenFoxy on Jul 4, 2020 7:11:38 GMT -6
YES!!
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Post by QueenFoxy on Jul 4, 2020 7:21:52 GMT -6
The Journey Ahead Written by J. K. Miller II “So…I’m not really sure what to do here? I’ve never had a professional talk with you.” “Why don’t you start with your name?” “Uh, Kathryn…” “Your full name.” “Kathryn Marie Edslar.” “And why are you here, Kathryn?” “Because…I’m scared.” “What are you scared of?” “Life.” “What about life scares you?” “Everything…college…bills…being a real adult. Everything.” “Okay. Let’s start with college. What are you majoring in?” “Vet Science.” “You want to be a Veterinarian?” “Yeah.” “Is there anything else you want to do?” “Play basketball.” “What position do you play?” “I’m a two. The university’s coach said I’m good enough to make the team, but I gotta try out.” “It sounds to me like you’ve got a good foot in already. Why are you scared?” “I don’t know. I’m just scared. I want to go to college, it’s not that. I just…I’m scared that I’m going to fail. Everyone in the family has at least a Bachelor’s. I don’t want to be the first to flunk.” “Anything else?” “…I’m scared I won’t make the basketball team. I’m scared of having a psycho roommate…classes…moving away from home.” “Are any of your friends going to the same school?” “Just my boyfriend’s, but I watch a lot of T.V. I’m scared he’s going to find someone prettier than me and cheat on me, or something. I’m scared that nobody’s going to like me.” “Keep going.” “I’m scared something bad’s going to happen while I’m at school. And even if I make it through college, I know the economy sucks right now. What if I can’t find a job? I don’t know how to buy a house. What if I don’t have enough money for bills? What if something happens to my car? What is something happens to me!?” She began to get emotional and stopped. Tears streamed down her face as she covered her mouth with her hand. I offered her a tissue from the box on the coffee table between us. “Thank you,” she said. “Take your time.” “I’m fine.” She blew her nose. “I’m just scared.” I nodded. “Scared of life.” She sniffled. “Yeah.” I sat back in the chair. “Do you want my personal opinion or my professional diagnosis?” “I don’t know. Professional.” I shook my head slightly. “You’re not crazy. You’re a high school senior. Now would you like my personal opinion?” She nodded, obviously relieved that she was not a mental case. “Yeah.” “I think it’s good to feel these feelings. It means that you care about your life. I think that if you use these feelings to drive you, to make sure you do your very best on the court and in the classroom, you will be a better student and athlete. As far as your boyfriend goes, things will work themselves out, for better or worse. Who knows, you might even get married.” I hope so. I do love him a lot. “I know. Life after college is not something you need to worry about right now. Just take things one step at a time. You’ve already been accepted, just worry about getting there, getting to class on time, and trying out for the team. I’ve got a feeling that once you get there, you’ll learn that it’s not as terrible as you thought. They say it’s the best years of your life.” That brought a smile to Kathryn’s face. “Okay.” “Do you feel better?” “Yes.” Together, we rose from the comfortable couches in the middle of my office. She collected her flower backpack from the ground next to her seat and walked toward the closed door at the end of the hallway behind her chair. Before she reached the door, she turned and smiled at me. “Thanks Mom.” I smiled and winked. She opened the door, disappearing into the busy hallway of students walking to their next class. I sighed as I sat behind my desk, swelling with pride at the possibly life-changing mother-daughter heart-to-heart conversation. Being a high school counselor had its perks. ⚡ |
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Post by QueenFoxy on Jul 18, 2020 12:02:23 GMT -6
Laurel Written by Jordan Pease It was summertime,1947, and a warm breeze swirled through the neighborhoods caressing old brick homes with white painted porches and radios blasting out tunes by the Harmonicats. Those were the days when milk was still brought to your door in cold sweating glass bottles which the doorman delivered clinking to your doorstep and sleek black cars cruised by on white wall tires blaring horns that really let you have what for.
My father had come back from the war three years before, gaunt and etched, a ghost of the man he’d been -- returned back to us from across some raging ocean surrounded by killing fields, entire countries become crypts. He was further away now than he’d ever been during the war. He drank Schlitz on the porch all day every day, that’s what he did, from sun up to sun down and my mother and I mostly just stayed away.
