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Here's a story I just wrote. Its alright, nothing special. I havenen't been writing many recently, concentrating on my novel. Anyway, comment please, and above all, enjoy!
Trevor threw down the evening paper in disgust. The headline “Animorph Strikes Again” was the reason of his annoyance. Trevor was a scientific man, and he believed there was a scientific explanation for everything, which is why he thought the Animorph story to be complete rubbish. Imagine, he though, someone having the power to morph into an animal! And then, after that, they could gain access to peoples homes, then disembowel them!! Trevor gave a snort of disgust. Another crack-pot media story thought up in a vain effort to persuade more people to purchase their scum filled newspapers. Certainly, the horrific murders had occurred, but they were probably committed by some junkie who had went one pop to far. And the witnesses who supposedly saw these people turn into animals were probably fresh out of a psychiatric home. Trevor sighed and stretched out in his armchair, shrugging his slippers of his feet and slipping his reading glasses back into their green pouch. He got up and stretched again, and then put the iron screen back across the fire that was dying slowly in the fireplace. He turned off the light, then closed the door to the living room and slowly climbed up the staircase.
Trevor crawled into his cold bed, then turned off the bedside lamp and snuggled down into the covers. He was going to read, but had tired out his eyes with that accursed newspaper. Besides, it was too late and he was tired, now he just wanted to sleep.
But Trevor did not sleep well. It took him a long time, and just when he was in the process of drifting off and thinking pleasant thoughts, he heard a noise from downstairs that immediately jolted him back to reality. Worried that it might be the fire, Trevor hopped out of bed and walked quickly to the door. He opened it, and when he did, he saw a shadowed figure moving quickly down he stairs. Trevor nearly collapsed in fright, but he told himself to think clearly, what he had seen was merely a trick of the light. Still, he advanced slowly, and tentatively peeked over the banister. Reassured because he didn’t see anything. He made his way carefully down the stairs but stopped halfway down, smelling something pungent in the air. It was like when he visited his brother Dan at his work in the slaughterhouse, and he could smell the freshly cut out cow organs. Holding his nose, Trevor moved down to the bottom of the stairs, but stopped when he heard a scratching. His heart in his throat, Trevor was about to flee upstairs when the maker of the noise appeared from the living room door which was now open. Trevor heaved a sigh of relief. It was only the cat! But as it started to walk towards him, Trevor realized something.
He didn’t have a cat.
Trevor threw down the evening paper in disgust. The headline “Animorph Strikes Again” was the reason of his annoyance. Trevor was a scientific man, and he believed there was a scientific explanation for everything, which is why he thought the Animorph story to be complete rubbish. Imagine, he though, someone having the power to morph into an animal! And then, after that, they could gain access to peoples homes, then disembowel them!! Trevor gave a snort of disgust. Another crack-pot media story thought up in a vain effort to persuade more people to purchase their scum filled newspapers. Certainly, the horrific murders had occurred, but they were probably committed by some junkie who had went one pop to far. And the witnesses who supposedly saw these people turn into animals were probably fresh out of a psychiatric home. Trevor sighed and stretched out in his armchair, shrugging his slippers of his feet and slipping his reading glasses back into their green pouch. He got up and stretched again, and then put the iron screen back across the fire that was dying slowly in the fireplace. He turned off the light, then closed the door to the living room and slowly climbed up the staircase.
Trevor crawled into his cold bed, then turned off the bedside lamp and snuggled down into the covers. He was going to read, but had tired out his eyes with that accursed newspaper. Besides, it was too late and he was tired, now he just wanted to sleep.
But Trevor did not sleep well. It took him a long time, and just when he was in the process of drifting off and thinking pleasant thoughts, he heard a noise from downstairs that immediately jolted him back to reality. Worried that it might be the fire, Trevor hopped out of bed and walked quickly to the door. He opened it, and when he did, he saw a shadowed figure moving quickly down he stairs. Trevor nearly collapsed in fright, but he told himself to think clearly, what he had seen was merely a trick of the light. Still, he advanced slowly, and tentatively peeked over the banister. Reassured because he didn’t see anything. He made his way carefully down the stairs but stopped halfway down, smelling something pungent in the air. It was like when he visited his brother Dan at his work in the slaughterhouse, and he could smell the freshly cut out cow organs. Holding his nose, Trevor moved down to the bottom of the stairs, but stopped when he heard a scratching. His heart in his throat, Trevor was about to flee upstairs when the maker of the noise appeared from the living room door which was now open. Trevor heaved a sigh of relief. It was only the cat! But as it started to walk towards him, Trevor realized something.
He didn’t have a cat.
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I'm afraid you are all horribly mistaken.
The only winnar here is this iced - cream
The only winnar here is this iced - cream
Tribute's story was superior.
