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I'm currenly writing a very long story, known previously as Amneshire... and I'm having a lot of fun with it. It's a bit more twisted than it was previously.
So I think I'll write a bit on here because I'm in the mood for it.
--------------
There is a sound. A sound that can send your mind through a hundred different situations, a reminder of a thousand different memories, of millions of different people. Of course, these are different sounds, but only blind people could always be sure of the difference.
In the same sense that someone might remember biting into a chunk of beef, could be the very sound that springs back the memory of someone playing with plastercine as a child.
But to Pablo, the common noise simply represented another small animal. Crouched over the table, carefully tearing away the skin and flesh to find the bones inside.
It started when he found a frog that had dried in the sun. Taking off it's crispy skin, and wiping their remains away, he found the tiny fragile little bones inside. He took it with him to the shed where he lived.
There was a sort of beauty to the model making. To take all the bones from the creature, and to glue them back together again, trying to make the skeletal structure of the frog...
The very first one was a disaster. As was many of the first skeletons. Of course, there were only a few dried out frogs. Pablo needed to find somewhere where frogs died often. Or create any situation to... increase the probability of death.
Only once did he run electricity through the small pond at the bottom of the field. Having so many dead frogs and fish for bone plucking was helpful, but there was such a thing as reproduction. He didn't want to risk taking that many again.
But over time, he began to build his collection of frog and fish skeletons. It amused him to glue the bones to make the frogs stand in karate positions, as if they were in starting blocks of a sprint, or in sexual positions with other skeleton frogs. The fish were simply glued together and hung as mobiles, or just from the ceiling. Circular patterns from fish skeletons were also glued and hung on nails.
Interested deeper, Pablo managed to get hold of a small pellet gun by picking up small change that people had dropped. He simply broke into a gun shop late at night, took the gun he had noticed as the one he prefered, and left the change on the till.
He took aim, and fired. The robin fell to the ground, dead.
Robin's were fun for Pablo. He loved the wings, and the way the skull looked. A few times he shattered the bones with the gun shot, so simply killed a few birds and shot them in different places. He thought it might look weird, but it was fine. Robins were difficult, because of the amount of feathers that had to be picked, and the problem with removing all the flesh from the bones without breaking any.
But after making the perfect birds from the perfect bones... he was left with shattered bones and ones that hadn't been used. And he had an idea.
Instead of gluing them exactly as they should be, Pablo glued the bones of the robin in a deformed manner. In the end, the skull hanged below it's belly, with the wings intertwined and sat upon the neck.
As Pablo finished, eventually, he began to cry. The deformed lifeless robin simply sat glued to the table, with the bones perfectly rearranged to cast a new shadow. He cried more and more and felt hatred inside him.
He punched where the robin stood, and slammed his fist down onto the table. He smashed the bones and cracked every last one of them, and wiped them off the table in the cold loneliness of his shed, nursing his splintered hand. For a few days, he refused to make any more models.
Curled up on the table, with his body in bed, Pablo scratched with a knife into the table. All these perfect little frogs and birds and fish. Perfectly made and perfectly normal. Perfectly lifeless in their textbook beauty.
Pablo's body rose, and he grabbed his gun and went outside. Today he shall hunt for more bones. Today he'll create a beauty that only he would appreciate.
And so it began. Snake-like thin robins with the feet of frogs in a small little army were glued to the wall. Down came the perfectly made fish and up went the concoction of magpies and rabbits.
With the twisted army around him, the circus of freaks, he finally felt more comfortable. To be finally surrounded by the abnormal, the disgusting, things that normal creatures would find disturbing. He found comfort in it.
And eventually, from the bones of frogs and robins, he created a very simple and small structure from how he seemed to look. Tiny arms that sprung from the chest and underneath it, legs for arms, and a twisted and ugly skull which he had to carve into. And upon the body sat a tiny little bone structure from the remains of fish bones.
He smiled as he walked it around, carefully. At last, he had a hobby.
So I think I'll write a bit on here because I'm in the mood for it.
--------------
There is a sound. A sound that can send your mind through a hundred different situations, a reminder of a thousand different memories, of millions of different people. Of course, these are different sounds, but only blind people could always be sure of the difference.