But I was 13 at the time and it was glorious summer. I spent every day with Tommy Miller, a scrawny boy to be sure, but a renowned hellion. We spent that summer roaming creation. We shot at squirrels and birds in Oakree forest with our slingshots and fished all along the banks of Carr creek, a mobius band of swishing waterfalls and silvery pools. Its creekbed pocked full of deep holes where mighty catfish and river nasties lurked and the days whipped by .
I tell you it was just pure joyful life, and I was alive and it was me and Tommy best friends forever, and that’s when I saw her and everything changed. She wasn’t just any girl, her name was Laurel, and she was the tail of a comet or a shooting star, whispy cold and beautiful. The sky I remember was shouting blue and we were playing baseball with the other 8thgraders out on Hest field and she came walking by with a group of girls and I tell you that was it. Man I must’ve looked like a fool standing there with my mouth agape while those girls passed by -- I don’t even remember how the game ended and I don’t remember the next few days. Where those memories should be I see only grey fog and her.
But I remember every bit of the moment I saw her, every second, the way the grass felt between my toes, the smell of dirt and summer and trees and the clenched knot in my stomach. My heart skipping and jumping and stopping and triple beating and I knew from the moment I saw her that I was in love – deep everlasting head over heels love.
Her skin was pale porcelain starlight and her eyes were lightning blue and her pouty lips were promises wrapped in red ribbons and yes sir I tell you I knew it from the moment I saw her, she was for me and I for her and we would marry and have kids and grow old until we faded away into our golden years sipping lemonade on porch swings. Two old farts in love. One of us would go first, probably get cancer, and we’d hold hands in the hospital until twilight called the other home.
And so I planned how to win her and thought myself silly but knew what I lacked in experience I would more than compensate for with enthusiasm.
A day passed then two, two nights of dreams of Laurel. Sweet lark filled dreams of gentle moonlight and grassy green plateaus and starless skies forever. I saw an elk in my dreams, I was the elk and I ran for days and nights through white crystalline snow, lightning beneath my hooves and she was the sun and moon that lit my way.
Til Saturday arrived. It was Saturday june 14, 1947, and not a cloud dare defy the radiance and fullness of that day -- I remember! I had chosen Saturday because I knew there would be a pickup football game down on Brower field. I knew my friends would be there and the other boys from Camry street would be there and we would become clashing titans that day and the gods of Olympus would be watching, they’d be watching as we battled for glory just as we had done every Saturday for the last few months, the gods would be watching but more importantly the girls would be watching too. The, girl, would be watching…
They always came by to watch the games, pretending to be interested in football. I’d told my mother about it once and she said “well now Isaac, girls aren’t interested in football, they are interested in the boys playing football.” It hadn’t made much sense at the time but Laurel had awoken in me an understanding of the nature of boys and girls and that primal desire to love and be loved and I knew then as I know now she had not been interested in football all along, or even boys, she had been interested in me. I was the reason she came to watch football on Saturdays.
I was going to play the game of a lifetime, those boys weren’t going to know what hit em, I would play so well that she couldn’t help but see me and only me. After the game, after I had impressed her, I would ask her if I could walk her home, make small talk, and hold her hand. We’d follow the creek and on the way we’d stop to sit along that old flat rock that perches over the pool where minnows dart like quicksilver and moss sways in the rippling blue water. There is an opening in the trees and when the sun is low enough a dusky orange glow shines through and illuminates the rock and it is warm and beautiful and takes your breath away. My plan was to kiss her at that perfect moment, when the brilliance of it all had taken her breath away so that she we would kiss me deeply and I would be her breath.
And it worked - to a point. I remember playing well although I don’t remember who won nor did I care. Afterwards I jogged over to where her friends and her were standing looking uninterested and I introduced myself to her. It went well I think, or think it must have because although hesitant, she did agree to part ways with her friends and let me walk her home.
And as the sun set in shades of brilliant red and shadows grew long we walked and talked along the soft muddy banks of Carr creek. The lapping musics of gurgling water filled the pauses in our talking and so there were no awkward pauses of the kind you’d expect during inexperienced newly blossomed romances – I had planned well.
She told me of her mother and father and laughed when she spoke of her mother’s new hairdo. She told me how it flipped up in the front like a duck’s bill and when she yelled her husband’s name, Hank, she sounded like a duck. It was funny and we both laughed long and loud.
And so it went until we came to that large flat rock and my palms did grow sweaty then and my heart skipped beats, this was where we’d stop and sit and I’d kiss her in the setting sun. Only there was a hiccup in my plan, she did seem to grow nervous at the thought of dallying too long, of stopping to sit on the rock, she said her parents would grow worried and I understood. My parents – at least my mother- were like to tan my hide whenever I showed up after dark.
So I rushed things and I began to bumble when she refused to sit and stay. I shifted my plans and as she turned to continue walking past the rock and towards home I grabbed her hand to turn her towards me moving in swiftly to kiss her and just as our lips were so close I could feel the warmth of her breath, she pulled away.
Normally one would take this as a sign to stop and adjust strategies but I knew our fate. I knew that we would grow old together and that once I kissed her and made her understand, she would be mine and I would be hers, forever. So I tugged as she tugged and I being the stronger forced her into me and my lips to hers and they touched and even so she struggled until she and we slipped on muddied rocks and fell into the creek. I banged my knee on something sharp and she her elbow on a rock I know for she let out a yelp and I laughed and giggled as we had made a mess of things -- two lovers falling in a creek.
Oh how I laughed and laughed and I knew I must kiss her more and more. She continued to struggle and I knew that in her struggles she was wasting time and avoiding truth and that I must make her see and understand. And grasping her throat with both hands I pressed mightily her head towards the water and she screamed then still not understanding how much she loved me. She struggled like a wild cat, but I laughing and in love knew only the power and joy and strength of unfathomable love. Her screams turned to gurgles as water filled her mouth and her eyes widened lovely gorgeous green and I pressed more mightily and squeezed more tightly as she more struggling gradually died. A stolen breath here a screaming gurgling gasp there and still I pressed – water bending and refracting images of my love basked in orange rays until her porcelain skin and red lips turned blue.
I pressed deeper into the water and I knew she was close to understanding but still she fought so I began smashing my fist into her mouth, punching – my fist rose above the water and rocketed below to pound and smash her mouth and I think I cut my fist on her teeth but I was in rapture driven ecstasy. And then as suddenly as she had fought so suddenly she ceased.
When she became limp and accepting of my love I knew she finally understood. She wanted no other than me and I no other than her and I knew I must find a place to hide her away. A place to keep the world’s prying eyes and jealous heart away. And I did, being so very clever, I thought of a place where no one would look.
I walked along the middle of Carr creek until I felt a sudden drop, a hole wide enough for Laurel, but small enough to keep her cozy.
I cradled her and held her in the light, kissing closed her eyes and kissing her smashed and bloodied lips a broken tooth scratched my lip and I remember my exact words to her at the time for they were my vow, “Goodbye my love I’ll come to see you soon do not be afraid for I will always love you and I will keep the world at bay. I’ll come back and kiss you until my flesh is no longer able but even then do not be afraid for as a phantasm I’ll lay beside you in your embrace.”
I then submerged her below and into that hole and pressed with the sole of my shoe until her body filled that hole and I carried several of the largest rocks I could find and filled the remainder of the hole with them until she was completely covered and safe. You see how much I do care for her don’t you?
Then I went skipping home a boy in love.
And so my secret is revealed and you probably are thinking that I couldn’t be happy because I never get to see my darling love. But I do see her! Once a year on the anniversary of that special day I go to Carr creek and walk into the water until the water is to my chest and I lift the rocks which cover her and bring her to the surface and cradle her in my arms and kissing her renew my vow and make love to her in the light of the moon.
And she grows more beautiful by the year. Although her flesh is gone, we have grown in trust and companionship. For what is love but sacrifice and trust? I have sacrificed my primal urge to judge beauty by the flesh and instead I love her for who she really is. What is devotion if it isn’t unconditional love? I go now for my final visit in this fleshly form. I go to place myself where I belong near Laurel. I’ll find the biggest rock I can and carry it till I am submerged in the hole with my darling and using my last breath and strength I’ll pull that rock over our heads and the deep darkness will keep us for eternity. ⚡
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Post by lostineternity99 on Aug 18, 2020 7:40:46 GMT -6
This is a freaky dark story Dragon1
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Post by QueenFoxy on Aug 18, 2020 9:37:33 GMT -6
Very much so, Rick. Makes me shudder.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Aug 18, 2020 9:46:48 GMT -6
The Rainmaker Jeremy Szal STOP DOING THAT!
David Krane knew something was wrong the moment he stepped foot into the town. Not just the sort of wrong he was used to. No, not that at all. It was really, really wrong.
Wrong was one hell of an understatement.
The unsettling fog shifted and spun around him like a spectral embrace as he walked, his heavy boots crunching on gravel and broken glass. He almost left cold fingers brush against his face, but it was probably the wind.
Yes, it was definitely the wind.
Countless houses were boarded up on the streets, their window panes covered with tape and plastic. Metal skirtings blocked gates, and doors had massive wooden boards nailed to them. Rubbish, blackened bins, wrecked cars and broken toys were thrown everywhere, like some giant had emptied his bins on the streets. Krane had never been anywhere this unsettling…or quiet. He shivered despite the warm coat. He liked to think he had seen it all, but he knew it was a lie. His thoughts were cut off as he stepped on a splintered piece of wood, a stabbing pain spiking through his heel.
‘Shit,’ he murmured, stumbling over to a rotting bench and examining his injuries. A nail or a shard of glass had pierced his shoe and breached skin, drawing blood. He wrenched his boot off and examined the cut. Suddenly the bench he was sitting on collapsed, sending a crackling noise bouncing down the streets. Confused by the situation he got to his feet and dusted himself off.
‘Hehe. Hehe, haha.’
It sounded like child laughing.
It felt like an icy bucket of water had been emptied inside him. He glanced around, looking for the source of the sound. There was nothing.
He could have sworn he heard a child laughing.
I’m losing my mind, he thought. His hand instinctively reached for the ‘puffer’ in his pocket. At least there was no one around here to hide it from. He pressed on the trigger and sucked on the gush of the delicious poison. His head bounced around for a moment and then everything came back to normal.
‘Now, where to?’ He glanced quickly at the directions on the sketchy map that he had been given. He spotted the marked house and set off, his pace slightly faster than before.
He just couldn’t shake the feeling that someone – or something was watching him. Watching, watching, watching, watching…
WHY? WHY ME?
The date is the 12th of Nov, 20--. I’ve arrived at ---------. It’s quiet. Where the hell is everyone? It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. It feels…different. I just wanna get this done and get the hell out of here and never, ever, ever come back. Stay tuned....more to come ⚡
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Post by lostineternity99 on Aug 19, 2020 13:40:39 GMT -6
An intriguing setup to this one  |
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Post by QueenFoxy on Aug 20, 2020 9:20:52 GMT -6
Yes.....
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Post by QueenFoxy on Aug 20, 2020 9:37:02 GMT -6
The rusty swings in the park rattled in the wind, their chains whimpering and shaking with terror. Krane did his best to ignore it, stepping over a pile of rubbish and navigating his way through a graveyard of broken building scaffolds and timber panelings. He turned up the stairs and onto a balcony that was soaked with rain and moss, possessive black vines snaking up the woodwork. He tried the door handle, surprised to find that it was open. He entered the dimly lit house, the hallway aligned with still portraits of what was probably the former residents. They looked hollow and empty, as if someone had sucked all life and joy out of them with a straw. Suddenly the door slammed shut with a gigantic clang. He walked back to investigate. Somehow he wasn’t surprised to find that it was locked. WHY DON’T YOU JUST TURN AROUND FOR A MOMENT? I swear I’m going crazy. No disrespect to the people that used to live here, but this is one screwed up town. And what’s with all the toys on the ground? There was a half-eaten slice of cake in the kitchen, and Krane hadn’t eaten in hours. He greedily wolfed it down, not even caring how old it was. It was only when he was hungrily chewing on it did he realize that it was warm and tasted fresh. He quickly swallowed and gazed at the cake. It couldn’t have been cooked recently…half these houses had been empty for years. The thick dust on the floor could attest to that. He gave up trying to think about an answer. Logic never got him anywhere in situations like this, and it certainly wouldn’t help him now. Glancing down at the plate he noticed the words “slice of life” engraved on it in loopy letters. Slice of life, he thought. Heh. Another one of those awful portraits hung in the kitchen. Actually this one wasn’t so awful. It showed an old woman with a weather-beaten face, chuckling at some private joke as she smoked on a heavy pipe. He raised the cake in her direction. ‘Grandma, you make some damn good cake.’ He didn’t expect a response and wasn’t disappointed. The portrait didn’t move. It was time to find a way out of the house. He turned around to go when he noticed that the fridge was on. Now that was strange. He grasped the rusty handle and yanked it open. Countless body parts were aligned neatly across the shelves, their stumps still bleeding heavily as their bucketed their contents onto the floor. Krane slammed the door shut, almost tripping backwards in his haste to get out of the house. In the hallway it just got worse. Images were flashing before his eyes, colours screaming at him, twisting, turning. Three bloodied corpses in the hallway, lashings of blood on the walls and floor. The portraits all staring, their faces contorting into savage snarls. Something screaming. An axe being lifted and smashing down. A fire. Smoke, ash, burning. Things burning. Burning, burning, burning. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…. He fumbled for his puffer, and with shaky hands inhaled deeply. His squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. It was all gone. Barely able to stand up straight, he stumbled into the next room, barely hearing the door behind him slam and lock shut. HEHEHEHEH. YOU’RE REALLY CLUELESS, AREN’T YOU? YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE COME HERE, BUT YOU PROBABLY KNOW THAT BY NOW. Was it that cake? No, it can’t be. And how the HELL is there a freshly baked cake here? No. I can’t focus on that now…I need to…do what I have to do. Then I’ll leave. After everything he had ever seen in his entire life, nothing came close to this. He had been in this room for a good hour now, and there was still no way out. His puffer was running low. If he became stuck here without it…. No. Don’t give in. It was an old lounge room with antique furniture and a shimmering mirror that let off a sensation that really bothered him. When he approached the mirror, it seemed to glow and sent a vibration pulsing through the air, making a low hissing noise as it did. He noticed a .45 caliber revolver lying smugly on the desk. Aiming at the mirror he fired off the three rounds. The sounds were deafening, but none of those sounds were the mirror shattering. It stood there mocking him and impenetrable as always. He threw the gun down in anger, on the verge of giving up. It was then that he noticed half the items in the room weren’t visible in the mirror, such as the lamp on the desk. He could see himself walking over to it, but when it picked it up the movement was not visible in the mirror. It showed him holding empty air. ‘Huh.’ He let his hand go limp, dropping the lamp. It smashed to the ground, making a loud smash that was louder than it had any right to be. When he looked in the mirror he saw something materializing on the desk. A few moments later he saw that it was the lamp, a perfect reflection of what had been there a few moments ago. But when he looked back at the floor, the lamp bronze shards were shattered into countless pieces. Was it because I broke it? What else was different? Gazing carefully into the mirror, he noticed there were a few objects that he could see, but the mirror couldn’t. Waking over to a picture frame – one that showed a large spiral tower, completely drawn with black charcoal – he dislodged it from the wall, tearing the image from the frame. Just like the lamp, the mirror showed the eerie picture where it had been a few moments ago, framed perfectly on the wall. Not even considering the why or how, he started destroying everything he could see in the room that differed from the mirror’s reflection. A vase, a toy UFO, a plastic stick, a CD-ROM, and an umbrella. But it still didn’t change anything. It was then it noticed the purple candle in the corner. He walked over to it, a sudden inkling coming over him. Reaching into his jacket pocket he brought out a lighter, flicking a hungry blue flame into the air. He lit the candle and stepped back, a strange smell seeping into the air. He jumped as the mirror behind him shattered, giant fragments of glass spilling onto the floor. He did it. Gingerly stepping over the glass splinters, he headed into the next room. THIS IS REALLY FUN! I need to get out of here. I’ll come here for what I came for and then get out. This place wants to destroy me… Krane walked down the dusty hallway, wiping the cobwebs away as they caught in his face. Coming to the end of the hallway he pushed the door open, not knowing what he would see. The room was raining. It was raining inside. The ceiling was pouring rain. There was no noise, and the water sunk into the ground the moment it touched the wooden floor. Just like the blood. He had to hurry. Pulling his hood over his head, he strode past the toys and drawings on the floor, noticing for the first time that this room was a child’s room. A shard of ice spiked through his heart. He walked over to the desk, his hands finding the two things he was looking for. The object, and the note. He looked at the object, a slender talisman with a clouded jewel in the middle. It was strange to think that such a small piece of twisted, black metal had destroyed this entire town and everyone in it. But he had learned long ago not to be fooled by appearances. The more innocent something was, the more dangerous it was likely to be. He placed it in his pocket and then glanced at the note, the water splattering on the page and dripping to the floor, crying ink. I had to do it. I didn’t want to, but I did. No one understands what it’s like having this power. She found out about it. I had no choice. I’m sorry. It had to be done, and I would do it again, again, again, again, just to make sure no one finds out. But I’m done now. Whoever you are, you can have it. It’s twisted everything it touches beyond recognition and reality. Don’t try to find me. You won’t. No one will. It has to be like this. That poor, poor little girl…why did she have to find out? This burden is mine to carry. But this one burden…her burden…it’s too much. I’m getting out of here. God forgive me. James K-------- 12th of June, 19— 4, Lamb Street, -------- Krane walked out of the house....out of the street, out of the town, with no one but the rain for company. The End ⚡ |
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Post by lostineternity99 on Aug 20, 2020 12:00:54 GMT -6
Looks can be deceiving; an intense story to the end Dragon1
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Post by QueenFoxy on Aug 20, 2020 13:53:21 GMT -6
Decay in Mechanical Dust by Ryan Bridendolph He aligned the electronic key with the door and thrust it in. It entered with a quiet beep, and a surge of electricity piped at its end. The key turned as the work began. Reid Enstrom stood in the darkened street, glancing about, and waited for the job to be completed. Just as the clockwise rotation was nearing its end, the mechanism stopped, followed by a glaring red light. Reid’s heart raced as he realized the process had failed. He retrieved the key, and with one last peek around, he darted into the alley. The newer cars had become harder to hack, creating further hardships on Reid’s work. His code had failed him for the second time that evening, and as he neared the other side of the alleyway he heard the car’s alarm blaring in the distance. Good thing I installed that thirty second fail safe, Reid thought to himself. Enough time to make a quick getaway. As he casually walked the barren streets he kept his eyes open, searching for police vehicles.He would soon be far enough to not be a suspect, even if questioned. He knew he had to travel a long distance before trying his key on another car. If he tried two cars in proximity to another his chances of getting caught increased. His watched vibrated as the hour hand hit the 2. Realizing he was running out of time Reid quickened his pace. After crossing two miles he crossed another alleyway and began searching for another opportunity. Reid hated having to steal cars, but ever since he refused the job from mayor Heardy, he had not been able to get work doing anything legal, as if black listed from the workforce. Heardy had asked him to do something unethical, coding chips with the ability to remotely take control of cars, and was furious when Reid declined. The mayor explained he would never work in the city again, and so far had been right. After scouring the streets looking for an older model car, Reid encountered a perfect sample.It was ten years old, and he was certain his key would be able to unlock it. He strolled up to it, having checked for cops and pedestrians, and inserted his key. Electricity zapped again, starting the keys rotation. This time, however, when it beeped, the light turned green. The car door clicked, opening with a groan. After his seat belt crossed his chest, and snapped itself into place, he took off towards the buyer. The city was darker than usual; the autumn sky swarmed with low hanging gray clouds that blocked out what little light the moon had to offer. His seat belt unlatched its self, after pulling into the buyer’s garage and turning off the car. As Reid got out of the car the buyer approached him. He wore flannel pajamas, and his hair was a mess. “What’s this?” He asked Reid scowling. “A car. What’s it look like?” The buyer shook his head, “No, it’s too old. I told you I needed something recent to make any money out of it.” “I have to re code my key. It didn’t work on the newer models. I’ll have it fixed by tonight, but for now, the car is still nice.” “It was nice ten years ago.” Said the buyer. “It’s all I have man. I’ll have the new code by tomorrow night, and you will get your new car.” He sighed, “Fine, but this can’t happen again. I don’t know if I can even get rid of this thing. You better have that code fixed by tomorrow night.” Reid nodded, “I will. Thanks.” “I can’t give you the full amount for this, but I can give you something.” The buyer said as he typed on his PAL, an electronic device with an LCD screen used for most every day functions. Reid raised his arm to view the screen on his own PAL, and navigated to his bank account, “That’s it? Come on, that’s less than half.” The buyer shrugged, “Do better tomorrow and I’ll honor our agreement. You’re lucky to get that. I’m going back home to bed. Be here tomorrow night with a new car.” Reid agreed, glad that he had gotten paid at all, and headed home to work on his code. Stay tuned. Sounds good. ⚡ |
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See you all more tomorrow. Happy Friday/weekend everyone 
See you all more tomorrow. Happy Friday/weekend everyone