J Nash wrote:
> i'Oranges wins once again.
i'Oranges always wins.
It's the law.
We were playing 'i'Oranges never loses'
> i'Oranges wins once again.
i'Oranges always wins.
It's the law.
We were playing 'i'Oranges never loses'
i'Oranges wins once again.
Remember that, Roj.
Remember that, Roj.
Sorry to criticise again, but your story lacks subtlety and writing flair - I may not be the best person to pick on either of those things, but I just thought I'd inform you of my views.
From the start of his life, Billy was different from other kids. It wasn’t that he was mentally slow, or he was disabled, but he was just different, in a way that cannot be described properly. He never had any friends either. In school, he was a pariah, an outcast, an outsider, always by himself. Therefore he was picked on mercilessly by bullies. Billy built up a huge amount of hate and anger inside him, and so looked for an outlet for it.
He found it in torturing things that he classified as the lowest form of beings - insects. Billy liked to torture insects. At first, he would just burn them, or hold them under water with pincers until they drowned, or impale them on nails. He soon found out that he had a natural flair for torturing things, and soon thought up new methods. He would get a 9v battery and attach wires to it, then apply it to the fleshy underside of woodlice. How they squirmed! They would wriggle their little feet, and twist in pain and agony as Billy held them down mercilessly, with a sick twisted smile on his face as yellow liquid oozed out of their joints. Another slow death was to drop bugs into paint that was thick and gooey, and watch as they slowly sank down, as if they were in quicksand.
Billy was still being bullied in school, and as it grew worse he began to change. He changed inside, however. He became less humane, and his heart changed to stone. He felt no compassion for anything, and lost his conscience. Some people said, later on, this was the start of Billy’s metamorphosis to a psychotic.
In Billy’s little shed at the bottom of his garden, he began to prepare. He put a lock on the door. He put manacles and chains on the wall. He stole surgical items, such as scalpels and razor blades. He used the battery device that he normally used with a 9v battery and wires, only he used a car battery and jump leads this time. All extreme torture devices.
Billy picked his time well. He was waiting, a mallet in hand, in a grove of trees in the park, when Jimmy Reynolds was coming home from playing football. Jimmy Reynolds had made Billy’s life hell. He had made fun of him, he had beat him up several times, on a few instances he poured food and drink over him. Jimmy was Billy’s main antagonizer.
Billy sneaked up behind Jimmy as he walked past him. With one swipe of the rubber mallet, Jimmy lay unconscious at his feet. Billy looked furtively about him as he dragged Jimmy’s senseless body back to his shed. It was time to start torturing bigger things.
An excerpt from my sick and twisted mind. Don't push me boy, or you could end up like Jimmy Reynolds.
*strokes rubber mallet*
He found it in torturing things that he classified as the lowest form of beings - insects. Billy liked to torture insects. At first, he would just burn them, or hold them under water with pincers until they drowned, or impale them on nails. He soon found out that he had a natural flair for torturing things, and soon thought up new methods. He would get a 9v battery and attach wires to it, then apply it to the fleshy underside of woodlice. How they squirmed! They would wriggle their little feet, and twist in pain and agony as Billy held them down mercilessly, with a sick twisted smile on his face as yellow liquid oozed out of their joints. Another slow death was to drop bugs into paint that was thick and gooey, and watch as they slowly sank down, as if they were in quicksand.
Billy was still being bullied in school, and as it grew worse he began to change. He changed inside, however. He became less humane, and his heart changed to stone. He felt no compassion for anything, and lost his conscience. Some people said, later on, this was the start of Billy’s metamorphosis to a psychotic.
In Billy’s little shed at the bottom of his garden, he began to prepare. He put a lock on the door. He put manacles and chains on the wall. He stole surgical items, such as scalpels and razor blades. He used the battery device that he normally used with a 9v battery and wires, only he used a car battery and jump leads this time. All extreme torture devices.
Billy picked his time well. He was waiting, a mallet in hand, in a grove of trees in the park, when Jimmy Reynolds was coming home from playing football. Jimmy Reynolds had made Billy’s life hell. He had made fun of him, he had beat him up several times, on a few instances he poured food and drink over him. Jimmy was Billy’s main antagonizer.
Billy sneaked up behind Jimmy as he walked past him. With one swipe of the rubber mallet, Jimmy lay unconscious at his feet. Billy looked furtively about him as he dragged Jimmy’s senseless body back to his shed. It was time to start torturing bigger things.
An excerpt from my sick and twisted mind. Don't push me boy, or you could end up like Jimmy Reynolds.
*strokes rubber mallet*
Because you know that I am superior.
no need to thank me.
no need to thank me.
I didn't read it.