In the same sense that someone might remember biting into a chunk of beef, could be the very sound that springs back the memory of someone playing with plastercine as a child.
But to Pablo, the common noise simply represented another small animal. Crouched over the table, carefully tearing away the skin and flesh to find the bones inside.
It started when he found a frog that had dried in the sun. Taking off it's crispy skin, and wiping their remains away, he found the tiny fragile little bones inside. He took it with him to the shed where he lived.
There was a sort of beauty to the model making. To take all the bones from the creature, and to glue them back together again, trying to make the skeletal structure of the frog...
The very first one was a disaster. As was many of the first skeletons. Of course, there were only a few dried out frogs. Pablo needed to find somewhere where frogs died often. Or create any situation to... increase the probability of death.
Only once did he run electricity through the small pond at the bottom of the field. Having so many dead frogs and fish for bone plucking was helpful, but there was such a thing as reproduction. He didn't want to risk taking that many again.
But over time, he began to build his collection of frog and fish skeletons. It amused him to glue the bones to make the frogs stand in karate positions, as if they were in starting blocks of a sprint, or in sexual positions with other skeleton frogs. The fish were simply glued together and hung as mobiles, or just from the ceiling. Circular patterns from fish skeletons were also glued and hung on nails.
Interested deeper, Pablo managed to get hold of a small pellet gun by picking up small change that people had dropped. He simply broke into a gun shop late at night, took the gun he had noticed as the one he prefered, and left the change on the till.
He took aim, and fired. The robin fell to the ground, dead.
Robin's were fun for Pablo. He loved the wings, and the way the skull looked. A few times he shattered the bones with the gun shot, so simply killed a few birds and shot them in different places. He thought it might look weird, but it was fine. Robins were difficult, because of the amount of feathers that had to be picked, and the problem with removing all the flesh from the bones without breaking any.
But after making the perfect birds from the perfect bones... he was left with shattered bones and ones that hadn't been used. And he had an idea.
Instead of gluing them exactly as they should be, Pablo glued the bones of the robin in a deformed manner. In the end, the skull hanged below it's belly, with the wings intertwined and sat upon the neck.
As Pablo finished, eventually, he began to cry. The deformed lifeless robin simply sat glued to the table, with the bones perfectly rearranged to cast a new shadow. He cried more and more and felt hatred inside him.
He punched where the robin stood, and slammed his fist down onto the table. He smashed the bones and cracked every last one of them, and wiped them off the table in the cold loneliness of his shed, nursing his splintered hand. For a few days, he refused to make any more models.
Curled up on the table, with his body in bed, Pablo scratched with a knife into the table. All these perfect little frogs and birds and fish. Perfectly made and perfectly normal. Perfectly lifeless in their textbook beauty.
Pablo's body rose, and he grabbed his gun and went outside. Today he shall hunt for more bones. Today he'll create a beauty that only he would appreciate.
And so it began. Snake-like thin robins with the feet of frogs in a small little army were glued to the wall. Down came the perfectly made fish and up went the concoction of magpies and rabbits.
With the twisted army around him, the circus of freaks, he finally felt more comfortable. To be finally surrounded by the abnormal, the disgusting, things that normal creatures would find disturbing. He found comfort in it.
And eventually, from the bones of frogs and robins, he created a very simple and small structure from how he seemed to look. Tiny arms that sprung from the chest and underneath it, legs for arms, and a twisted and ugly skull which he had to carve into. And upon the body sat a tiny little bone structure from the remains of fish bones.
He smiled as he walked it around, carefully. At last, he had a hobby.
Page:
Grix Thraves wrote:
> I've changed no names. :0)
"Previously known as Amneshire"
Sounds like a name change to me, Dexter :-D
> I've changed no names. :0)
"Previously known as Amneshire"
Sounds like a name change to me, Dexter :-D
I've changed no names. :0)
... I have NO idea why I just typed Denzil...
Why the name change Denzil?
Yeah! I did read it. It was really good. What a twisted guy. I wonder if he put that stuff on his CV...
Awwww. It looks really good, and i've read your other stuff, which is also really good. But I can't be bothered to read it...