I couldn't find the link - damn the Search being broken - But i found my story.
read and weep. In that order.
'He'
He just sat there, staring. Staring at a screen which hadn't changed for the last 7 hours, and the same screen that he knew wouldn't be changing until he turned it off. But still, like a stone, he waited as his eyes concentrated on the screen. Concentrating on trying to remember what it felt like to talk to her.
Ever since that night on Teen Chat he hadn't been able to stop thinking about what she, smelt, felt and sounded. He'd been wishing to see her running in the wind, laughing at a joke. One of his jokes.
But, alas, however hard he concentrated on the screen he knew that she wasn't going to come online at 2 o'clock on a school night, so, with his heart weighing heavy he turned off PC and went to his fantasy filled, worn-out mattress on the floor on which he knew he would dream of her again that night.
And that night wasn't any different from any of the last 60 - the one solitary picture of her that he had been sent after a heavy begging session echoed in his mind as he chased the schoolgirl he imagined her to be around a labyrinth. A labyrinth he knew inside out because it was the main focus of many of the dreams, but yet still he got lost. A labyrinth he knew would lead to him waking up in a cold sweat and feeling depressed.
He'd been left by his Mother as a child. From what his Father had told him he had a picture in his mind of a theiving, lying, whóre, but the bruises and cuts on the pictures he has of her tell a somewhat different story. When he was young he thought it was due to her theiving ways, but as he looked back on his childhood in later life it became clear that this wasn't true.
Only 2 memories of his childhood stood out in his mind - being locked in his cold, dirty room for days and getting beaten by his father. As his age grew, so did the frequency and severity of the beatings, along with amount of repressed feelings.
He awoke, moist from the sweat of The Labyrinth dream, sat up and turned on his computer. His digital alarm clock flicked to 7:56, and as Windows XP loaded up he imagined what he would have been doing 6 months ago at that very time. He remembered the black suit he pawned to pay for his internet connection fee, along with his collection of Beano annuals, even though his Versace suit had easily covered the fee. He got rid of the annuals more so to destroy every memory of his childhood - he'd been bought the annuals every year as a single Christmas present from his Father, as if to try and apoligise for the beating which littered the year.
He hadn't been to work for 3 months now, and he wasn't planning to ever again - he'd never officially been sacked, or not to his knowledge at least - the only letter he ever opened was the broadband and electric bills and all the rest got thrown away; his phone hadn't been connected for a while, since the he upgraded to broadband to be exact; All e-mails he received were deleted upon arrival, apart from any which she sent.
Not that Jenna had been online much recently. He still had the last conversation on MSN they ever had saved on his PC, and even a picture of it as his background.. As XP loaded up, he clicked on his Messenger icon, typed his password as fast as could and prayed. Prayed she had stayed off school to speak to him. Prayed she'd remember him and came online to chat. Prayed he'd received an e-mail from her containing an address and time to meet up. Prayed that God could hear him.
The PC instantly regretted informing him that no-emails had been recieved and that no-one was online, as a kick in the side of the tower made the screen jump for a second, and it quickly turned back to normal, almost as if it knew that it would get more of where that came from if it crashed.
Resigned to spending another day of looking over all the past conversations they'd had, he went to get something to eat. Unwittingly no food has passed his lips for days, and his cupboard was empty, bar a bottle of Lea & Perins which was already a year out of date when a neighbour gave it to him as a moving in gift. Not wanting to miss Jenna signing on the internet, he downed the bottle of sauce and decided he would order some 'real' food on an internet shopping site later that day.
The last time he'd done something like that was with a bottle of 'Dave's Hot Sauce' to impress a girl. The girl he was going to spend the rest of his life with. The girl who he was engaged to. the girl who his best friend ran away with. At least they hadn't found the bodies yet.
The window was now open. Laughs and screams of children passing his house brought back memories of the night that Jenna tried to have a voice conversation with him. Although he knew he couldn't hear anything on the night, now he distinctly remembered a teenage laugh before she cancelled it.
He lent out of his window, watching the school children pass. He hoped that Jenna went to St. Roberts, his local school, as they had never discussed her address. He lent out of the window, wondering how much coverage a suicide near a school would get. National papers? No, he thought, it would need to be much, much more than that. Naked probably would get decent coverage. He was half naked before he realised what he was doing - killing himself on the off chance that a 15 year old girl would make the connection between his real name and his online screenname - '16_male_hot' and declare her love for a dead, middle-aged man.
He looked in his wardrobe, and pulled out the best shirt and trousers, and put them on and searched for his breifcase. Scrounging enough Bus Fare to reach the city centre, he opened his front door. As he turned the lock to end his Internet hell, he heard a sound. His PC was still on and Jenna had signed in.
read and weep. In that order.