Ahh well, maybe tommorow.
Ahh well, maybe tommorow.
This is the kind of thing I like to read - insights into the strange ways of curious characters. I look forward to reading this big book of yours one day.
I may be relatively new to the forums but Im coming to learn that a Grix Post promises to always rest well within the disturbing scale of things, sometimes more so than others, but always an intriguing read.
MORE PLEASE
MORE PLEASE
Psychiatrists would make a mint out of you. No, really.
How did you get to be so twisted? Still good though.
How did you get to be so twisted? Still good though.
I'm currenly writing a very long story, known previously as Amneshire... and I'm having a lot of fun with it. It's a bit more twisted than it was previously.
So I think I'll write a bit on here because I'm in the mood for it.
--------------
There is a sound. A sound that can send your mind through a hundred different situations, a reminder of a thousand different memories, of millions of different people. Of course, these are different sounds, but only blind people could always be sure of the difference.
In the same sense that someone might remember biting into a chunk of beef, could be the very sound that springs back the memory of someone playing with plastercine as a child.
But to Pablo, the common noise simply represented another small animal. Crouched over the table, carefully tearing away the skin and flesh to find the bones inside.
It started when he found a frog that had dried in the sun. Taking off it's crispy skin, and wiping their remains away, he found the tiny fragile little bones inside. He took it with him to the shed where he lived.
There was a sort of beauty to the model making. To take all the bones from the creature, and to glue them back together again, trying to make the skeletal structure of the frog...
The very first one was a disaster. As was many of the first skeletons. Of course, there were only a few dried out frogs. Pablo needed to find somewhere where frogs died often. Or create any situation to... increase the probability of death.
Only once did he run electricity through the small pond at the bottom of the field. Having so many dead frogs and fish for bone plucking was helpful, but there was such a thing as reproduction. He didn't want to risk taking that many again.
But over time, he began to build his collection of frog and fish skeletons. It amused him to glue the bones to make the frogs stand in karate positions, as if they were in starting blocks of a sprint, or in sexual positions with other skeleton frogs. The fish were simply glued together and hung as mobiles, or just from the ceiling. Circular patterns from fish skeletons were also glued and hung on nails.
Interested deeper, Pablo managed to get hold of a small pellet gun by picking up small change that people had dropped. He simply broke into a gun shop late at night, took the gun he had noticed as the one he prefered, and left the change on the till.
He took aim, and fired. The robin fell to the ground, dead.
Robin's were fun for Pablo. He loved the wings, and the way the skull looked. A few times he shattered the bones with the gun shot, so simply killed a few birds and shot them in different places. He thought it might look weird, but it was fine. Robins were difficult, because of the amount of feathers that had to be picked, and the problem with removing all the flesh from the bones without breaking any.
But after making the perfect birds from the perfect bones... he was left with shattered bones and ones that hadn't been used. And he had an idea.
Instead of gluing them exactly as they should be, Pablo glued the bones of the robin in a deformed manner. In the end, the skull hanged below it's belly, with the wings intertwined and sat upon the neck.
As Pablo finished, eventually, he began to cry. The deformed lifeless robin simply sat glued to the table, with the bones perfectly rearranged to cast a new shadow. He cried more and more and felt hatred inside him.
He punched where the robin stood, and slammed his fist down onto the table. He smashed the bones and cracked every last one of them, and wiped them off the table in the cold loneliness of his shed, nursing his splintered hand. For a few days, he refused to make any more models.
Curled up on the table, with his body in bed, Pablo scratched with a knife into the table. All these perfect little frogs and birds and fish. Perfectly made and perfectly normal. Perfectly lifeless in their textbook beauty.
Pablo's body rose, and he grabbed his gun and went outside. Today he shall hunt for more bones. Today he'll create a beauty that only he would appreciate.
And so it began. Snake-like thin robins with the feet of frogs in a small little army were glued to the wall. Down came the perfectly made fish and up went the concoction of magpies and rabbits.
With the twisted army around him, the circus of freaks, he finally felt more comfortable. To be finally surrounded by the abnormal, the disgusting, things that normal creatures would find disturbing. He found comfort in it.