'He'
He just sat there, staring. Staring at a screen which hadn't changed for the last 7 hours, and the same screen that he knew wouldn't be changing until he turned it off. But still, like a stone, he waited as his eyes concentrated on the screen. Concentrating on trying to remember what it felt like to talk to her.
Ever since that night on Teen Chat he hadn't been able to stop thinking about what she, smelt, felt and sounded. He'd been wishing to see her running in the wind, laughing at a joke. One of his jokes.
But, alas, however hard he concentrated on the screen he knew that she wasn't going to come online at 2 o'clock on a school night, so, with his heart weighing heavy he turned off PC and went to his fantasy filled, worn-out mattress on the floor on which he knew he would dream of her again that night.
And that night wasn't any different from any of the last 60 - the one solitary picture of her that he had been sent after a heavy begging session echoed in his mind as he chased the schoolgirl he imagined her to be around a labyrinth. A labyrinth he knew inside out because it was the main focus of many of the dreams, but yet still he got lost. A labyrinth he knew would lead to him waking up in a cold sweat and feeling depressed.
He'd been left by his Mother as a child. From what his Father had told him he had a picture in his mind of a theiving, lying, whóre, but the bruises and cuts on the pictures he has of her tell a somewhat different story. When he was young he thought it was due to her theiving ways, but as he looked back on his childhood in later life it became clear that this wasn't true.
Only 2 memories of his childhood stood out in his mind - being locked in his cold, dirty room for days and getting beaten by his father. As his age grew, so did the frequency and severity of the beatings, along with amount of repressed feelings.
He awoke, moist from the sweat of The Labyrinth dream, sat up and turned on his computer. His digital alarm clock flicked to 7:56, and as Windows XP loaded up he imagined what he would have been doing 6 months ago at that very time. He remembered the black suit he pawned to pay for his internet connection fee, along with his collection of Beano annuals, even though his Versace suit had easily covered the fee. He got rid of the annuals more so to destroy every memory of his childhood - he'd been bought the annuals every year as a single Christmas present from his Father, as if to try and apoligise for the beating which littered the year.
He hadn't been to work for 3 months now, and he wasn't planning to ever again - he'd never officially been sacked, or not to his knowledge at least - the only letter he ever opened was the broadband and electric bills and all the rest got thrown away; his phone hadn't been connected for a while, since the he upgraded to broadband to be exact; All e-mails he received were deleted upon arrival, apart from any which she sent.
Not that Jenna had been online much recently. He still had the last conversation on MSN they ever had saved on his PC, and even a picture of it as his background.. As XP loaded up, he clicked on his Messenger icon, typed his password as fast as could and prayed. Prayed she had stayed off school to speak to him. Prayed she'd remember him and came online to chat. Prayed he'd received an e-mail from her containing an address and time to meet up. Prayed that God could hear him.
The PC instantly regretted informing him that no-emails had been recieved and that no-one was online, as a kick in the side of the tower made the screen jump for a second, and it quickly turned back to normal, almost as if it knew that it would get more of where that came from if it crashed.
Resigned to spending another day of looking over all the past conversations they'd had, he went to get something to eat. Unwittingly no food has passed his lips for days, and his cupboard was empty, bar a bottle of Lea & Perins which was already a year out of date when a neighbour gave it to him as a moving in gift. Not wanting to miss Jenna signing on the internet, he downed the bottle of sauce and decided he would order some 'real' food on an internet shopping site later that day.
The last time he'd done something like that was with a bottle of 'Dave's Hot Sauce' to impress a girl. The girl he was going to spend the rest of his life with. The girl who he was engaged to. the girl who his best friend ran away with. At least they hadn't found the bodies yet.
The window was now open. Laughs and screams of children passing his house brought back memories of the night that Jenna tried to have a voice conversation with him. Although he knew he couldn't hear anything on the night, now he distinctly remembered a teenage laugh before she cancelled it.
He lent out of his window, watching the school children pass. He hoped that Jenna went to St. Roberts, his local school, as they had never discussed her address. He lent out of the window, wondering how much coverage a suicide near a school would get. National papers? No, he thought, it would need to be much, much more than that. Naked probably would get decent coverage. He was half naked before he realised what he was doing - killing himself on the off chance that a 15 year old girl would make the connection between his real name and his online screenname - '16_male_hot' and declare her love for a dead, middle-aged man.
He looked in his wardrobe, and pulled out the best shirt and trousers, and put them on and searched for his breifcase. Scrounging enough Bus Fare to reach the city centre, he opened his front door. As he turned the lock to end his Internet hell, he heard a sound. His PC was still on and Jenna had signed in.
Please, I don't want to see any gay porno stories that you have concocted.
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