And eventually, from the bones of frogs and robins, he created a very simple and small structure from how he seemed to look. Tiny arms that sprung from the chest and underneath it, legs for arms, and a twisted and ugly skull which he had to carve into. And upon the body sat a tiny little bone structure from the remains of fish bones.
He smiled as he walked it around, carefully. At last, he had a hobby.
So I think I'll write a bit on here because I'm in the mood for it.
--------------
There is a sound. A sound that can send your mind through a hundred different situations, a reminder of a thousand different memories, of millions of different people. Of course, these are different sounds, but only blind people could always be sure of the difference.
In the same sense that someone might remember biting into a chunk of beef, could be the very sound that springs back the memory of someone playing with plastercine as a child.
But to Pablo, the common noise simply represented another small animal. Crouched over the table, carefully tearing away the skin and flesh to find the bones inside.
It started when he found a frog that had dried in the sun. Taking off it's crispy skin, and wiping their remains away, he found the tiny fragile little bones inside. He took it with him to the shed where he lived.
There was a sort of beauty to the model making. To take all the bones from the creature, and to glue them back together again, trying to make the skeletal structure of the frog...
The very first one was a disaster. As was many of the first skeletons. Of course, there were only a few dried out frogs. Pablo needed to find somewhere where frogs died often. Or create any situation to... increase the probability of death.
Only once did he run electricity through the small pond at the bottom of the field. Having so many dead frogs and fish for bone plucking was helpful, but there was such a thing as reproduction. He didn't want to risk taking that many again.
But over time, he began to build his collection of frog and fish skeletons. It amused him to glue the bones to make the frogs stand in karate positions, as if they were in starting blocks of a sprint, or in sexual positions with other skeleton frogs. The fish were simply glued together and hung as mobiles, or just from the ceiling. Circular patterns from fish skeletons were also glued and hung on nails.
Interested deeper, Pablo managed to get hold of a small pellet gun by picking up small change that people had dropped. He simply broke into a gun shop late at night, took the gun he had noticed as the one he prefered, and left the change on the till.
He took aim, and fired. The robin fell to the ground, dead.
Robin's were fun for Pablo. He loved the wings, and the way the skull looked. A few times he shattered the bones with the gun shot, so simply killed a few birds and shot them in different places. He thought it might look weird, but it was fine. Robins were difficult, because of the amount of feathers that had to be picked, and the problem with removing all the flesh from the bones without breaking any.
But after making the perfect birds from the perfect bones... he was left with shattered bones and ones that hadn't been used. And he had an idea.
Instead of gluing them exactly as they should be, Pablo glued the bones of the robin in a deformed manner. In the end, the skull hanged below it's belly, with the wings intertwined and sat upon the neck.
As Pablo finished, eventually, he began to cry. The deformed lifeless robin simply sat glued to the table, with the bones perfectly rearranged to cast a new shadow. He cried more and more and felt hatred inside him.
He punched where the robin stood, and slammed his fist down onto the table. He smashed the bones and cracked every last one of them, and wiped them off the table in the cold loneliness of his shed, nursing his splintered hand. For a few days, he refused to make any more models.
Curled up on the table, with his body in bed, Pablo scratched with a knife into the table. All these perfect little frogs and birds and fish. Perfectly made and perfectly normal. Perfectly lifeless in their textbook beauty.
Pablo's body rose, and he grabbed his gun and went outside. Today he shall hunt for more bones. Today he'll create a beauty that only he would appreciate.
And so it began. Snake-like thin robins with the feet of frogs in a small little army were glued to the wall. Down came the perfectly made fish and up went the concoction of magpies and rabbits.
With the twisted army around him, the circus of freaks, he finally felt more comfortable. To be finally surrounded by the abnormal, the disgusting, things that normal creatures would find disturbing. He found comfort in it.
And eventually, from the bones of frogs and robins, he created a very simple and small structure from how he seemed to look. Tiny arms that sprung from the chest and underneath it, legs for arms, and a twisted and ugly skull which he had to carve into. And upon the body sat a tiny little bone structure from the remains of fish bones.
He smiled as he walked it around, carefully. At last, he had a hobby.
Page: