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[WP] Dinner party guests realize they can hear each other's thoughts, but only while seated at the table. | Dave slunk halfway into the chair, scowling as he pulled out his phone.
*God, I don't wanna be here.*
Dave nodded along as though agreeing with himself. He checked his Facebook and Instagram, humming to drown out the sea of conversation floating in from the kitchen. A quick glance up. He locked eyes with Larry at the end of the table. The old man's mouth was a tight, wrinkled line, but he tipped his hat and swirled his mostly-empty snifter.
*This guy gets it*, thought Dave. Larry raised a wiry eyebrow. He shot a glance into the kitchen then back at Dave before standing up and walking to the bar.
Cheryl whisked into the dining room and plopped a steaming, brown-green monstrosity in front of Dave. "Green bean casserole," she announced. "Your favorite." She gave him a weak squeeze on the shoulder before dropping her hand onto the back of his chair.
Dave eyed the dish warily. *Great, boredom with a side of food poisoning.*
Cheryl scoffed and threw her hands up. "Would it *kill* you to say something nice once in awhile?"
"I didn't..." but she was gone, the kitchen door swinging in her wake.
Larry returned to the table, his glass full of liquid amber. He sat down, grunting as he adjusted his big belly. Dave surveyed him beyond his phone's line of sight, occasionally checking his Tumblr and news feed. *So glad I'm not old.*
"Treasure it," Larry said and lifted his glass. "Youth don't last forever."
"Sorry?" Dave asked. "You talking to me?" *Geriatric. Probably fought in a war or something.*
Larry frowned. "Korea, to be exact. You studying ventriloquism or something?" *Damn kids, checkin' their phones. Probably has one of the ADDs or that ass-burgers, shit. Fuckin' young blowhards.*
Dave's mouth dropped open. "What did you - ?"
Little Trinity ran in from the living room, wearing her blue tutu and carrying a calico. The cat gave Dave a withering stare.
"This is Olive!" Trinity announced, her blonde pigtails bobbing as she dropped Olive onto the chair next to Dave. She climbed up herself. *Olive olive olive. Where's Blue's Clues? Olive olive. Play with kitty. Gonna dance, kitty dance.*
Dave and Larry exchanged a look of disbelief.
Olive jumped onto the table and meowed. *Hungry, food. Hungry hungry. Eat.*
Trinity laughed and climbed off her chair. "Olive wants *fooood!*" She ran into the kitchen.
Larry took a drink. *What in the* fuck *is going on?*
"No idea," Dave offered. He checked Google news, his latest Twitter update. *How does this guy have more followers than me?*
"I ain't followin' you nowhere," Larry growled. "How in the hell are you doing that?"
The kitchen door burst open. Cheryl walked out and staunchly ignored Dave. Rita followed with a bowl of mashed potatoes. Then Gregory with the roast on a wood platter. Aunt Betty waddled in with a bowl of salad and placed it near Larry.
Larry downed his drink and eyed the bowl. *Damn rabbit food.*
Betty sat down and simpered. "Jus' a lil' greens, Lare-Bear, ok?" *Better eat it or I flush your viagra down the toilet.*
Rita took her seat, smiling dopily and looking around at everyone through glazed eyes. "Thank you all *so* much for coming." *One more. Just one more to get me through tonight. Filthy hands on my china, shit. Just one more little pill. Shit shit.*
Gregory sat next to Rita and started carving the roast. *Get through this dinner, put the bitch to bed. Can't wait to get between those legs. Fuck, we're outta cat food.*
Cheryl sat next to Dave, crossing her legs away from him. *Fucking asshole. A shitty moissanite ring, really? Why am I marrying him. Greg looks so yummy, can't wait to pull out his giant -*
"*Stop.*" Dave stood up while everyone around the table looked at him. "I...gotta take a leak." He left, the inner words receding, finally alone with his own thoughts. In the bathroom, Dave checked his Facebook. He went to his settings, changed his status to *It's Complicated*. | It was instant. Far more instant than what Mr Sheffield had expected. It was a sudden influx of thoughts, ideas, hopes, aspirations and fears...which is what you'd expect from this particular table. He saw it on the faces of the other guests, they would have all been informed of their hosts choice in furniture but it is hard to comfort oneself with an intrusion of the mind armed only with a safety briefing. Mind invading tendencies aside, it was an impressive table. At least five meters long, carved from a mighty oak tree, it sat all the dignitaries present with space to spare, but it brought them all so much closer. Sheffield sensed the uneasiness of both the guests and there respective security details, but he was thankful that there was yet to be a gun drawn, as those tend to complicate peaceful negotiations, especially those over dinner. |
|
[WP] Aliens plead with the government to have their existence exposed to the public. Government says no again. | "We respectfully request that the public at large is identified of our existence."
This message had come through the official channels, from the Moix-Thetais. Third message this month. We at the agency had already told them that due to the physiology of the species, official public identification would be impossible. You know, people don't take too kindly to crystalline spiders the size of a Buick. But still, they keep trying. It'd be admirable if it wasn't so damned annoying.
"We respectfully request that the public at large is identified of our existence."
What? A second one? They just sent their first and already followed up with a second? Man, someone's pushy.
"We **respectfully** request that the public at large is identified of our existence."
Seriously? I guess it's going to be one of those days. Gotta send the refusal and remind them of the statute of limitations of these things.
"**We respectfully request that the public at large is identified of our existence.**"
Come on. Now they're just being annoying. That one had a bit of a static behind it. I wonder why? The subdimension frequency usually got rid of any imperfections in the signal.
Wait.
What was that noise?
Sounded like a thump.
"͟W͟e ͏r͏es̡p̸ect͜f͝u̵l͘ly͞ ͠req̴ue͠st ̸t͏ha͞t͟ ̴the̕ ͡p̵u̴bli̕c̴ a͡t ̨la̕rge is id̀en̡t͞i̕f́ied͠ ̶of ̀our e̵xi͠st͘e͟n̛c̴e̡."
[[MULTIPLE CONTACTS DETECTED]]
[[WARSHIPS INCOMING]]
Well shit.
"҉̨Ẃe̴͘͞ ̴re͜͠s͘͏p̷̕ec̛͘͞t͜f͢ully̴̧ ŕ̶͘e̢͘q̕͡u͠͡es̢t t̴h̴͘à͟t̛͢͡ th̨ȩ̢̀ p͡u̸̢bl̵͠i̵c ̢̧a̷͝t͟ ̡͢l̨͡a͜ŕg̀͏e ͠is ̕͞id͏e̡̢̛n̶ţ̴i̧̕͝f̛i̧̡e̶d͘ ̢͢͠ơ͏̀f̵͟ ҉óu̴҉҉r̴̵̕ ̨͝e̕͟x̶is҉t͟͠͏e͝n̵҉ć͡e͏.̴̴͠"̷̛
**"̵̨W͏è̡͢͢͢ ̛͘͠͞r̛͘҉͘͏e͡͏s̸͞҉͏p̴͠e̡̕͘c̷̡͜͡t͏̢̛͜f̷̧͠ù̵̵̡́ĺ̡̧l͞y̧̧̡͟ ̴҉̡͞r̵̷͢͞e̴͝͞q̡͠͏u̶̸͜͝e͠s̴̕t́͜ ̡҉t̀ḩ̛a̵̶̢̨̛t͏̶̵̢͘ ͟͞t̡̛́h̢͘͡͝͝é̸̕ ҉̵p͟u̷͘͟͝b̕͜͜͡l̢í̶̴̶͞c͏̀ ̵͠á̸͢͝t́͝ ̛͘̕͝҉ļ̶́͘҉a̡̡̕͢͠ŕ͘͞g̢̛͜͠é̸̕ ̶̡͞i̴̷̢s҉͝ ̷̡į̢d̨̕͝é͏̕͠n̷̢͢ţ̶̴i̷̡͢f̧̛͡i͜҉̸̢ȩ̷̛d̢̀ ̛̀͘͝o͏҉̵͡͠f̢̛̕ ̸͞͡͞ǫ̸̢͘͜ú̶̴ŗ͜͜ ̸̀̕͜ę̸̴̶͘x̵̕i̶̕͞͝s̡͜͠t̸͝e̕͢n̢c͢e̕͟͢͠.́"͏̷͢͞** | The chopping of helicopter blades sliced the Nevada night, the only sounds in the silence. The helicopter touched down in between several tall hills, invisible to any madmen willing to wander that far into the desert.
Several stories below, the President of the United States sat in a large conference room swarmed by bodyguards. At the opposite end of the room stood a rather odd being. It looked like no creature of this planet, with only a passing resemblance to a jellyfish. A large black sheet covered a portion of its body apparently as protection from the Earth’s air. It also spoke remarkable English, melodious and lacking any identifiable gender. Each word it spoke simultaneously entranced and shook the room, a magnet for the eyes and ears of its audience.
It had not bothered to bring any delegates – it had no fear of humans or their capabilities. However, there was a noticeable air of anger in the room.
The being had once again returned to request the safe return of its injured comrade. A recent US mission had led to the discovery of a non-Earth-based spacecraft near the moon. Although news of its discovery spread like wildfire and sparked an international debate on extraterrestrial relations, the US government had quietly removed and imprisoned the injured pilot. When he came across the kidnapping, the second extraterrestrial immediately contacted the US army to recover its friend.
Stationed near the solar system, it had watched the humans develop and was quite familiar with their customs and behaviors. And that was what worried it most. As an Ambassador, primary objectives were to maintain peace. But the humans were fearful and curious. They saw the threat of war, and a captured being as a major negotiating chip and a source of new technologies. The Ambassador had offered the opportunity to pull back the curtain and allow collaboration between the two civilizations, but every offer was rebuffed. For reasons even it could not comprehend, the government wanted to keep the whole affair quiet. Now, a second round at the negotiating table had become little more than a stalling procedure for the humans.
There was a nagging worry that the Americans may have killed the pilot trying to find out something about it. This was an unforgivable action. The Ambassador’s civilization did not bat their eyes at the loss of life like the humans. It was this quality that had prevented earlier contact. Not recognizing the importance of life was the most serious of crimes.
A knock on the door interrupted the Ambassador’s thoughts. A bald head poked in and alerted the President that his helicopter had landed. With a promise to continue discussions at a later time, he strode out of the room without a second look. A bodyguard offered to escort the Ambassador out as it was seething from the lack of respect shown to it. Lost in its own ideas, the Ambassador blindly followed the bodyguard into an elevator. Once inside there was a loud crack and the bodyguard leaped through the two closing doors. They crashed loudly, then there was a several more loud bangs. A few seconds later, a slow hissing noise became louder and louder. The air was being sucked from the elevator.
The Ambassador calmly pushed a device attached to its body, a single red light was the only clue that anything had happened. Then, it took a single, long breath and relaxed in the center of the floor. Falling into hibernation would protect it, and it was certain that it would wake up safe. It wasn’t sure if it could say the same for the humans.
|
|
[WP] Aliens plead with the government to have their existence exposed to the public. Government says no again. | “We still cannot comprehend”
Ambassador Carpenter sat back, hand going up to rub his forehead. It wouldn’t help the incipient headache he could feel coming on, but it made him feel a bit better. He caught himself right before he removed the tinted goggles that protected his eyes.
“Look. We cannot reveal you to the public. Cannot. Can. Absolutely. Not.”
“Our observations of the planet show that our presence would be welcomed. There would be happiness to your populations.”
*Headache.*
“That’s not the point and you know it. We announce you to the world and we sacrifice public order, peace, and our essential freedoms. This point is absolutely non-negotiable.”
The alien creature shifted, it’s face running through a myriad of expressions. Carpenter waited patiently, never letting his gaze drift away. Moments later came the chatter of the xeno-psychologist through his earpiece.
“Frustration and confusion mainly. Your stance is completely outside its experience. It doesn’t know how to react”
“Ok, OK. Let’s start from the top on this one. Section 41, subsection A. We agree that you may intercept general broadcast electronic emissions from Earth, and in return you will provide us with recompense in the form of Element 120, at a rate of 0.5grams per joule received. Subsection B. We agree that your vessels may use the magnetic field of the gas giant Jupiter for Fusion refueling, but only during the times specified in Appendix E, Section One, to wit, the times that Sol is between Earth and Jupiter. Subsection C, We agree you may use the outer system for transit, but only during the times specified in Appendix E, Section Two. These terms are clear and acceptable, correct?”
The alien paused. It always did that after a lengthly communication. Maybe its translator has a buffer to it? Taking a while to review its own notes?
“Those sections are correct and acceptable to the Unity.”
“Excellent. The final sticking point here is Section 41, Subsection D. We agree that the Unity may reveal the existence of Humanity to its peoples, but we reserve and exercise the right not to reciprocate – namely to reveal the existence of the Unity to Humanity.”
“There is the Nonsense/Discord. Why do you not want to reveal us? Your people would welcome us.”
“Simply? Because about one-fifth of the planet would welcome you. That one-fifth would fall over itself doing anything you said, even in direct contradiction to civil order. That one-fifth would exercise violence on the four-fifths that did not follow you. That violence would spread worldwide. If we reveal you to Humanity, we lose everything we have built in the last two thousand years.”
The alien was now clearly distressed. Carpenter suddenly had a nagging suspicion that the impasse was less a case of alien thinking processes, and might actually be more a case of insufficient programming.
“Look, we’re getting nowhere on this, and we’ve been at it for eight straight hours now. I’ll go away and talk to my leaders again. We’ll escort you back to your ship and you can review your instructions again. We can reconvene tomorrow at 9am local time.”
“This…is acceptable to us. Faring Well to You, One who Builds With Wood.”
Ambassador Carpenter remained in his seat, goggles on, as the Seraphim Angel stood and floated through the far door in a flutter of hexahedral wings. The door closed, but he still waited a full minute to take the goggles off.
*We can’t reveal the Seraphims to Earth. The slippery slope to religious violence and religious takeover lies down that road. How many politicians worldwide would simply invite a Seraphim in and take orders from it? Because then it looks like they're taking orders from God. But they're not. These things aren't really* the *angels. They just look like them.*
| The chopping of helicopter blades sliced the Nevada night, the only sounds in the silence. The helicopter touched down in between several tall hills, invisible to any madmen willing to wander that far into the desert.
Several stories below, the President of the United States sat in a large conference room swarmed by bodyguards. At the opposite end of the room stood a rather odd being. It looked like no creature of this planet, with only a passing resemblance to a jellyfish. A large black sheet covered a portion of its body apparently as protection from the Earth’s air. It also spoke remarkable English, melodious and lacking any identifiable gender. Each word it spoke simultaneously entranced and shook the room, a magnet for the eyes and ears of its audience.
It had not bothered to bring any delegates – it had no fear of humans or their capabilities. However, there was a noticeable air of anger in the room.
The being had once again returned to request the safe return of its injured comrade. A recent US mission had led to the discovery of a non-Earth-based spacecraft near the moon. Although news of its discovery spread like wildfire and sparked an international debate on extraterrestrial relations, the US government had quietly removed and imprisoned the injured pilot. When he came across the kidnapping, the second extraterrestrial immediately contacted the US army to recover its friend.
Stationed near the solar system, it had watched the humans develop and was quite familiar with their customs and behaviors. And that was what worried it most. As an Ambassador, primary objectives were to maintain peace. But the humans were fearful and curious. They saw the threat of war, and a captured being as a major negotiating chip and a source of new technologies. The Ambassador had offered the opportunity to pull back the curtain and allow collaboration between the two civilizations, but every offer was rebuffed. For reasons even it could not comprehend, the government wanted to keep the whole affair quiet. Now, a second round at the negotiating table had become little more than a stalling procedure for the humans.
There was a nagging worry that the Americans may have killed the pilot trying to find out something about it. This was an unforgivable action. The Ambassador’s civilization did not bat their eyes at the loss of life like the humans. It was this quality that had prevented earlier contact. Not recognizing the importance of life was the most serious of crimes.
A knock on the door interrupted the Ambassador’s thoughts. A bald head poked in and alerted the President that his helicopter had landed. With a promise to continue discussions at a later time, he strode out of the room without a second look. A bodyguard offered to escort the Ambassador out as it was seething from the lack of respect shown to it. Lost in its own ideas, the Ambassador blindly followed the bodyguard into an elevator. Once inside there was a loud crack and the bodyguard leaped through the two closing doors. They crashed loudly, then there was a several more loud bangs. A few seconds later, a slow hissing noise became louder and louder. The air was being sucked from the elevator.
The Ambassador calmly pushed a device attached to its body, a single red light was the only clue that anything had happened. Then, it took a single, long breath and relaxed in the center of the floor. Falling into hibernation would protect it, and it was certain that it would wake up safe. It wasn’t sure if it could say the same for the humans.
|
|
[WP] Aliens plead with the government to have their existence exposed to the public. Government says no again. | "We respectfully request that the public at large is identified of our existence."
This message had come through the official channels, from the Moix-Thetais. Third message this month. We at the agency had already told them that due to the physiology of the species, official public identification would be impossible. You know, people don't take too kindly to crystalline spiders the size of a Buick. But still, they keep trying. It'd be admirable if it wasn't so damned annoying.
"We respectfully request that the public at large is identified of our existence."
What? A second one? They just sent their first and already followed up with a second? Man, someone's pushy.
"We **respectfully** request that the public at large is identified of our existence."
Seriously? I guess it's going to be one of those days. Gotta send the refusal and remind them of the statute of limitations of these things.
"**We respectfully request that the public at large is identified of our existence.**"
Come on. Now they're just being annoying. That one had a bit of a static behind it. I wonder why? The subdimension frequency usually got rid of any imperfections in the signal.
Wait.
What was that noise?
Sounded like a thump.
"͟W͟e ͏r͏es̡p̸ect͜f͝u̵l͘ly͞ ͠req̴ue͠st ̸t͏ha͞t͟ ̴the̕ ͡p̵u̴bli̕c̴ a͡t ̨la̕rge is id̀en̡t͞i̕f́ied͠ ̶of ̀our e̵xi͠st͘e͟n̛c̴e̡."
[[MULTIPLE CONTACTS DETECTED]]
[[WARSHIPS INCOMING]]
Well shit.
"҉̨Ẃe̴͘͞ ̴re͜͠s͘͏p̷̕ec̛͘͞t͜f͢ully̴̧ ŕ̶͘e̢͘q̕͡u͠͡es̢t t̴h̴͘à͟t̛͢͡ th̨ȩ̢̀ p͡u̸̢bl̵͠i̵c ̢̧a̷͝t͟ ̡͢l̨͡a͜ŕg̀͏e ͠is ̕͞id͏e̡̢̛n̶ţ̴i̧̕͝f̛i̧̡e̶d͘ ̢͢͠ơ͏̀f̵͟ ҉óu̴҉҉r̴̵̕ ̨͝e̕͟x̶is҉t͟͠͏e͝n̵҉ć͡e͏.̴̴͠"̷̛
**"̵̨W͏è̡͢͢͢ ̛͘͠͞r̛͘҉͘͏e͡͏s̸͞҉͏p̴͠e̡̕͘c̷̡͜͡t͏̢̛͜f̷̧͠ù̵̵̡́ĺ̡̧l͞y̧̧̡͟ ̴҉̡͞r̵̷͢͞e̴͝͞q̡͠͏u̶̸͜͝e͠s̴̕t́͜ ̡҉t̀ḩ̛a̵̶̢̨̛t͏̶̵̢͘ ͟͞t̡̛́h̢͘͡͝͝é̸̕ ҉̵p͟u̷͘͟͝b̕͜͜͡l̢í̶̴̶͞c͏̀ ̵͠á̸͢͝t́͝ ̛͘̕͝҉ļ̶́͘҉a̡̡̕͢͠ŕ͘͞g̢̛͜͠é̸̕ ̶̡͞i̴̷̢s҉͝ ̷̡į̢d̨̕͝é͏̕͠n̷̢͢ţ̶̴i̷̡͢f̧̛͡i͜҉̸̢ȩ̷̛d̢̀ ̛̀͘͝o͏҉̵͡͠f̢̛̕ ̸͞͡͞ǫ̸̢͘͜ú̶̴ŗ͜͜ ̸̀̕͜ę̸̴̶͘x̵̕i̶̕͞͝s̡͜͠t̸͝e̕͢n̢c͢e̕͟͢͠.́"͏̷͢͞** | *When all of your wishes are granted, many of your dreams will be destroyed. - Marilyn Manson*
We had been the first to make contact. Accidentally some may say, nevertheless it was still true. Now here we are, barricaded behind an abandoned bank vault as those fucking vampires try to cut their way inside.
It had to be the United States - that's what the council said. If we could win over the "most powerful", "most respected" country on the planet, than everyone else would follow suit. Goddamn councils. If any life lesson can be garnered from this universal clusterfuck, please let it be this: never listen to a word uttered by a galactic council - especially the blue-shift confederates of Auggana quadrant.
Oh, it wasn't entirely a surprise. The countries leaders knew. Those buggers had known the truth for over seventy years - ever since the Roswell incident. Oh the fucked up irony of the whole situation. Sure, we never crash our cars, but give us a goddamned space ship and a liter of Pepsi and we'll make asses of ourselves across a whole planet. Who would have known that sugar would have had that kind of affect on us? One sip and we wouldn't know Antares from Betelgeuse. Some of us survived, though. We recovered physically, learned about the planet, learned the languages, made friendships, fell in love, had children. And all the while, the world knew nothing about us. We were segregated from the human population, always being told that it was *for our own good*.
The shit must be thrown before it can hit the fan. And the shit must be shat before it can be thrown. If that is the case, than the first bowel movements can be attributed to the checkpoints. That's where it all went south.
Some of the youth had become fed up. Understandably they were tired of being contained, they wanted to experience the world - in particular human parties and human women. So, they took human cars into the human cities. And they were stopped by human police officers at human alcohol checkpoints. One of these fateful human officers became alarmed at the smell coming from the mouth of the boy driving the car. Xalar, a seventeen year old male from Onulan Clan, failed the breathalyzer test when it confirmed that one-hundred percent of his blood was pure alcohol. Thinking there was something wrong with the device, the officers tested him with three more only to come away with the same results every time. Although Xalar appeared to be stone sober, the laws required that he be arrested. As if that weren't enough, within two-hours, five more of our males and two of our young females were also arrested at various checkpoints for unbelievably high blood-alcohol levels.
Of course, this should not come as a surprise since, to humans, our blood is pure alcohol. But, since the humans knew nothing about us, they brought in the doctors. The human doctors began running test. Every test led to some new test that didn't have anything to do with alcohol anymore. They began talking to other doctors. Confusion set in. A lot of people became very interested. New people began to show up to the hospital - people in black suits. Then, the panic struck. The evacuation happened.
The whole time the council said "Don't worry. Your leaders have assured us that no harm will come to you."
The council, though, in their ever so brilliant analysis had failed to take into account the new law. In the years leading up to our demise, a great discovery was made by the humans. It appeared that human researchers had proven - beyond the shadow of a doubt - that alcohol consumption was the root cause of all human misery. And so began the Great Prohibition Reenactment of 2024. All beer, all whiskey, all wine, all liquor of any shape or form was immediately discontinued. The city had put up the checkpoints all over the place in order to capture bootleggers.
In the moral crusade to attempt an end to all human suffering, apparently a nerve had been struck. As it turns out, quite a large sum of the population had more than few misgivings about this new law. Many of the humans were quite fond of that which causes them to suffer. In fact, they were so fond that when they first learned that their city had been inhabited by alien life, they packed up their families and fled to the countryside. However, when they learned the details of that which gives us life - when they learned that we were walking beverage distilleries, those shaking delirium tremens monsters returned to the city in mad blood-lusting droves.
Why are we in the vault? Dumb luck I suppose. We just happened to be standing outside the bank when we saw the horde coming. Scrambling inside, I noticed that the vault door was open - the workers had probably panicked when the news got out and decided to take some emergency funds with them into the countryside. Whatever the reason, it's kept us safe long enough for me to get our story out - at least some of it. There is a giant red circle on the inside of the vault now. They have almost cut their way through. I can hear their incessant cheering and the clinking of their glasses as they celebrate our defeat. God, what I wouldn't give for a Pepsi right now.
|
|
[WP] Aliens plead with the government to have their existence exposed to the public. Government says no again. | “We still cannot comprehend”
Ambassador Carpenter sat back, hand going up to rub his forehead. It wouldn’t help the incipient headache he could feel coming on, but it made him feel a bit better. He caught himself right before he removed the tinted goggles that protected his eyes.
“Look. We cannot reveal you to the public. Cannot. Can. Absolutely. Not.”
“Our observations of the planet show that our presence would be welcomed. There would be happiness to your populations.”
*Headache.*
“That’s not the point and you know it. We announce you to the world and we sacrifice public order, peace, and our essential freedoms. This point is absolutely non-negotiable.”
The alien creature shifted, it’s face running through a myriad of expressions. Carpenter waited patiently, never letting his gaze drift away. Moments later came the chatter of the xeno-psychologist through his earpiece.
“Frustration and confusion mainly. Your stance is completely outside its experience. It doesn’t know how to react”
“Ok, OK. Let’s start from the top on this one. Section 41, subsection A. We agree that you may intercept general broadcast electronic emissions from Earth, and in return you will provide us with recompense in the form of Element 120, at a rate of 0.5grams per joule received. Subsection B. We agree that your vessels may use the magnetic field of the gas giant Jupiter for Fusion refueling, but only during the times specified in Appendix E, Section One, to wit, the times that Sol is between Earth and Jupiter. Subsection C, We agree you may use the outer system for transit, but only during the times specified in Appendix E, Section Two. These terms are clear and acceptable, correct?”
The alien paused. It always did that after a lengthly communication. Maybe its translator has a buffer to it? Taking a while to review its own notes?
“Those sections are correct and acceptable to the Unity.”
“Excellent. The final sticking point here is Section 41, Subsection D. We agree that the Unity may reveal the existence of Humanity to its peoples, but we reserve and exercise the right not to reciprocate – namely to reveal the existence of the Unity to Humanity.”
“There is the Nonsense/Discord. Why do you not want to reveal us? Your people would welcome us.”
“Simply? Because about one-fifth of the planet would welcome you. That one-fifth would fall over itself doing anything you said, even in direct contradiction to civil order. That one-fifth would exercise violence on the four-fifths that did not follow you. That violence would spread worldwide. If we reveal you to Humanity, we lose everything we have built in the last two thousand years.”
The alien was now clearly distressed. Carpenter suddenly had a nagging suspicion that the impasse was less a case of alien thinking processes, and might actually be more a case of insufficient programming.
“Look, we’re getting nowhere on this, and we’ve been at it for eight straight hours now. I’ll go away and talk to my leaders again. We’ll escort you back to your ship and you can review your instructions again. We can reconvene tomorrow at 9am local time.”
“This…is acceptable to us. Faring Well to You, One who Builds With Wood.”
Ambassador Carpenter remained in his seat, goggles on, as the Seraphim Angel stood and floated through the far door in a flutter of hexahedral wings. The door closed, but he still waited a full minute to take the goggles off.
*We can’t reveal the Seraphims to Earth. The slippery slope to religious violence and religious takeover lies down that road. How many politicians worldwide would simply invite a Seraphim in and take orders from it? Because then it looks like they're taking orders from God. But they're not. These things aren't really* the *angels. They just look like them.*
| *When all of your wishes are granted, many of your dreams will be destroyed. - Marilyn Manson*
We had been the first to make contact. Accidentally some may say, nevertheless it was still true. Now here we are, barricaded behind an abandoned bank vault as those fucking vampires try to cut their way inside.
It had to be the United States - that's what the council said. If we could win over the "most powerful", "most respected" country on the planet, than everyone else would follow suit. Goddamn councils. If any life lesson can be garnered from this universal clusterfuck, please let it be this: never listen to a word uttered by a galactic council - especially the blue-shift confederates of Auggana quadrant.
Oh, it wasn't entirely a surprise. The countries leaders knew. Those buggers had known the truth for over seventy years - ever since the Roswell incident. Oh the fucked up irony of the whole situation. Sure, we never crash our cars, but give us a goddamned space ship and a liter of Pepsi and we'll make asses of ourselves across a whole planet. Who would have known that sugar would have had that kind of affect on us? One sip and we wouldn't know Antares from Betelgeuse. Some of us survived, though. We recovered physically, learned about the planet, learned the languages, made friendships, fell in love, had children. And all the while, the world knew nothing about us. We were segregated from the human population, always being told that it was *for our own good*.
The shit must be thrown before it can hit the fan. And the shit must be shat before it can be thrown. If that is the case, than the first bowel movements can be attributed to the checkpoints. That's where it all went south.
Some of the youth had become fed up. Understandably they were tired of being contained, they wanted to experience the world - in particular human parties and human women. So, they took human cars into the human cities. And they were stopped by human police officers at human alcohol checkpoints. One of these fateful human officers became alarmed at the smell coming from the mouth of the boy driving the car. Xalar, a seventeen year old male from Onulan Clan, failed the breathalyzer test when it confirmed that one-hundred percent of his blood was pure alcohol. Thinking there was something wrong with the device, the officers tested him with three more only to come away with the same results every time. Although Xalar appeared to be stone sober, the laws required that he be arrested. As if that weren't enough, within two-hours, five more of our males and two of our young females were also arrested at various checkpoints for unbelievably high blood-alcohol levels.
Of course, this should not come as a surprise since, to humans, our blood is pure alcohol. But, since the humans knew nothing about us, they brought in the doctors. The human doctors began running test. Every test led to some new test that didn't have anything to do with alcohol anymore. They began talking to other doctors. Confusion set in. A lot of people became very interested. New people began to show up to the hospital - people in black suits. Then, the panic struck. The evacuation happened.
The whole time the council said "Don't worry. Your leaders have assured us that no harm will come to you."
The council, though, in their ever so brilliant analysis had failed to take into account the new law. In the years leading up to our demise, a great discovery was made by the humans. It appeared that human researchers had proven - beyond the shadow of a doubt - that alcohol consumption was the root cause of all human misery. And so began the Great Prohibition Reenactment of 2024. All beer, all whiskey, all wine, all liquor of any shape or form was immediately discontinued. The city had put up the checkpoints all over the place in order to capture bootleggers.
In the moral crusade to attempt an end to all human suffering, apparently a nerve had been struck. As it turns out, quite a large sum of the population had more than few misgivings about this new law. Many of the humans were quite fond of that which causes them to suffer. In fact, they were so fond that when they first learned that their city had been inhabited by alien life, they packed up their families and fled to the countryside. However, when they learned the details of that which gives us life - when they learned that we were walking beverage distilleries, those shaking delirium tremens monsters returned to the city in mad blood-lusting droves.
Why are we in the vault? Dumb luck I suppose. We just happened to be standing outside the bank when we saw the horde coming. Scrambling inside, I noticed that the vault door was open - the workers had probably panicked when the news got out and decided to take some emergency funds with them into the countryside. Whatever the reason, it's kept us safe long enough for me to get our story out - at least some of it. There is a giant red circle on the inside of the vault now. They have almost cut their way through. I can hear their incessant cheering and the clinking of their glasses as they celebrate our defeat. God, what I wouldn't give for a Pepsi right now.
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[WP] Aliens plead with the government to have their existence exposed to the public. Government says no again. | “We still cannot comprehend”
Ambassador Carpenter sat back, hand going up to rub his forehead. It wouldn’t help the incipient headache he could feel coming on, but it made him feel a bit better. He caught himself right before he removed the tinted goggles that protected his eyes.
“Look. We cannot reveal you to the public. Cannot. Can. Absolutely. Not.”
“Our observations of the planet show that our presence would be welcomed. There would be happiness to your populations.”
*Headache.*
“That’s not the point and you know it. We announce you to the world and we sacrifice public order, peace, and our essential freedoms. This point is absolutely non-negotiable.”
The alien creature shifted, it’s face running through a myriad of expressions. Carpenter waited patiently, never letting his gaze drift away. Moments later came the chatter of the xeno-psychologist through his earpiece.
“Frustration and confusion mainly. Your stance is completely outside its experience. It doesn’t know how to react”
“Ok, OK. Let’s start from the top on this one. Section 41, subsection A. We agree that you may intercept general broadcast electronic emissions from Earth, and in return you will provide us with recompense in the form of Element 120, at a rate of 0.5grams per joule received. Subsection B. We agree that your vessels may use the magnetic field of the gas giant Jupiter for Fusion refueling, but only during the times specified in Appendix E, Section One, to wit, the times that Sol is between Earth and Jupiter. Subsection C, We agree you may use the outer system for transit, but only during the times specified in Appendix E, Section Two. These terms are clear and acceptable, correct?”
The alien paused. It always did that after a lengthly communication. Maybe its translator has a buffer to it? Taking a while to review its own notes?
“Those sections are correct and acceptable to the Unity.”
“Excellent. The final sticking point here is Section 41, Subsection D. We agree that the Unity may reveal the existence of Humanity to its peoples, but we reserve and exercise the right not to reciprocate – namely to reveal the existence of the Unity to Humanity.”
“There is the Nonsense/Discord. Why do you not want to reveal us? Your people would welcome us.”
“Simply? Because about one-fifth of the planet would welcome you. That one-fifth would fall over itself doing anything you said, even in direct contradiction to civil order. That one-fifth would exercise violence on the four-fifths that did not follow you. That violence would spread worldwide. If we reveal you to Humanity, we lose everything we have built in the last two thousand years.”
The alien was now clearly distressed. Carpenter suddenly had a nagging suspicion that the impasse was less a case of alien thinking processes, and might actually be more a case of insufficient programming.
“Look, we’re getting nowhere on this, and we’ve been at it for eight straight hours now. I’ll go away and talk to my leaders again. We’ll escort you back to your ship and you can review your instructions again. We can reconvene tomorrow at 9am local time.”
“This…is acceptable to us. Faring Well to You, One who Builds With Wood.”
Ambassador Carpenter remained in his seat, goggles on, as the Seraphim Angel stood and floated through the far door in a flutter of hexahedral wings. The door closed, but he still waited a full minute to take the goggles off.
*We can’t reveal the Seraphims to Earth. The slippery slope to religious violence and religious takeover lies down that road. How many politicians worldwide would simply invite a Seraphim in and take orders from it? Because then it looks like they're taking orders from God. But they're not. These things aren't really* the *angels. They just look like them.*
| A shaky knock at the door came on the hour, as it always did. John looked at his partner, who had a demonic smile on his face.
"Goddamn man, lay off the poor little fucks would you?"
"No... I don't think I will."
Kevin grabbed his truncheon and yanked the door open. A small glowing humanoid stood at the door of what appeared to be a laboratory, with rows upon endless rows of similar looking glowing men. Kevin swung down and smashed the small creature in the head, which immediately crumpled unconscious to the floor.
"WHAT THE FUCK DID I TELL YOU ABOUT ASKING TO LEAVE? YOU STAY DOWN HERE AND DON'T GIVE ME ANY OF THIS EXPOSURE TO THE PUBLIC SHIT!"
The glowing figures shuddered and turned their lab benches, working quietly as Kevin walked about, randomly striking with his club. John shook his head and stood at the door, wondering if this slavery would ever end. |
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[WP] Aliens plead with the government to have their existence exposed to the public. Government says no again. | "Seriously, Ted, come on!"
I push my glasses back up my nose and repeat my answer. "Sorry, Gerboloxicashitayvius-kkpul. We just can't authorize public exposure at this time. Also, my name is Steve."
"Sorry, *Steve*." Said Gerby "Your name's are ridiculous! Why can't we let the people of your world know? Huh? Why, Paul, why? Give me a reason!"
"Well, Gerboloxicashitayvius-kkpul, your race has been kidnapping and probing people for a couple years now-"
"Sure have, Bob!"
"Which is something we've always known about-"
"Yep, since we crashed that one time - thanks for the help by the way!"
"You're welcome. So, the problem is that we would have to explain that we have *known* about you, that we have *known* about the probing, and that we didn't do *anything* about it."
Gerby seemed confused.
"Our people, generally, don't like being probed."
"Oh...some of them do!"
"I said *generally*."
| # Request
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r҉̣̘ ̺͡f̘̞̪̲͔̪ ͇ḛ͙͟ ̬̪̩͝e̥̮̪̭̖̳ ̵
̹̙
̲̝͍̮̼͕u̳̟̳̱̺͚̰ ̹̜͖͚̮̞͢s̨̗̞͈̥̪ͅͅ
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# Action
Thank you for your request, filed under Section 301(c) of _The Containment Act_. We regret that pursuant to clause 303(d), we are unable to grant the request at this time. |
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[WP] In this world, you can instantaneously teach somebody a new skill and trade or give them a precious memory of yours, but once you give it away, you lose it yourself. | The night of our wedding, after the party had died, Kelly and I sat in the confetti, spilled drinks and scuff marks of the now dimly lit dance floor and contemplated one another. I still remember; her eyes a liquid blue, always searching, examining, trying hard to see behind my own. It was this that first made me love her; her insistence that there was always something more to be seen, that there was something in me worth knowing. And I searched into hers, seeking the source of that clear spring that gave joy and life in such abundance. "What are you thinking?" She teased. I never had an answer to that question. I paused a moment longer, and said "Are you ready?" This question didn't need an answer either. "Have you picked one?" She gave a hint of a nod. The memory that she had chosen to give me was a painful one, and it showed in her face.
She closed her eyes and placed her hand on the side of my head, her fingers across my left ear. A flash of lights coalesced into a vision that filled my sight. Memories, even at their most solid, are hazy, incomplete, and false. I saw blurred movement spaced with solid, incredibly detailed fragments like photographs that coincided with bursts of felt emotion. She was sharing a failure with me; a time when she was overwhelmed, helpless to save someone hurting. I didn’t recognize the faces, but felt her love and familiarity with the moving faces floating in and out of my vision. Her despair threatened to overwhelm me, and all of a sudden both our eyes were open and we were back in the ballroom. She looked startled, and I realized that the memory was now mine, and my face was running with her tears and my fists were clenched in frustration. I relaxed as she nervously laughed and said “Was it that intense? What did I show you?” “That’s not how it works,” I said. “You’ve given it to me now.”
I don’t know what I showed her; the memory is no longer mine. I just remember opening my eyes, and seeing my bride before me. “I still love you,” she said.
| Out of the 30 who escaped the farm there were only two of us left. Devon lead the way. He had the tracking and hiking knowledge now. He had gotten it from Harry, who in turn had received it from Fran. He led us between rows of pines, down the hill and to a small stream. Out of breath we collapsed at the bank. The Ice cold water extingusihed the fire in my throat and we spoke for the 1st time in hours.
"How far are we?" I asked Devon. My voice rhaspily returning.
he stood up and looked around, first at the setting sun and then at the high snowy hills surrounding us.
"At least another few hours. Maybe half a day I think." Kneeling he took another sip of water. "We are going to have to make camp. We'll die from exposure if we keep going past sundown.
Devin guestured at the thin sliver of sun remaining on the horizon. It shone it's weakening red rays back at him.
"I have some basic weapons and hunting skills." I said. "if you want to start making a fire I'll see if I can--- "
We turned quickly towards the footsteps behind us, expecting the worst. There were no Skillguards though, just a single old man.
He looked us up and down in a flash, first Devon and then me. He opened his mouth to speak then hesitated. Scratching at his grey beard he looked along the hilltops.
"Bist du allien?" the man asked.
Devon and I looked at each other.
"I think that's German." Devon whispered
"I don't know German..." I replied
"BIST DU ALLIEN?" The man repeated, stepping towards us.
"I thought Julian gave you all the languages." Devon said.
"Julian bled out before he got that far!"
"What do we do now?"
The man took another step towards us, Pulling a small black pistol from his coat. He began to speak again, but didn't have a chance. In one large step I crossed the remaining gap between us. The knowlege of a dozen or so martial arts, all learned by others at the farm were at my disposal. The gun dropped as the man's arm shattered. An elbow to his jaw dislodged teeth as he crumpled to the floor.
"Well done." came a voice from up along the treeline. We looked up to see Gabrielle emerging from the trees with a dozen armed freedom fighters behind her. She strode along to the old man, helping him to his feet. "Most escapees from the skill farms don't make it nearly this far. Tell me, How is it that you two survived when all the others in your group fell? What desires kept you from failing like the rest?"
Devon spoke without hesitation "To kill the Master."
Gabrielle turned to me and I nodded in agreement.
"Well then," she said with a dark smile "welcome to the rebellion."
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[WP] In this world, you can instantaneously teach somebody a new skill and trade or give them a precious memory of yours, but once you give it away, you lose it yourself. | The night of our wedding, after the party had died, Kelly and I sat in the confetti, spilled drinks and scuff marks of the now dimly lit dance floor and contemplated one another. I still remember; her eyes a liquid blue, always searching, examining, trying hard to see behind my own. It was this that first made me love her; her insistence that there was always something more to be seen, that there was something in me worth knowing. And I searched into hers, seeking the source of that clear spring that gave joy and life in such abundance. "What are you thinking?" She teased. I never had an answer to that question. I paused a moment longer, and said "Are you ready?" This question didn't need an answer either. "Have you picked one?" She gave a hint of a nod. The memory that she had chosen to give me was a painful one, and it showed in her face.
She closed her eyes and placed her hand on the side of my head, her fingers across my left ear. A flash of lights coalesced into a vision that filled my sight. Memories, even at their most solid, are hazy, incomplete, and false. I saw blurred movement spaced with solid, incredibly detailed fragments like photographs that coincided with bursts of felt emotion. She was sharing a failure with me; a time when she was overwhelmed, helpless to save someone hurting. I didn’t recognize the faces, but felt her love and familiarity with the moving faces floating in and out of my vision. Her despair threatened to overwhelm me, and all of a sudden both our eyes were open and we were back in the ballroom. She looked startled, and I realized that the memory was now mine, and my face was running with her tears and my fists were clenched in frustration. I relaxed as she nervously laughed and said “Was it that intense? What did I show you?” “That’s not how it works,” I said. “You’ve given it to me now.”
I don’t know what I showed her; the memory is no longer mine. I just remember opening my eyes, and seeing my bride before me. “I still love you,” she said.
| I was only 8 when I gave my first memory. Such a young age- most people waited until 16 for their first transfer; it was much safer, you could be properly trained, and you were considered to be more responsible for any memory loss you later regretted.
Now, I can't remember exactly what it was that made the summer so nice. Perhaps my friends and I spent our days at the pool, playing soccer, enjoying ice cream... who knows. Perhaps we ran around to our heart's content, free of the educational responsibilities that came with the other 10 months of the year- whatever it was, it was all lost to me the evening I met him.
From what I do still recall, I was biking back home, from where I can't say. I was late, 15 minutes past my 8 o'clock curfew- my parents would be ticked! Nearly home, I heard voices. Escalating quickly, they were quickly followed by a loud slam as the front door closed. After taking a quick glance and being only slightly concerned but focused more on getting home, my curiosity got the best of me when I heard the man shout towards me "Get the hell outta here, runt!"
I was scared. I knew I didn't live in the best neighbourhood, but his hostility had immediately made me panicked and nervous. Who knew what he had in his hoodie? Who knew what kind of state he was in? Maybe it was an irrational, childish fear, but either way I sped up, just wanting to leave him alone. And then I took a look back, and caught sight of the first
I had been warned about this, but never received as thorough an explanation I figure I'd've needed to understand what I felt then. I was him, he was me- unified by our strong emotions, his hatred was barely identifiable from my fear. My parents had told me about sharing memories, and warned me never to look in another's eyes when I was passionate. But this? What on earth was one to think about this? I had always expected to give memories to my family when I was older, and maybe a trusted friend here or there. Just small stuff, never losing sight of who I was or losing out on a large portion of my life.
Not knowing what I was doing, I crashed my bike- but I didn't notice until afterwards, the influx of emotion was too great. I could only respond with my own feelings, hoping only to end this.
It seemed like forever we were locked in this stalemate, yet in reality no time was passing. I eventually got used to the consistent stream of negativity, and when it finally died down and he returned to normal levels of emotion the exchange was complete.
I've never really understood all the memories I got, considering I was much too young when I received them, but what I've made out I've reported to police- lots of drugs. Abusing his fiance. Not a good lifestyle.
After picking myself up, I looked over at him, who now had gleaming eyes and an innocent grin plastered to his face, heart and mind consumed with what I can only imagine being joyful and carefree memories of my summer. To this day, I haven't a clue how I spent my summer- but from that grin I'll never forget, they must've been pretty nice. I just hope I'll be able to get over that terrifying experience soon: I'll be married in a couple of weeks, and I'm sure she'll expect the memory exchange traditionally done after the wedding in order to further unify our lives. Here's hoping.
**Note**: Only my second time I've done a prompt, I'm not much of a writer. Hope you guys enjoyed though, I just gave it a shot since I felt most comments were already along the same talent-focused line, wanted this variety of helping someone else/contaminating your personality with memories. |
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[WP] In this world, you can instantaneously teach somebody a new skill and trade or give them a precious memory of yours, but once you give it away, you lose it yourself. | "I don't have much left to trade."
The old man studied me silently, toothpick hanging idly out of his mouth, as if gauging just how much he should charge for his lesson. The longer his assessment went on, the more likely it was that he'd turn me away empty handed. His reputation for being a tough trader to satisfy was weighing heavily on my mind.
I didn't have many precious memories left, but that was nothing compared to what I'd end up with if I lost this deal; I was desperate, and pretty sure he knew it.
"It ain't cheap," he said, keeping his light gray eyes focused on mine. "But you know that, I reckon."
I nodded. "I'm prepared to give what I can. What I have to."
He chuckled solemnly, and shook his head. "You seem new at this."
I didn't respond, but looked at my feet in shame. Truth was, I *wasn't* new to the trading world at all. I called my situation "unlucky", but that's definitely not how others saw it. Some said I was just bad at trading, and that I couldn't tell what memories had value and which didn't. Maybe that was closer to the truth. If I were any good at it at all, I wouldn't be here of all places.
"Well," he said, his voice drawing out the word, making it sound foreign and a bit patronizing. "Let me see what you got then."
I held out my arm, palm facing the sky, and pressed my thumb into the middle of my wristband. The little screen lit up with three small icons indicating the types of memories I had for offer. He took one look at it and narrowed his eyes at me.
"Your name day ceremony, the birth of a friend's child, and," he paused, as if not quite able to comprehend what he was seeing on the little monitor. "And the last day you spent with your dog." The disbelief on his face was easily readable.
"Yeah, that's all I have left."
He clicked his tongue in his mouth. "That ain't worth much to me, lass." His disbelief gradually changed to suspicion after another moment passed. "You hacking? Show me what you really got."
"I-I'm not," I said. "I'm just running low. Dangerously low."
"That's a damn shame. If I teach you, you ain't gonna have any left, you know."
"I know." I cautioned a look at him, meekly hoping for the best. "If you don't help me, I won't be able to generate any more memories anyone will ever want--"
"That's a big 'if'," he said, interrupting me. "Knowing what's good don't mean you can make anything good."
"It's the last chance I have," I said.
He considered a moment longer, chewing the dirty toothpick with his back teeth--if he still had them. "This ain't charity... You still got to pay me."
I nodded and extended my arm to him. He grabbed my wrist and plugged one end of a small cable into my wristband, and the other end into his. I watched him hit a few buttons on his device, while I tried to repress the feeling that the deal could fall through at any moment.
"Alright, look it over and approve it," he said.
Looking at my screen, I saw exactly what I'd expected. I was trading my last three valuable memories for one precious new skill I desperately needed: the ability to know a good trade when I saw one.
I hovered my finger over the accept button, and glanced up at him apprehensively.
"Can you do one thing for me? After the transaction?"
"Make it quick," he said.
"Can you tell me what my name is again? Once it's gone? Since, you know..."
"Sure, kid," he said without any fanfare.
Then I pressed the button. | "No!" "Stop!" "You can't do this!"
Screams rippled along the line of men and women, chained together in single file by a long iron vein running between their waists. It fed into clasps around their wrists, while rugged men with AK-47s and green bulletproof vests rode alongside in black, uncovered Jeeps.
A few of them yelled back.
"Shut up, or we'll do it here!" "You're fucked!"
Gradually, the voices ceased. Those who had yelled earlier joined comrades in staring at their dirty, bare feet as they trod over overgrown grass beneath. Shoulders slumped and spines curved, and the march went on. For hours and hours, without a break. Well, there wasn't a break for the marchers. The men in the Jeep relaxed. Laughing and drinking, they played cards and passed packages of jerky around.
Finally, the procession reached a gated villa in the wilderness. Marble fountains impressive even when dry and Ionic columns led into a expanse of pure white, surrounded by trees and foliage. A man in a lead Jeep motioned with his gun barrel at the gate, and it opened.
The procession marched past the fountains, past the foliage, and through giant twin wooden doorways lined with bronze into the foyer. Beneath a glimmering chandelier, atop vibrant red carpets, stood a lone figure. He smiled, and it matched the portraits filling almost the entire foyer.
"Come, come with me, and I'll set you free."
Singing. Pure singing. Not a blemish in a single part of it. The tired, filthy heads turned upwards. Everyone's eyes locked on the magical tenor.
"All you see is mine, for others are as swine."
A mess of scars, wide shoulders, great lengths of curvy black hair, and tree-trunk legs bounded into the hall and applied a key to the chains of the man leading the line. Clenching a great maul of a fist, the mercenary struck his released victim in the jaw as he stretched his arms upward and his hands back. One punch was enough, and the poor fellow crumpled.
The singer strode forward, and everyone stared at him once more. But with increased intensity. For he was beautiful. Perfect, naturally tanned skin without a mark in sight, and wearing a stylish striped suit that put Armani's best to shame. The stride was even, and his toes lifted and his heel fell with a dancer's grace and a sprinter's power. He glided up and put out a single hand. Long, thin fingers and tempered fingernails somehow retaining the semblance of strength, as if they belonged on both piano and barbell, settled upon the knocked-out man. In one fluid motion, they jerked him upright by the arm. After briefly repositioning themselves upon a head that could only be considered ordinary, with a slight bump here and there, they chopped at a flabby neck. Crumpling and twitching violently, the man who had now been struck twice ceased movement.
"Oh, what little benefit upon me has this unimpressive creature bestowed," mused the personification of perfection in flowing Shakespearean-esque fashion.
In the Jeeps, laughter broke out. Raw, guttural and loud, it came from faces that stared with slitted eyes and devilish grins at the line of chained people.
None of the imprisoned rabble even bothered to scream. |
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[WP] A conversation between strangers at a bus stop. | "It's always raining when I have to take the bus." Peter said to no one in particular. He hugged his coat close about him and raised his collar against the misting rain blowing in to the shed where he waited.
"Could be worse." Sasha mumbled, stamping her feet to keep the blood circulating.
"I don't see how." He replied with a brief smile. She didn't turn, instead casting quick glances from the corner of her eye. The bus was slowly creeping down the street. "You think it's warm on the bus?" He asked.
"If not now, it will be." She replied cryptically.
He started for the edge of the street as the bus swooped in. Slushy water from the gutter splashed up on his slacks and coat. "Dammit!" He cursed, rubbing the ice from his slacks.
"That's good luck." Sasha observed.
"How is this good luck?" He snapped, though smiled to lessen the sting of his words.
"You get to go home and change." She replied. He shrugged. There was that. He backed away from the bus as the door opened. "Do something good with your life." She told him, pausing in the doorway of the bus. "We rarely get second chances." She climbed aboard and he waved the driver off and turned to go. He made it about a dozen feet before Sasha detonated her bomb vest. He plowed into a puddle, not noticing it. He stared at the flaming wreckage of the bus as it rolled to a stop half a block away.
He didn't know if he should cry or scream. He did both. | "Are you a hoodlum?"
"Excuse me?"
"Are you a hoodlum? My mom says that people with weird-colored hair and black clothes are hoodlums."
"Yeah? Well you better stay away from me then, huh."
"Nope, I never do what my mom says."
"Oh yeah? And why's that?"
"So she'll stop drinking that weird stuff and notice me more. And play with me. Like daddy did."
"What happened to your dad?"
"I dunno. My mom said he's on a long trip or something. I hope he comes back soon. I miss him."
"Yeah, I know how you feel, kid."
"So where are you riding a bus to?"
"Me? I'm going into the city. Gonna make it big in music."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I'm gonna get a record deal, get famous and play concerts with lots of fans screaming my name."
"Is that why you have a guitar case with you?"
"You're pretty sharp, kid."
"Thanks. My teacher says that too. But she says I talk too much sometimes. And I ask lotsa questions. Do you go to school too?"
"Yeah...well I used to. Dropped out for this music thing."
"I tried running away from school one time cuz these kids were laughing at me. My mom got really mad."
"Well my ma wasn't really around to get mad. My dad sure was pissed though. Whatever, he's happier without me around anyway."
"Hey, can I come with you? To the city? I could be your manager."
"Nah, kid, I don't think that's such a good idea. It's not gonna be very fun. It's hard, trying to make it in music."
"But you're doing it."
"Yeah, cuz I have passion. Music is my life. I'll show people that. I got faith in myself. But you? You still got your whole life ahead of you. You don't know what you want yet."
"But I'm really lonely. The kids in my class tease me sometimes. They say my daddy was a cheater. I dunno what they mean. He always followed the rules when he played games with me. And I don't like it when they laugh at me."
"Don't worry about it, kiddo. Is that why you came to this stop? Tryna run away?"
"Yep. I sort of wanted my mom to come looking for me too. Like daddy used to when we played hide and seek."
"My advice is to go home, kid. Keep your head up. Life gets better if you stop expecting anything from it. You want something? Reach out and grab it and never let it go. Oh, and next time any kid tries bullying you, punch 'em. Hard."
"My mom says punching people is bad."
"I thought you didn't listen to your mom."
"Oh yeah. She'll be so mad. Hey maybe she'll be so mad she'll forget about her drinks. She does that when she's really mad."
"You know, I feel kinda bad for you. You got a lotta shit to deal with. You're pretty tough for a kid."
"Thanks. You're pretty nice for a hoodlum I guess."
"Heh, just don't make it a habit to talk to strangers that look like hoodlums, okay? My bus is here. Remember what I said. Go home and don't let life break you."
"Okay. Bye, hoodlum."
"See ya, kid." |
|
This was adapted from an idea put forward in an Askreddit post. I thought it would make for an interesting story idea.
Thanks for any responses | [WP] World War 3 breaks out between the USA and Russia, leaving the American and Russian astronauts on the International Space Station stranded. | Sergei sobs gently. I can't see the tears running down his face, his visor obscures that. But I can hear him quietly sobbing. And I can see him, floating there, suspended, gazing towards that giant blue marble.
Only it isn't so blue anymore. Nuclear fire fills its atmosphere.
I'm floating only a few metres away from him. We had scheduled maintenance on the station for today. Our space walk had begun only ten minutes ago. In ten minutes, everything had changed.
My comms chime in. The mournful tune of a guitar fills my ears, played by a crew member within the station.
Sergei has ceased sobbing. I float my way over to him.
"Who do you think fired first?" He says to me, his accent thick. "My country, or yours?"
"What does it matter Sergei? Our countries no longer exist. Our planet, indeed, everything we knew has ceased to exist."
He turns his head towards me, the fires on Earth reflected in his visor.
"It is strange to think, that out here...in this most hostile and...inhospitable of all environments...so far away from our homes, our families...that together, on this station, humanity has learned to co-exist better than on Earth."
And there, together, united not by race or by country, Sergei and I floated.
United not by race or country.
But as humans. | It was 1000 GMT when the signals went dead. 0600 New York time, where Jim grew up. He wondered now, fleetingly, if he would ever see the Burroughs again. If he never made it back, he’d never see his father’s grave either. Thankfully he passed away a couple of months ago, and did not have to go through the trial by fire that so many in the world had to face at this time.
“An odd comforting thought.” Jim softly said, staring out the small window that currently had a wonderful view of the Ocean.
“What was that?” Cmdr. Paul asked, as he made his way up into the observation pod that Jim was currently occupying.
“Oh, nothing Paul. I was just in my own head.” Jim replied. Paul looked at him, seemingly satisfied with the answer, before turning to peer out the window as well. Jim had known Paul awhile now; they had gone through training together. He knew that Paul probably had a good idea right now what was on his mind. It was on everyone’s mind. Jim knew what was on Paul’s mind right now as well.
Paul and his wife, Mary, had a newborn daughter two months before their mission to the ISS started. Many nights they had forgotten the difficulties of living in Space by laughing at the video messages Mary sent of little Grace spitting out her mushed peas, or cooing lovingly at the camera while Mary attempted to produce da-da noises from the little girl. Many nights Paul had told Jim about the great adventure of being married, trying to convince Jim to settle down, and join him in his bliss he had found. Yes, Jim knew what was on Paul’s mind. It was on everyone’s mind. It was where none of them would ever go again.
Earth. Home.
|
This was adapted from an idea put forward in an Askreddit post. I thought it would make for an interesting story idea.
Thanks for any responses | [WP] World War 3 breaks out between the USA and Russia, leaving the American and Russian astronauts on the International Space Station stranded. | Sergei sobs gently. I can't see the tears running down his face, his visor obscures that. But I can hear him quietly sobbing. And I can see him, floating there, suspended, gazing towards that giant blue marble.
Only it isn't so blue anymore. Nuclear fire fills its atmosphere.
I'm floating only a few metres away from him. We had scheduled maintenance on the station for today. Our space walk had begun only ten minutes ago. In ten minutes, everything had changed.
My comms chime in. The mournful tune of a guitar fills my ears, played by a crew member within the station.
Sergei has ceased sobbing. I float my way over to him.
"Who do you think fired first?" He says to me, his accent thick. "My country, or yours?"
"What does it matter Sergei? Our countries no longer exist. Our planet, indeed, everything we knew has ceased to exist."
He turns his head towards me, the fires on Earth reflected in his visor.
"It is strange to think, that out here...in this most hostile and...inhospitable of all environments...so far away from our homes, our families...that together, on this station, humanity has learned to co-exist better than on Earth."
And there, together, united not by race or by country, Sergei and I floated.
United not by race or country.
But as humans. | When the klaxon had stopped blaring, the crew wandered to the Earthside cupola, somberly watching the indigo and malachite land as it flowed past. The ICBMs streaked across the darkening horizon, fading away as they dropped through the exosphere. "Impact in 10 seconds." A man sobbed softly. Peter squeezed Valeriya's hand, holding her close. The group held their breath until the first blinding dot appeared. Tiny, yet enormous flashes speckled the terrain, giving them eye spots that would last for days. At that moment, every American and Russian, Englishman and Chinaman and mourned together as hundreds of millions of souls whimpered before silently perishing, snuffed out in an instant. Billions more would die under the putrefying hold of a nuclear wind. The shouts from ground control faded away as the EMP's effects effectively shut down their electronics, quieting them.
There was a radio silence. |
This was adapted from an idea put forward in an Askreddit post. I thought it would make for an interesting story idea.
Thanks for any responses | [WP] World War 3 breaks out between the USA and Russia, leaving the American and Russian astronauts on the International Space Station stranded. | Sergei sobs gently. I can't see the tears running down his face, his visor obscures that. But I can hear him quietly sobbing. And I can see him, floating there, suspended, gazing towards that giant blue marble.
Only it isn't so blue anymore. Nuclear fire fills its atmosphere.
I'm floating only a few metres away from him. We had scheduled maintenance on the station for today. Our space walk had begun only ten minutes ago. In ten minutes, everything had changed.
My comms chime in. The mournful tune of a guitar fills my ears, played by a crew member within the station.
Sergei has ceased sobbing. I float my way over to him.
"Who do you think fired first?" He says to me, his accent thick. "My country, or yours?"
"What does it matter Sergei? Our countries no longer exist. Our planet, indeed, everything we knew has ceased to exist."
He turns his head towards me, the fires on Earth reflected in his visor.
"It is strange to think, that out here...in this most hostile and...inhospitable of all environments...so far away from our homes, our families...that together, on this station, humanity has learned to co-exist better than on Earth."
And there, together, united not by race or by country, Sergei and I floated.
United not by race or country.
But as humans. | Tyurin spat. It had been three days since he was ordered to close the hatch on the Americans. Men he had known and become close friends with, he could now only see through the hatch window, and speak with only when the safety of the station was in question.
He looked at his two colleagues, both had dejected expressions. Because of the morons in Moscow everything they had been working towards their entire lives was in jeopardy. If he opened the hatch it would mean immediate exile for his family, friends and colleagues - and probably his quiet death when he landed on the steppes of Kazakhstan. If he left it closed, Wakata, Swanson and Mastracchio would be left to die.
-----
"Rick," the noise from the radio broke the silence "have you heard anything from the Russians?"
Mastracchio snapped back to reality. "CAPCOM - we're silent up here. The hatch is still closed. Any news on the egress plan?"
While NASA had contingencies for every eventuality in the mission rules - nobody had thought this one would have to be invoked. Luckily the Dragon spacecraft - which was supposed to depart a week ago - was still berthed to the station. They had a lifeboat. Unfortunately there weren't any seats.
"Negative Rick - we're just going to need you to...sit tight for a few more hours while we get Hawthorne back together. We've been working this all night just so you know."
That wasn't comforting. He turned to Koichi: "So...any ideas?"
The Japanese Space Agency, JAXA, was well aware of the issues - but they were helpless. Only the Russians had a truly human-rated vehicle. While SpaceX had reported success and survivability with Dragon, no astronaut had returned on it. It was purely a cargo capsule.
"Rick, we need to talk to Mikhail and see what the Soyuz status is," Koichi pleaded.
"Kay - you know they won't even talk to us, it would mean death for them at the very least," Rick was resigned, "but we can try."
Steve Swanson had been sitting at the hatch separating the Russian and American segments of the station for almost three hours. The three men took shifts. Since the American segment was so much larger the three Russians were almost always in view. They looked pained - they were about to make a decision that would affect all six men for the rest of their lives.
-----
Tyurin moved without speaking, he had made the decision and his colleagues would have to live with it. He reached for the hatch and opened it. Immediately an alarm klaxon sounded. His colleague reached to the alarm panel and silenced it. When the war started Moscow had set additional alarms in case the Americans tried to force their way into the Russian segment to leave.
Mastracchio gave Tyurin - his friend - a solemn nod of acknowledgement. They all knew what this meant. They could not return to Russia. Rick flicked his COMM switch: "Houston, we've had a request from the Russian crew for asylum."
The radio was silent - the American radio was silent. In the Russian segment the astronauts were being berated by Moscow informing them of the disservice they'd done to Russia and how they would pay for their disloyalty.
Finally Houston responded, "Roger Expedition 36, we need you to expedite - please prepare to evacuate the station per plan 37-alpha."
The astronauts worked quickly - the station needed to be set up for an eventual return. Systems moved to standby - experiments moved to the Dragon in order to return to Earth. Moscow had been relieved of what little control they still had over station systems but the astronauts only had a limited amount of time.
While the two Americans worked feverishly to load Dragon and prepare it to be jettisoned, the other four crew members began preparations to return to their Soyuz lifeboats. The guidance computers needed to be reprogrammed to use the American abort sites as their primary reentry sites.
Suddenly a loud pop rang out through the station. Pressure alarms in the Russian segment began ringing. Mastracchio and Swanson moved to the hatch as two of the Russians and the commander, Wakata, almost barreled them over. The only one missing was Oleg - Rick noticed a red mist behind them. Oleg had shot himself and in the process destroyed one of the main coolant loops for the station - polluting the Russian segment.
Dragon had already been jettisoned - the astronauts were now truly stranded. |
This was adapted from an idea put forward in an Askreddit post. I thought it would make for an interesting story idea.
Thanks for any responses | [WP] World War 3 breaks out between the USA and Russia, leaving the American and Russian astronauts on the International Space Station stranded. | Sergei sobs gently. I can't see the tears running down his face, his visor obscures that. But I can hear him quietly sobbing. And I can see him, floating there, suspended, gazing towards that giant blue marble.
Only it isn't so blue anymore. Nuclear fire fills its atmosphere.
I'm floating only a few metres away from him. We had scheduled maintenance on the station for today. Our space walk had begun only ten minutes ago. In ten minutes, everything had changed.
My comms chime in. The mournful tune of a guitar fills my ears, played by a crew member within the station.
Sergei has ceased sobbing. I float my way over to him.
"Who do you think fired first?" He says to me, his accent thick. "My country, or yours?"
"What does it matter Sergei? Our countries no longer exist. Our planet, indeed, everything we knew has ceased to exist."
He turns his head towards me, the fires on Earth reflected in his visor.
"It is strange to think, that out here...in this most hostile and...inhospitable of all environments...so far away from our homes, our families...that together, on this station, humanity has learned to co-exist better than on Earth."
And there, together, united not by race or by country, Sergei and I floated.
United not by race or country.
But as humans. | Edit: my first attempt ever, please be gentle..
Sitting there, side by side, they were watching though the small window at the world below them. burning. Thank God someone once though it a good joke to pack some microwave popcorn in one of the food packages they had received a few months ago. If there ever was a day for popcorn, this was it. Had they been in world's largest cinema, watching Michael Bay's most outrageous movie, then it would still have been insignificant in comparison to what they were watching right now. Had the world once been blue with swats of green, now it was littered with red embers that shone pure evil. The world was in ruins, and here they were, Oleg and David. Payload specialist and mission commander. Best friends since they met each other back on the base at training, supposed worst enemies since yesterday. Munching popcorn, showing little emotion about the spectacular view below.
Oleg grinned, "you know David, right before all communication went down, I received orders to kill you when I had the opportunity!" David smiled, "don't keep all the popcorn for yourself commie!", grabbed a handful, and continued to look down.
They should be sad, they should be crying, they should be hysterical. But with all the rage on the world down below, they found themselves in an oasis of peace. Knowing full well that since the world had died, there was no more hope. Not for humanity, not for them. Without resupply missions, they would run out of food in two weeks. They only had enough maneuvering fuel left for one week, so that did not really matter anyway. The escape pod could only take them down to those embers of hell, there was nowhere left to go. No hope, nothing to do but watch those embers, and be the last humans to enjoy something. Oleg took another hand full of popcorn and smiled |
[WP] You can see the darkest secret of everyone you meet. As you enter your house, expecting to see the usual abusive father story of your spouse, you stop; it has changed. | [Great Prompt! I’m late to the party, but here goes nothing]
I’m thinking of becoming a pro poker player. Daniel Negreanu, Jamie Goyd, Johnny Chan, et al. They’d have nothing on me. They’re too professional. They care too much. Radio waves sing their excitement through the air, straight to me. I don’t have to look have to look at the little cards the Sports Network puts in the bottom left hand corner of the screen. In the finals, everybody has his hand written on his forehead. Afterwards, they are all branded with the same secret: THIEF THIEF THIEF on every man and woman, in every interview, every time.
It doesn’t mean that they steal, or even that they nicked a candies from a penny-stores when they were wee. I suppose it’s their old lies, eating their guts up inside.
If you took a man from his home, bound him to a chair, tortured him until he died while screaming “Tell me! Tell me!” and wrote his last words on his forehead, you would see him as I do. People are made of nerve-endings and shame.
Hindu women are immune, when they wear the bindi. Christians, too, who mark their brow on ash Wednesday. Neo-Nazis with swastika Tattoos between their eyes, one of the few groups of who look ordinary to me. Psychopaths are always clean.
Babies have secrets, though I try not look at them for too long, it’s... uncomfortable. Like staring into the sun.
When I was a child, it was a dot on the forehead, of a colour you’ve never seen. By the time I was nine I knew how the universe coloured adulteresses, and I blackmailed Dr. Hassenhoff into helping me hone my talents. She’s a charming woman, a little pudgy, terrified of me, but useful. A truly talented psychologist, with two kids, perfectly suited for my ends. After three years of bi-weekly sessions, we refined the coloured dots into words and I released her. She moved to Florida. The first words I ever saw were on her forehead. She wasn’t an ADULTRESS anymore. Her ‘last words’ were JAMIE GOLDSTEIN.
Do you think it’s a good name for a professional poker player? Seems sort of tacky for a gambling man to have a Jewish name, but it really can’t be helped. Enough about me, though. I think you know me pretty well by now, better than anyone, except, of course, Hassenhoff.
I miss her.
Oh yeah, Katherine. You wanted to know about her, right?
Her Mother’s dead (emphysema, age 34, Katherine and I were 13). Our families were close, and I attended the funeral. There, in the open casket, I looked at a dead body for the first time. To my joy, I could still see it! BURDEN! Right across the corpse’s face! The bigger the guilt, the bigger the letters, and there they were, B-U-R-D-E-N, BURDEN!
Huzzah?
Her father is a coal miner. An ape of a man, Katherine’s lucky she didn’t take after him. He was one of the ones who inspired me to hone my talents with the good doctor. That is, his colour was unique. I couldn’t, therefore, place his shame by categorizing him amoung people of similar life-styles (married, unmarried, divorced, parents, pastors, ect.) . I had to know. Not knowing makes me very upset.
As my time with Hassenhoff made his sin more clear, I began to understand why I couldn’t quite place his colour before. His shame was complex and unique. Where a word will do for most men, he needed an entire phrase. It barely fits on his broad face, the letters are so big with pain.
LET DADDY FUCK ME
It’s so funny, ‘DADDY’ written with infinite fear across the face of the biggest bastard in town. The man mines coal for fuck’s sake. He’s the size of a goddamn tank. If I didn’t have my gift, I would have run from his daughter’s cunt and off a cliff, but I do so I’m fucking her.
Who’s going to resist the lonely girl at school with a brand-new pair of tits and KATHERINE GOLDSTEIN on her face in pink? Not I.
The mistake was getting too close. She used to wonder about her father’s moods. His drinking. She caught me at a... sensitive moment. I guess I blabbed. Told her I heard it somewhere.
She went to him. They talked, he cried. I could hear it through the walls. I should have left, but I was tired to I pretended to sleep.
The next morning at the breakfast table, yet another person with my name on his face. Katherine’s father, lips pursed, all anger and quietude. KILL JAMIE on his forehead and something else, tiny and fractically repeated as he handed me my eggs.
“Something wrong, James?” He asked.
“A mite in my eye,” I replied, squinting at him so I could make out the littler words on his face.
poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison poison
I threw my coffee in his face and ran.
So that, in answer to your question, is how I came to be on the first train out of town in my pyjama pants. Say, do you mind hopping into the loo with me when the conductor comes by, and handing your single ticket under the door? I heard it in an old joke, but I think it could work.
Oh, c’mon, I’ve told you my biggest secret, you can help a fellow out. Especially when he’s about to move to a new city, change his name and become the greatest poker player of all time!
That is too my biggest secret, and how I ‘waste’ my talents is not of your concern. Especially when I’ve already implied how much you Hindi women piss me off.
Of course you’re Hindi, you’re wearing the-
Oh fuck you, don’t fuck with me. That’s a very nice try and all but-
Well I try not to look at my own face personally-
Yeah. Yeah. That’s um- accurate. I have to say, I never imagined- well, in any case it’s wonderful to meet you, I am Jamie Goldstien (COWARD).
| So long. Sorry.
---
Development was going really slow this month...but today I did a record amount of work! It felt good to be finished and as I pack up my desk I start to think about my husband, Issac. I hope he's back from work. If he is home, I think we should go out to dinner.
He'd be so shocked! I don't like to go out much. It sounds weird... but I can see people's deepest secrets when I look at them.
I don't know when I developed this oddity, but I know it was after an accident I was in. My memory is hazy after that. I'm not sure what kind of accident it was either, I really only remember waking up in the hospital. At the same time, maybe it's from playing too many games? The secrets pop up like game menus and scroll with text. They don't have much detail. Just the person's name, their age, their skills, their likes and dislikes... and of course, their darkest secret. It's like a strange, always on video game.
One of my co-workers, Jean, stops by my office. "See you, Isabel," She says. Jean Knowles. Age 39. Skills: Accounting, Juggling, Spanish, Writing... focus to see more. Likes: Cats, magic tricks, puzzles, candy... focus to see more. Dislikes: Alcohol, Racism, Sexism, rainy days... focus to see more. Darkest Secret: Currently stalking co-worker Ryan Saunders... focus to see more.
"...See you, Jean," I say with a smile. I don't focus on her. I never do. She leaves, seeming pleased. I follow after a little while. The office is pretty empty, which is a relief.
Once I see it, that menu doesn't close unless I read it. I'm not sure why. So I always know what someone's secrets are. It even works on TVs, so I only watch cartoons. I got an adBlocker extension for my internet so that I didn't have to see the secrets of those people in ads. I have to take buses so I don't crash a car from all of the menus piling up in front of me.
Stepping outside, I notice that the bus is just pulling up at the stop in front of my building. Lucky! Today's really going my way! I hop on and sit down. It's practically empty. Super lucky! There are only four people today! Lisa Waters, age 56, sits across from me. D'wan Jones is to my left, age 19. Sherry Quince, age 29 is to my right. The bus driver is Mike Reynolds, age 23.
The bus is pretty bad, but not as bad as driving. I can't see out of the windows well, so I don't get information on people outside. Just the people inside with me. Like Lisa, who is good at...underwater basket weaving? Why? And D'wan, a mathematics genius. Now that I'm looking, his bag has a lot of math books sticking out of it. And Sherry, who is good at guessing ages. I wonder if she does it on bus rides like this. And Mike is apparently good at driving. So I guess that's why he got this job.
At times, this weird ability is a boon. Knowing someone's likes and dislikes makes it easier for you to manipulate them into liking you or make them more willing to ignore you. Lisa and D'wan are the only two with similar likes, since they both seem to really like motorcycles. The others don't have anything in common as far as likes are concerned, but they all hate traffic. Can't blame them, though. Work is only five stops away from my home and I can't stand traffic on the short trip to and from work. It's annoying.
When we reach my stop, I get off the bus and search my purse for keys as I head to the door. This part is crucial. There's always too many people outside of my apartment building, and I really don't need to know just who molested whom or who was molested by whom or whatever awful crimes the people around me committed. I hurry into the lobby of my building.
"Afternoon, Miss Satire." The doorman says. His name is William Rudgers, he's in his 80s. Pff, okay. He's 81. I'm not sure why he keeps working here. In his likes, it says he likes people, maybe it's that? The guy is a saint though. The worst thing he ever did is cheat to get a job. Adorable. The guy who lived across from me murders animals, but this 80 year old man cheated to get a job. It's kind of funny.
"Afternoon, Bill." I respond. "How are you?"
"Killing time, doing fine," He says with a laugh. "Mr. Satire got back early today, so you don't have any mail."
"Oh? Great!" I say cheerily. Issac's back before me? Perfect! We can go out and get a steaks. He loves those. I go to the elevator and push the button to head up. "Now Bill," I say, looking back at him. "Don't work too hard."
"Do I ever work too hard, young lady?" He asks, straightening up. I chuckle.
"No sir. Just hard enough." I respond. He grins and the elevator doors open.
"Have a good night," he says as I step in and press '3'.
"You too," I respond, before the doors close.
The climb to my floor is short. I hurry down the hall and step into my apartment.
It's a mess.
There's paper strewn everywhere, newspapers and printer pages alike. On the whiteboard we keep in the hall towards the kitchen, there's scribbling and circles in red and blue. Lots of lines too, and arrows pointing at things that are circled. Cups are all over the floor. The mail is piled neatly on the coffee table though.
"Issac?" I call. He doesn't respond. I kick off my shoes and head down the hall towards the bedroom. The door is ajar. "Issac? Are you asleep?" I ask, pushing the door open. He turns to face me, his dark hair messy, his eyes wide. He looks like he's been through the washing machine.
"Don't focus!" He shouts.
"Wha...?" I ask. His menu pops up. Issac Satire. Age 45. Skills: Virology, Surgery, Electronics... focus to see more. Likes: Music, Dogs, Mysteries... focus to see more. Dislikes: Non-answers, illogical statements, liars... focus to see more. Darkest Secret: Kills himself. Focus to see more. Wait, kills his--
"I said, don't focus!" He says, quieter.
"I...I'm not?" I say, blinking. "Uh... Why not?"
"You know why." He says. "You know I'm going to kill myself."
"*UHHHHHHH*..." My mouth hangs open.
"We can dance around it if we want." He said. "But you see them. The menus."
"**UHHHHHHHHHHH**--" I go up an octave.
"Listen." He said. "Promise me you won't focus. When I was in your shoes, I did."
"When you were-- what the hell are you talking about?"
"Listen, it's weird and it won't make sense..." He runs a hand through his hair. It's messier now. "But you remember your father, don't you?"
"...Yeah. Sort of. No."
"What do you remember?"
"...Just that he died in that accident I was in as a kid."
"Nothing before that?"
"...No." I say. "...But... why are you asking...?"
"My father abused me, remember?" Issac said.
"..." I nod gravely.
"Did you ever focus on my story?"
"...S-sure..." I say. It's... weird talking about this... how does he know about the menus...?
"Didn't it seem off to you?"
"It..." I pause. Issac's abuse *was* weird. His dad just...kept doing experiments on him. Over and over... stuff that should've screwed him up. Stuff that should've killed him. Issac didn't seem to have any memory of the last one before he was separated from his father, though. "...Y-yeah...?" I say.
"Did you ever wonder why?"
"Yeah... but I...wasn't going to ask..."
"Don't worry." He sighs. "You'll know soon enough."
"I-- don't get what you're talking about."
"You're me, Isabel. And I... I'm you. Somehow, one of Dad's stupid experiments got us stuck in a loop." Issac said. "We got into a new machine he made. He was testing to see if he could fuse his children together. Isabel and Issac."
"..." I swallow. "An--and?"
"And he didn't. He just entangled our lives." Issac says, beginning to pace. "Issac vanished with the memories of his father's maltreatment. Isabel lived with no memory at all. But do you know where Issac went?"
I try to think. Issac's past is very hazy. He recalls a lot of orphanages that don't exist anymore, his degree is from a school that shut down and he barely has any pictures of himself. "...The... future?" I guess.
"Right." Issac says.
"What? That was a shot in the dark!"
"I know. But...Issac and Isabel can't exist in the same world. When they cross paths, Issac kills himself. And Isabel becomes Issac."
"What?! How?"
"...I got hit by a car." Issac mutters. "But Issac's body was so damaged, they didn't know if he was a man or a woman. They thought I was Issac, and changed me into him. When I woke up, I remembered everything of my dad's abuse... but not very much else. Not my family... not how I'd gotten here... not how I knew so much about viruses... nothing. My knowledge is not like Isabel's. I don't know anything about corporate finance like you do."
"So... I'm going to die? And turn into...Issac?"
"You'll live. I'll die." Issac says softly. "You'll have all of my memories... none of yours."
"What happens if I focus?"
"Don't!" Issac snaps.
"I just want to know!"
"I don't know." Issac starts pacing. "I saw how I'd die and I didn't want to. So I just died another way. Don't look at it. It'll make you paranoid."
"...Will I run into another Isabel?"
"I think so. ...It... seems like a loop. Maybe I die and become Isabel. After all, I have all the memories Isabel doesn't."
I stare at him and finally I say, "How long do we have left? Before we... uh... die. Is there a time limit?"
"I don't know."
"How long have you known about this?"
"I...only just realized." He mutters. "I predicted something that would happen in the news a few weeks ago. The lottery winner. I was trying to figure out why I knew and I wrote down all of my crazy predictions. They're all true. All of them. I... regained my memories from when I was Isabel. Issac and Isabel... they can't exist in the same world. That's what Issac told me. One must live. Another must die. Issac always dies. And Issac always lives."
"I don't get it. We are existing in the same world. Right now."
"That's not what I mean. You won't get it for a while, okay, so don't try. And don't focus." He says, grabbing my shoulders. "Promise me."
I look at his menu. I have the ability... should I focus? |
|
[WP] You can see the darkest secret of everyone you meet. As you enter your house, expecting to see the usual abusive father story of your spouse, you stop; it has changed. | Silence was my first clue. Instead of the usual chaotic jubilee greeting me at the door, there was just a dusty, entombed silence. I slipped my designer sunglasses into my jacket pocket, set down my nearly empty briefcase, and craned my neck for a view of the steps.
"Hello? Where's my fanfare?" I tease, calling down the darkened hallway.
Sondrine and I started too young. She was so willing to throw her nubile 15 year old body at me. Just like all the other times in my life, she was marked with an invisible ink. Invisible except to me, it seemed. Could anyone else see the flaw in the people they met on the street? It wasn't always clear what the image stamped across their forehead meant. I'd learned to look past it. So I had a good idea why this beautiful girl would willingly give herself so young to a relative nobody like me. The image chaged from time to time to spell out the whole story. Whatever worst part of her past was on her mind most recently paraded between her beautiful temples. Of course I had seen enough to put together the basic story. A large domineering figure towering over a crouched child who clutched desperately to a rag doll; a scene of panic as the large figure downs a bottle of liquor to add to the pile lying haphazardly at his feet; a slightly smaller, more feminine figure watching in a detatched way as the large shadow leads the smallest into a dark room...
I knew these things, but what virile 16-year-old could be coaxed away from the appetizing platter that Sondrine was offering up. I loved her, for all the capability I had at that age. After that first night, I felt that I owed it to her to stick it through. She was sweet, even if she had her temperamental moments. High school passed in a blur of passion intertwined with bright spots of anger and frustration. I proposed at our graduation. She accepted and lead me over to her parents to showcase her small chip of a diamond ring. I smiled tightly into faces that matched her dark figures.
The wedding was lovely, if small. Our closest friends came with us to a justice of the peace. We all enjoyed a dinner at the lovely bistro down the street. She was a shining bride. So young and full of adventure and sass. It surprised no one when she got pregnant right away. We were nervous, but excited to welcome a new start to our lives. The pregnancy passed with no complications and only minor complaints. A nurse handed Sondrine our new baby girl with more happiness on her face than my wife's. Sondrine looked questioningly at this newcomer, scoping out her termperament.
Holly's baby years escaped before I could get enough. When she was three, Sondrine announced a subsequent pregnancy. Sondrine hadn't taken to motherhood with the grace and surity that I had hoped, but she and Holly had an easy rapport with each other. Thomas was born nine months later and our family felt secure.
Was it the fact that she had her own children that made her dwell on her tear-stained past? I noticed more scenes showing as her mind drudged up more and more darkness. The little figure was so lost and alone. All I could do was love Sondrine with the best of me. I had never told her about the constant playbook of hate and intolerance stamped in plain sight for me. And she had never found the courage to entrust me with her secrets.
Two years later and here we are. Any normal day I'm met at the door by my two lovely children. Why was today different? I walked into the living room expecting to find it empty. Sondrine was sitting at the end of the love seat with her feet propped on our coffee table.
"Oh! I thought maybe you three had gone out to play or something. Are the kids asleep? They're so quiet!" I kissed her cheek lightly from behind and brushed her ponytail back to trail my fingers lovingly across her neck.
"Yes." That's all she said. Just ... Yes...
I stepped around and cocked my head quizzically to the side. Yes? Yes they were outside? Or yes they were sleeping? That's when I saw it. The dark figure. It was holding a pillow over a squiriming body. When had that happened? Wait... That dark figure was a clear sillouhette of my own wife. And there was a new tiny shadow next to the writhing one. No... NO.
It didn't matter how fast I took those stairs. It was over. The new scenes over the years suddenly made sense. I should have asked. I should have known.
She had been adding to her own secrets, carrying on the gruesome legacy wrought by her own father...
| So long. Sorry.
---
Development was going really slow this month...but today I did a record amount of work! It felt good to be finished and as I pack up my desk I start to think about my husband, Issac. I hope he's back from work. If he is home, I think we should go out to dinner.
He'd be so shocked! I don't like to go out much. It sounds weird... but I can see people's deepest secrets when I look at them.
I don't know when I developed this oddity, but I know it was after an accident I was in. My memory is hazy after that. I'm not sure what kind of accident it was either, I really only remember waking up in the hospital. At the same time, maybe it's from playing too many games? The secrets pop up like game menus and scroll with text. They don't have much detail. Just the person's name, their age, their skills, their likes and dislikes... and of course, their darkest secret. It's like a strange, always on video game.
One of my co-workers, Jean, stops by my office. "See you, Isabel," She says. Jean Knowles. Age 39. Skills: Accounting, Juggling, Spanish, Writing... focus to see more. Likes: Cats, magic tricks, puzzles, candy... focus to see more. Dislikes: Alcohol, Racism, Sexism, rainy days... focus to see more. Darkest Secret: Currently stalking co-worker Ryan Saunders... focus to see more.
"...See you, Jean," I say with a smile. I don't focus on her. I never do. She leaves, seeming pleased. I follow after a little while. The office is pretty empty, which is a relief.
Once I see it, that menu doesn't close unless I read it. I'm not sure why. So I always know what someone's secrets are. It even works on TVs, so I only watch cartoons. I got an adBlocker extension for my internet so that I didn't have to see the secrets of those people in ads. I have to take buses so I don't crash a car from all of the menus piling up in front of me.
Stepping outside, I notice that the bus is just pulling up at the stop in front of my building. Lucky! Today's really going my way! I hop on and sit down. It's practically empty. Super lucky! There are only four people today! Lisa Waters, age 56, sits across from me. D'wan Jones is to my left, age 19. Sherry Quince, age 29 is to my right. The bus driver is Mike Reynolds, age 23.
The bus is pretty bad, but not as bad as driving. I can't see out of the windows well, so I don't get information on people outside. Just the people inside with me. Like Lisa, who is good at...underwater basket weaving? Why? And D'wan, a mathematics genius. Now that I'm looking, his bag has a lot of math books sticking out of it. And Sherry, who is good at guessing ages. I wonder if she does it on bus rides like this. And Mike is apparently good at driving. So I guess that's why he got this job.
At times, this weird ability is a boon. Knowing someone's likes and dislikes makes it easier for you to manipulate them into liking you or make them more willing to ignore you. Lisa and D'wan are the only two with similar likes, since they both seem to really like motorcycles. The others don't have anything in common as far as likes are concerned, but they all hate traffic. Can't blame them, though. Work is only five stops away from my home and I can't stand traffic on the short trip to and from work. It's annoying.
When we reach my stop, I get off the bus and search my purse for keys as I head to the door. This part is crucial. There's always too many people outside of my apartment building, and I really don't need to know just who molested whom or who was molested by whom or whatever awful crimes the people around me committed. I hurry into the lobby of my building.
"Afternoon, Miss Satire." The doorman says. His name is William Rudgers, he's in his 80s. Pff, okay. He's 81. I'm not sure why he keeps working here. In his likes, it says he likes people, maybe it's that? The guy is a saint though. The worst thing he ever did is cheat to get a job. Adorable. The guy who lived across from me murders animals, but this 80 year old man cheated to get a job. It's kind of funny.
"Afternoon, Bill." I respond. "How are you?"
"Killing time, doing fine," He says with a laugh. "Mr. Satire got back early today, so you don't have any mail."
"Oh? Great!" I say cheerily. Issac's back before me? Perfect! We can go out and get a steaks. He loves those. I go to the elevator and push the button to head up. "Now Bill," I say, looking back at him. "Don't work too hard."
"Do I ever work too hard, young lady?" He asks, straightening up. I chuckle.
"No sir. Just hard enough." I respond. He grins and the elevator doors open.
"Have a good night," he says as I step in and press '3'.
"You too," I respond, before the doors close.
The climb to my floor is short. I hurry down the hall and step into my apartment.
It's a mess.
There's paper strewn everywhere, newspapers and printer pages alike. On the whiteboard we keep in the hall towards the kitchen, there's scribbling and circles in red and blue. Lots of lines too, and arrows pointing at things that are circled. Cups are all over the floor. The mail is piled neatly on the coffee table though.
"Issac?" I call. He doesn't respond. I kick off my shoes and head down the hall towards the bedroom. The door is ajar. "Issac? Are you asleep?" I ask, pushing the door open. He turns to face me, his dark hair messy, his eyes wide. He looks like he's been through the washing machine.
"Don't focus!" He shouts.
"Wha...?" I ask. His menu pops up. Issac Satire. Age 45. Skills: Virology, Surgery, Electronics... focus to see more. Likes: Music, Dogs, Mysteries... focus to see more. Dislikes: Non-answers, illogical statements, liars... focus to see more. Darkest Secret: Kills himself. Focus to see more. Wait, kills his--
"I said, don't focus!" He says, quieter.
"I...I'm not?" I say, blinking. "Uh... Why not?"
"You know why." He says. "You know I'm going to kill myself."
"*UHHHHHHH*..." My mouth hangs open.
"We can dance around it if we want." He said. "But you see them. The menus."
"**UHHHHHHHHHHH**--" I go up an octave.
"Listen." He said. "Promise me you won't focus. When I was in your shoes, I did."
"When you were-- what the hell are you talking about?"
"Listen, it's weird and it won't make sense..." He runs a hand through his hair. It's messier now. "But you remember your father, don't you?"
"...Yeah. Sort of. No."
"What do you remember?"
"...Just that he died in that accident I was in as a kid."
"Nothing before that?"
"...No." I say. "...But... why are you asking...?"
"My father abused me, remember?" Issac said.
"..." I nod gravely.
"Did you ever focus on my story?"
"...S-sure..." I say. It's... weird talking about this... how does he know about the menus...?
"Didn't it seem off to you?"
"It..." I pause. Issac's abuse *was* weird. His dad just...kept doing experiments on him. Over and over... stuff that should've screwed him up. Stuff that should've killed him. Issac didn't seem to have any memory of the last one before he was separated from his father, though. "...Y-yeah...?" I say.
"Did you ever wonder why?"
"Yeah... but I...wasn't going to ask..."
"Don't worry." He sighs. "You'll know soon enough."
"I-- don't get what you're talking about."
"You're me, Isabel. And I... I'm you. Somehow, one of Dad's stupid experiments got us stuck in a loop." Issac said. "We got into a new machine he made. He was testing to see if he could fuse his children together. Isabel and Issac."
"..." I swallow. "An--and?"
"And he didn't. He just entangled our lives." Issac says, beginning to pace. "Issac vanished with the memories of his father's maltreatment. Isabel lived with no memory at all. But do you know where Issac went?"
I try to think. Issac's past is very hazy. He recalls a lot of orphanages that don't exist anymore, his degree is from a school that shut down and he barely has any pictures of himself. "...The... future?" I guess.
"Right." Issac says.
"What? That was a shot in the dark!"
"I know. But...Issac and Isabel can't exist in the same world. When they cross paths, Issac kills himself. And Isabel becomes Issac."
"What?! How?"
"...I got hit by a car." Issac mutters. "But Issac's body was so damaged, they didn't know if he was a man or a woman. They thought I was Issac, and changed me into him. When I woke up, I remembered everything of my dad's abuse... but not very much else. Not my family... not how I'd gotten here... not how I knew so much about viruses... nothing. My knowledge is not like Isabel's. I don't know anything about corporate finance like you do."
"So... I'm going to die? And turn into...Issac?"
"You'll live. I'll die." Issac says softly. "You'll have all of my memories... none of yours."
"What happens if I focus?"
"Don't!" Issac snaps.
"I just want to know!"
"I don't know." Issac starts pacing. "I saw how I'd die and I didn't want to. So I just died another way. Don't look at it. It'll make you paranoid."
"...Will I run into another Isabel?"
"I think so. ...It... seems like a loop. Maybe I die and become Isabel. After all, I have all the memories Isabel doesn't."
I stare at him and finally I say, "How long do we have left? Before we... uh... die. Is there a time limit?"
"I don't know."
"How long have you known about this?"
"I...only just realized." He mutters. "I predicted something that would happen in the news a few weeks ago. The lottery winner. I was trying to figure out why I knew and I wrote down all of my crazy predictions. They're all true. All of them. I... regained my memories from when I was Isabel. Issac and Isabel... they can't exist in the same world. That's what Issac told me. One must live. Another must die. Issac always dies. And Issac always lives."
"I don't get it. We are existing in the same world. Right now."
"That's not what I mean. You won't get it for a while, okay, so don't try. And don't focus." He says, grabbing my shoulders. "Promise me."
I look at his menu. I have the ability... should I focus? |
|
[WP] You can see the darkest secret of everyone you meet. As you enter your house, expecting to see the usual abusive father story of your spouse, you stop; it has changed. | The minutes ticked by today at the office as I shuffled through more paperwork but I’m finally pulling into the driveway at home. The clock on the dashboard of my car shows 6:23, almost 40 minutes later than my usual time arriving home. Traffic congestion slowing me down and only made worse by the suffocating heat rising off the hot asphalt that slowly moves through my lungs with every breath. I really need to find the money to get my ac fixed. I turn off the motor and reach across to the passenger seat to grab my briefcase and the plastic gallon of milk I almost forgot to buy. Bethany’s car is already parked to the left in her usual spot, covering up the stain left from the leaking transmission. I need to find money for that too somehow. I hope her therapy session went well today.
As I make my way to the front door I think back to the first day I saw her. That swirling cloud of guilt and shame that moved with her even though she had a bright smile on her face. The urge to protect her and help her find a path to happiness almost brought me to my knees. I gave myself up to that love and have never regretted it. I never told her that I could see people’s secrets. When she finally opened up to me two years later with that delicate and frail trust of hers I knew it was time to propose. Her dad walked her down the aisle and as I took her hand out of her father’s I made a silent vow to her that she would never be harmed again. Not by him, not by anyone. Never would she be made to feel dirty or be touched in any way that she did not invite or want.
As I step into the house I feel a welcoming blast of cool air. I swing the door shut with my foot, walking down the hallway filled with photos from our years of marriage and into the kitchen. Bethany’s back is to me as she stands at the sliding glass door, looking out into the backyard. I see that familiar dark swirl that is so much a part of her that I rarely take notice of it anymore. Just as I’m about to call out to her I notice the swirl thicken, darken and a new vision appears out of the cloud.
What?
Oh my g… What?
I can’t breathe. I can’t … this isn’t right. I’m not seeing things correctly. Mistake … must be a mis…
Bethany turns around. She flashes me the kind of smile that hides a fear and is a poor mask for what her eyes show. She quickly moves to the stove to where dinner is cooking. I’m just staring at her. I’m knocked out of my trance when I feel something cold and wet drench my right leg. I look down. I must have dropped the milk and now the plastic jug has busted open. Milk is everywhere. It quickly spans out, filling up the grouted tiled pathways like a river of white trying to make its quick escape to nowhere. My brown shoes are really scuffed up. I should polish them soon. I didn't realize how bad they have gotten. I should be more cautious when walking the concrete steps. The toes of my shoes have taken a beating. Yes, I should polish my shoes. They’ll still be scuffed up but I can cover up the marks so they don’t appear so obviously worn down.
I hear the closet door open and click close. The mop is being pushed back and forth in front of my feet that have rooted to the floor. I look up, she is looking down. I slowly step out of the mess I have made, set my briefcase down on the counter and grab a towel. I lay it on the floor and watch as the little loops of material expand and darken as it soaks up the milk. I make my way to the sink to wring the towel out where Bethany is doing the same with the mop. My arm accidentally brushes her breast. She freezes, her hand stopping mid-way on the mop handle. I wince. I will never be able to touch my wife again. Still holding the towel, my hands grip the edge of the counter forcing milk back onto the floor. I squeeze my eyes shut.
Her therapy, in the beginning, seemed to be helping in so many ways. She seemed lighter, more carefree. We were laughing more; our sex life was verging on the wild and more passionate than ever. Things lately between us have seemed off for a bit but … Oh god. Not this. Not this. It just isn’t possible.
How could she not have realized? How did she not know until now? Why would she marry me just because I remind her of her father?
| I came back from my trip expecting the usual argument with the wife, about who I was with or if I was cheating on her, always ending with me telling her that we can see each others' darkest secrets and her stopping instantly with a grim look on her face.
I'd never done anything of any note myself, other than having a 'pyromaniac' stage in high school that didn't even culminate in anything. My wife however was abused as a teenager by her stepfather, not sexual abuse, but physical and mental. He enjoyed toying with her with lies and evil whisperings, then as she found out the truths, he beat her. Relentlessly.
So when I got home, I never expected that her secret would have changed. I mean when you think about it, it would have to be pretty bad to overwrite those years of utter darkness. Alas, as I saw her face expecting her past to flash in my mind once again, I saw a different scene. A scene more horrifying than I could ever have pictured her a part of.
Our eyes met as my fast twisted with anger and fear, her face whitened as she realised that I knew her secret had changed. She started to speak but I held my hand up to stop her as I would never let this leave the house. I would never let the world know that she had been to see a Justin Bieber concert. |
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[WP] You can see the darkest secret of everyone you meet. As you enter your house, expecting to see the usual abusive father story of your spouse, you stop; it has changed. | Travis was used to smelling blood. A lot of peoples' secrets involved bloodshed in some form or fashion. Most that did involve blood were from self harmers. A whiff of iron followed by brief flashes of open wounds either on wrists, thighs, and on rare occasion, genitalia. Travis was used to that.
He wasn't, however, used to smelling it upon entering the house when he knew Jemmye was home. No, he was used to the smell of cheap whiskey, the sound of a leather belt smacking across bare flesh and the sight of Jemmye crying quickly flashing across his vision. It was these intruding senses that made Travis sure to always treat Jemmye with as much kindness as possible, even on days when he had trouble putting up with her nagging.
But no, this time, he smelt blood. The vision flashed across his eyes, but he was in too much shock to really take in what he saw. All he knew was that he smelt blood, and, was it water? Tap water?
"Jemmye?" Travis called out.
He heard pouring water. He dropped his keys and ran to the bathroom, leaving the front door standing wide open. "Jemmye?!" Travis called again, rounding the corner to the hallway. There he saw the door to the bathroom open. Steam was emanating from the open doorway.
He already knew what was going on by the time he got to the bathroom. He didn't have to glance into the tub to know what Jemmye had done. Instead he instantly rushed to open the small cabinets where they kept their towels. Green, her favorite color.
He grabbed two towels, then finally turned to see Jemmye in the tub. The water was a deep shade of red.
Jemmye was laying there, already unconscious.
"Jesus Christ," Travis cried as he pulled her out of the tub. He grabbed a towel in each hand and pressed at the long gashes trailing up Jemmye's arms. Blood flowed out of her arms in spurts.
Never in a million years did he think she would actually try to kill herself. The way she acted on normal days, it never hinted that she was battling over her father's abuse. Travis loathed himself for thinking it would.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, dialed 911 and put the phone on speaker. He set the phone on the sink then continued to apply pressure to Jemmye's wounds.
The operator came on, and Travis demanded an ambulance.
Moments later, Travis was climbing into the ambulance with the paramedics. One of them, a Hispanic man by the name of Juan, turned to Travis and began questioning him.
Travis couldn't focus on the questions. All he saw was Juan smothering his own mother.
"I, uh, what?" Travis asked. He had a day by day routine that minimized his interaction with new people. This cut down on the amount of new visions he had. He hadn't witnessed a new one in a few months. Juan's secret wasn't the worst Travis had seen, but it was the abrupt smell of Juan's mother shitting herself that really broke Travis' focus.
"Is she taking any medication?" Juan asked again.
"I," Travis began.
The other paramedic placed a hand on Travis' shoulder.
"Sir," the paramedic by the name of Ronald said, "you need to relax."
Travis was having an even harder time relaxing now. Child porn, and a lot of it was flashing through his mind, and it wasn't like he could block the visions out. The smell of Ronald's cum was the final straw. Travis blacked out.
_________________________________________________________
A nurse by the name of Regina shook Travis awake.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah?" Travis muttered. He sat up, finally bringing himself out of the half-sleep he was in. "Where, is she okay?" He asked.
He locked eyes with Regina. She was a young, beautiful nurse who had blonde hair and brown eyes. Travis smelled roses, and then saw a 12 year old Regina stomping on a rose bush.
"I'm sorry," Regina said, "they did everything they could, but it was too late."
Travis was floored. He opened his mouth to speak, to question why they couldn't do anything more, but the words wouldn't come out.
A man in hospital scrubs walked into the room.
"I am Dr. Clark," the man said.
Travis smelled blood, and whisky. A quick flash, and Travis saw Dr. Clark's unsteady hands attempting to suture Jemmye's wounds. His hands moved about carelessly though, causing more damage to her wrists than what was already done.
Travis clenched his fists. | Sarah was a nice woman. Troubled, but interesting. Very attractive. She was obsessed with me through out highschool. "If you ever leave" and stuff like that.
She had a terrible past, and I knew it. I saw her father. The terrifying thing was that his abuse of her, it wasn't the worst thing he had done.
I had seen what he did to those people when he was angry. I knew all about his first wife and her "mysterious disappearance". The weakness of my gift is that you can only see the darkest in people. Not everything they've done. I'm sure he had done other stuff as bad as that, but I guess the "gift" is based on my morals and ethics. If I suddenly thought murder was OK, and shoplifting was the worst crime man could commit, I might not be able to keep my job. I'm a detective. I've worked at my job for 4 years. I think? I don't know. Maybe its six. It all blurs together.
People think I'm an amazing detective. It makes me feel guilty almost. These other people put their soul into their work. Constantly trying to get better. And they will *never* be as good as me.
I'm wandering. I apologize, but I need to get this out.
Sarah is a mentally weak individual. She is easily manipulated, its the biggest scar of her abuse. This is how I justify planting evidence on her father. He may not have really robbed that store. But it fits, you know?
Desperate person. Needs money. Had a firearm with a caliber that matched the gun used to kill the cashier. That wasn't me, that was just purely dumb luck.
I knew until he was out of Sarahs mind we couldn't live happily. Neither could Sarahs mother, Liz. I knew Lizs darkest secret before, it was the first time I saw one "change". See, my gift doesn't work like a movie. You don't see this little text over someones head. What they did, how long ago, why they did it. It simply shows right before the event through the persons eyes. This is what makes my job hard. Knowing Joe Blow killed somebody? Check. Knowing where they hid the body? Why they did it? Who the person was? Nope.
Its what made looking into my father in laws eyes so much worse. I could see that poor girl who found out about what was in his past, I don't know what it was, but nothing would shock me. I see her slap him. I see him loading his gun. I see her head just snap. I couldn't live like that.
When my wifes father was on trial, Liz testified against him. That he confessed. This was her darkest secret, and I'll admit, re-living that moment of shock on that piece of shits face as his wife testified against him every time I see Liz? Its a great feeling.
But the thing is, thoughts don't count. They may be their darkest secret, but they're off limits. I just see grey. Jane Doe is banging the bar tender while her husbands at home? I see it all too well. If she is thinking about it, and its the worst things she plans to do, its just not there. Thats what caught me off guard at the trial. Liz refused to testify until that day.
This is what has happened to my Sarah. I can't see what she is doing. Its grey. I think she is thinking about an affair. And I think I know who with too. This manipulative little prick at my work. He hates me, and I hate him too. He might be the next best detective in terms of arrests and convictions, because he doesn't mind putting an innocent man behind bars. Or planting evidence. I know, I'm a hypocrite.
Like I said, Sarah is a very weak person who can be manipulated easily. The main reason I married her is because I knew if I didn't she would end up dead.
This guy, we'll call him "Sam", has it out for me. He is the typical has to be number one at everything guy. But he can't be. Because I'm better than him.
I know Sarah likes him. He is the spitting image of her father. And I know this dick would do anything to get me out of the way. I'm happy where I'm at career wise. Sam isn't. He has bigger, more political aspirations. And I think he knows about my gift. He has found ways to test me. He knows I can sink his campaign with what I've got on him. That "Laara Hotel Rape of 1991"? Him and his buddies know more about that then they let on. But again, its not my place to punish everybody, and I can't get physical proof anyway. But he doesn't know that.
Sarah has been in this "grey" area for 18 hours. I know I have to confront it. I intend to do so tonight. Maybe she will just level with me, and if I can get her to actually do something, maybe I can put this all together.
We talk. It goes terribly. She shuts me out. She screams. I sleep on the couch.
A flash goes by outside my house. Its Sams car. The lights stop. The door to my house opens. I hear someone enter. I hear someone coming down the steps. I hear a gun cock. I hear wrestling. I hear my wife scream. I'm frozen. It goes off. I feel a terrible pain in my chest.
I awaken some hours later. Surrounded by doctors. I see everything they've done and its terrible. I see the nurse forgetting to give a child the correct medicine, not the one he is allergic to. I see him screaming. And I see her crying. I see the doctor screwing up the heart operation surgery because he was out drinking the night before, or so I put together myself, I can see through the fog in my eyes that he is hungover.
But this. This isn't real. These are just bits and pieces of the last 24 hours.
Sam walks in. He is in tears. I fully expect to see myself or my wife getting shot. In the first person. I prepare mentally for the worst. I see what he thinks is his worst action. I see him fucking my wife. I hear him apologize to me, but i'm in no condition to respond.
"My fault. All my fault. She did this because of what I did"
What?
What shes done.
Security escorts Sam out. He screams he is innocent. That he tried to stop it. Stop what?
Sarah walks in. It comes together. I see Sam run through the front door. I see my wife loading the gun. I see Sam tackle her. I see her still managing to do it. I hear Sams pleading for her not to do it at gunpoint. I feel the pain in my chest all over again.
And then grey. I see the doctor talk to Sarah in the corner. I see him begin to tear up. I see her "cry" and nod. I hear the nurses come in. This is it.
The button is pressed. My breathing slows. My pulse slows ever so slightly. Second by second. I accept my fate.
She leans in to kiss me. And I relive the whole thing again. No gray this time. The clarity makes it a little easier to accept.
I see black.
WRITERS NOTE: I wrote this in a half hour at 4:30 AM. Not my best work, I'll be honest. I'll try to write a better story with a similar prompt tomorrow. All feedback is welcome. |
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Imagine what would happen if we all treated each other the way we treat each other on social networks. | [WP] People act in real life the way they do online. | *This is my first attempt at a writing prompt. I know it is pretty boring, but I figured it'd be good to get some practice. I'd love to hear what I should improve upon. I want to apologize in advance for any errors, as well. It's late and I'm not feeling like going through and editing everything.*
Henry hated it. All of it.
Communication had been reduced to attempts at drawing the most laughter and support. If enough people liked what you had to say, then you had to be right. That was the current logic.
The worst of all was how people treated each other. A simple discussion with another person would become a battle to see who could get the most people on your side.
He hated being the old guy who talked about how things used to be, but this wasn't just about the young kids rebelling. This was about a fundamental difference in how people interacted with each other.
In his lifetime he saw a gradual change in people. They no longer cared about the person they were talking to. Their main focus became themselves and how they could get the most laughter or support.
You could count on plenty of insults being hurled for almost no reason at all. Henry was called 'old' and 'ancient' pretty much daily. Sure, he was old. He knew it. Their venom didn't affect him at all, but he knew it hurt some of his friends. No one cared how their harsh words would be received. They went ahead and said what they wanted. Gone were the days when people thought before they spoke. Thoughts became words with almost no hesitation.
Grammar didn't matter either. As long as their point was conveyed, no one cared how they sounded, and almost no one else bothered to correct them because they themselves didn't care either.
One of the few things that didn't see much in the way of change was politics and political elections. Campaigning was still a matter of getting the most people to agree with and back you. It was a popularity contest, plain and simple.
Henry knew the reason for it all: those damn screens. When he was growing up life was different, but then computers came along, followed by portable phones, cell phones, laptops, smart phones, tablets, smart watches, smart glasses, smart appliances, smart houses, smart cars, and a million other smart things that, in his opinion, didn't make the user any smarter and actually made them much, much dumber. All people did was look at their screens. Social interaction with those surrounding you was reduced.
Eventually, everything anyone did involved some sort of smart technology that allowed the user to post, display, share, comment, and discuss whatever insignificant thing that person was doing. It pervaded people's entire lives and pretty soon the line that separated virtual and reality blurred, causing the way people communicated with each other online to spill over to real life. And how could it not? The amount of time the average person spent in social interaction on the internet greatly outweighed the time they spent in real social interaction with people around them.
Henry wanted to stop it all. He might have been 72, but he felt 52 and he would use his age to his advantage. No one would suspect him to be up to no good, and in a way they would be right. What he was going to do shouldn't be considered "no good." He was doing people a service. They might be mad initially, but they'd come around. He couldn't leave this world knowing he didn't try and stop the stupidity. He would make a difference.
He was going to bring down the internet. | I passed another stream of obscenities. An older man, nearing the age of retirement, was in a heated discussion with a boy young enough to be his grandson. I caught the words "liberal", "hippy", "twat", and "retard" before I walked on. Political discussion were near-impossible to have. The "sides" would eventually resort to childish name-calling, and who wants to be a part of that?
I rolled my eyes as I passed the local hospital. Young, old, it didn't matter - each felt that the hospital was doing something wrong, whether it be vaccinations, blood transfusions, medically-necessary abortions, or any of the other myriad things that some faith/celebrity or other didn't like. All of them, however, were dwarfed by the people arguing about health care reform, as if their choice of location would somehow sway the people in power to listen to them.
The next major knot of people jabbered at the elementary school. Teachers and parents clashed, with their children looking on. Some of the older kids tried to get a word in, but they were quickly silenced by both sides, as they weren't allowed to say anything in such an "adult" conversation. I had no idea why the magical age was thirteen.
Yet amidst all of this noise were a large mass of people, contributing not a word to the noise that polluted our world. They watched on, their expression betraying nothing.
The overpass was more crowded than usual. There, a man sat on the sidewalk, sobbing his eyes out. A mousy-looking girl, who looked like she hadn't made it out of high school knelt next to him, her lips moving. The silent people stood between the two and the railing. I inched closer to the scene, and heard "if you need to talk, here's my number. If you can't reach me, here's the suicide prevention hotline's number."
I stepped into the confines of my lonesome room. No longer did people hide behind a name and talk - many of them bared their true feelings in public. The entire gamut of humanity was displayed as I walked from school to home.
Why was there so much pain in the world? |
Imagine what would happen if we all treated each other the way we treat each other on social networks. | [WP] People act in real life the way they do online. | *This is my first attempt at a writing prompt. I know it is pretty boring, but I figured it'd be good to get some practice. I'd love to hear what I should improve upon. I want to apologize in advance for any errors, as well. It's late and I'm not feeling like going through and editing everything.*
Henry hated it. All of it.
Communication had been reduced to attempts at drawing the most laughter and support. If enough people liked what you had to say, then you had to be right. That was the current logic.
The worst of all was how people treated each other. A simple discussion with another person would become a battle to see who could get the most people on your side.
He hated being the old guy who talked about how things used to be, but this wasn't just about the young kids rebelling. This was about a fundamental difference in how people interacted with each other.
In his lifetime he saw a gradual change in people. They no longer cared about the person they were talking to. Their main focus became themselves and how they could get the most laughter or support.
You could count on plenty of insults being hurled for almost no reason at all. Henry was called 'old' and 'ancient' pretty much daily. Sure, he was old. He knew it. Their venom didn't affect him at all, but he knew it hurt some of his friends. No one cared how their harsh words would be received. They went ahead and said what they wanted. Gone were the days when people thought before they spoke. Thoughts became words with almost no hesitation.
Grammar didn't matter either. As long as their point was conveyed, no one cared how they sounded, and almost no one else bothered to correct them because they themselves didn't care either.
One of the few things that didn't see much in the way of change was politics and political elections. Campaigning was still a matter of getting the most people to agree with and back you. It was a popularity contest, plain and simple.
Henry knew the reason for it all: those damn screens. When he was growing up life was different, but then computers came along, followed by portable phones, cell phones, laptops, smart phones, tablets, smart watches, smart glasses, smart appliances, smart houses, smart cars, and a million other smart things that, in his opinion, didn't make the user any smarter and actually made them much, much dumber. All people did was look at their screens. Social interaction with those surrounding you was reduced.
Eventually, everything anyone did involved some sort of smart technology that allowed the user to post, display, share, comment, and discuss whatever insignificant thing that person was doing. It pervaded people's entire lives and pretty soon the line that separated virtual and reality blurred, causing the way people communicated with each other online to spill over to real life. And how could it not? The amount of time the average person spent in social interaction on the internet greatly outweighed the time they spent in real social interaction with people around them.
Henry wanted to stop it all. He might have been 72, but he felt 52 and he would use his age to his advantage. No one would suspect him to be up to no good, and in a way they would be right. What he was going to do shouldn't be considered "no good." He was doing people a service. They might be mad initially, but they'd come around. He couldn't leave this world knowing he didn't try and stop the stupidity. He would make a difference.
He was going to bring down the internet. | "Like, like, like," Tiffany said as she pointed at each of her classmates. "Dislike, like, like, ew toats dislike!"
"Dislike," Heather announced, pointing at Tiffany. "You're face looks like a huge turd!"
"Well I dislike you!" Tiffany screamed.
But Heather didn't care. She walked away with Tiffany's friends.
Tiffany had to get Heather back, but she didn't know how. Then it hit her, she just had to unfriend Heather.
Tiffany looked at the list etched into her right arm that put everyone she knew into the groups they belonged in. Tiffany scanned the 'school' category until she saw Heather's name. With a Sharpie, Tiffany crossed Heather's name out. It would wash off later, but for now it would get Heather back.
Across the playground Heather screamed in agony before she disappeared to the Unfriended Region. Tiffany laughed manically. She was the only one who knew how to Unfriend people, and it gave her a certain joy.
"Miss Tiffany, you're coming with me," a man said as he clutched Tiffany's arm. She looked down at her other arm as she noticed a new section labeled 'Mods' had appeared on her arm. Tiffany struggled to cross the man out, but he batted her Sharpie away.
They disappeared. A moment later the man came back and said, "Tiffany has been Moderated." |
Imagine what would happen if we all treated each other the way we treat each other on social networks. | [WP] People act in real life the way they do online. | **NSFW: language** *I hope this isn't too boring or disconnected. I don't usually create such long-winded WP posts. And please pardon any spelling and grammatical errors; I don't have Word installed on this computer yet, so typed the whole thing in the tiny, blind-spotted box.*
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John stared at his open closet and pondered over his choice of clothing for the day. *I'm kind of in the mood to be a lion.* Stretching his arm to the back, he rummaged around until he felt fur. Pulling the maned onesie free from the other outfits, he paused before tossing it on the bed. *A lion with lipstick. Now that's funny.* He had awoken cheerful.
Fifteen minutes later, showered and suited up, he stepped back into the bathroom, fetched a tube of crimson lipstick, and smeared it across his mouth. *Puuurrrfect.* He then clobbered down the stairs, taking care not to slip as the fabric of his footed paws slid a bit against the smooth wooden floor. *Keys.*
He pulled up to the supermarket and stepped from his car. *Eggs, milk, juice, cold-cuts...* As he grabbed a wagon from the store's front, a passing woman commented, "Nice avatar," and smiled. "You too," John returned, as his eyes studied her blood-red cloak and skull-painted face. They exchanged a thumbs-up and parted ways.
Cutting through the bread aisle to get to dairy, John halted when he spotted a figure in his otherwise open path. *Just don't respond,* he coaxed himself, as he cautiously began to move toward the large-bellied man sitting on the floor. He averted his gaze from the patchy-head, hairy body, and hot-pink mankini, but he could feel the wild eyes and toothy grin fixed to his being.
"Hey, fuck-face," the figure said.
John continued to look straight ahead.
"Obama is a faggot," preened the man, but still John moved forward.
Prepared for it, he nimbly side-stepped the foot that was thrust out as he passed, and he continued on to the end of the aisle.
"Fucking nig**r, fuck," said the man.
"Pardon?" *A female voice.* "I really don't appreciate that kind of language."
"Jesus is a whore."
Turning the corner, John risked a glance back, to see a dark-skinned young woman standing cross-armed, anger scribbled across her pinched face. Another young woman stepped beside her from behind, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Don't feed the troll," she affirmed. The pair extended their arms towards the man, and each gave a thumbs-down before walking away.
John quickly resumed turning the corner when the troll's eyes darted back to his.
"Faggot!" he heard the man yell, as he made his way out of sight.
Milk, cheese, and juice in his cart, John approached the deli. Seeing others making toward the counter, he picked up pace, successfully avoiding the line.
"May I help you?" a pale-complexioned, older woman in a crisp-white uniform asked.
"Yes, ahh..." John's eyes scanned the display. "I need some meat..."
"That's what she said," winked a very tall *maybe 18 bananas high*, thin man from behind.
John rolled his eyes, and ignored the three others who sent a thumbs-up the man's way. "Give me a pound of roast beef."
He missed the crinkle of the deli-woman's brow in response to the lack of better manners and the brusqueness that more resembled a demand than a request. When John's attention wandered towards the cheeses, she directed a quick thumbs-down to the side of his head.
"L-O-L," chimed the others behind him. Whipping around but not getting what was so funny, John shrugged and looked forward again. The deli woman suppressed a righteous smirk as the others gave a thumbs-down to John's back, and a round of thumbs-up to her.
"Two flies are sitting on a piece of shit. One let's out a fart. 'Do you *mind?*' says the other fly, 'I'm trying to eat here.'" John smiled and turned along with the others to give a thumbs-up to the grinning child at the back of the line. Only one person, a woman standing just ahead of the boy, sent him a thumbs-down. "What the fuck?" implored the boy of maybe ten. "Fuck you."
"Fuck *you,*" replied the woman, "I heard that joke five minutes ago over in produce."
Everyone exchanged glances, and thumbs proceeded to jut in different directions.
"Hey, I'd never heard it before," said John. Thumbs were again mixed in response. "You know what, fuck you all. Why can't I ever just come..."
"That's what *she* said," interrupted the 18-banana man.
John paused. "I want a fucking moderator."
"Don't be a pussy." *Tall man.*
A woman garbed in all black uncrouched herself from the floor behind counter, pointed her finger at John, and said simply "Perma-ban."
"What?! NOOOooooooo! That's not-" John didn't get a chance to finish his thought, as two security guards approached him, took him by the arms, and walked him to the entrance.
"Fuck you!" he spat at them, as he rage-walked back to his car. *Motherfuckers.* Popping the trunk, he tore a black trash-bag out from its bowels, then slammed it shut again. He angrily glanced around. *No one's looking.*
Pulling the car up behind the supermarket and parking in the shadows, he smiled wickedly at the mankini clutched in his hands.
----
**EDIT:** *Aaaaahhh! So many mistakes, now that I can read it as a whole. Oh well.*
| I had to hand approve this post. Reddit has your account shadowbanned. Us regular users don't get to know why, but the folks at /r/shadowban might be able to help you figure it out and get things sorted out. |
Imagine what would happen if we all treated each other the way we treat each other on social networks. | [WP] People act in real life the way they do online. | *So, I don't think this is NSFW, but if it is, please let me know. As for formatting, I decided to use the Hashtag symbol instead of spelling out the word. If you think I should have formatted it differently, let me know. As a final disclaimer, this is just meant to be funny. I mean no offense, if I somehow did offend someone.*
It came without warning. The world never could have anticipated the consequences. One day everyone started to act differently. Respect and decency went out the window. Everyone, everywhere, acted as they would when they were on the Internet, even those who had never used it before.
I happen to be sitting in a coffee shop at the moment. I enjoy watching people’s interactions nowadays. They are always more fun and full of life. Of course, the unfortunate part of the Change for me was that I became a super introvert. I used to only lurk online, and now I do the same in real life.
I sit back and keep my cool as a beautiful woman walks into the coffee shop, completely topless. One of the mothers in the shop rushes to shelter her young boy’s eyes from the sight. The minute she responded, I knew a hail storm would erupt.
“Oh my god, lady, you’re such a prude!” the half naked woman said.
“Yeah, talk about helicopter parenting,” came another voice.
More and more comments were being yelled throughout the coffee shop as I stood up and left. A few more comments rung through the air before I could escape.
“Hehe, helicopter dick.”
“Fuck you.”
“Guys, were so meta right now.”
Finally, I find myself out of earshot. Unfortunately, I start to walk by a group of people. They are all conversing about something like they were gossiping teenage girls. However, it was a group of teenage guys.
“#Boxers.”
“No way, got to go with briefs guys #Briefs.”
“Dude, wtf. I’m so disappointed by you. Shout out to my other boxers men out there #Team Boxers”
“Guys, there’s only two options, #Team Boxers #Team Briefs.”
“Never forget. #Commando.”
“Boxer-Briefs #Mind-Blown #The Middle”
Finally, I escaped that racquet too. The worst thing about the Change was the devolution of basic human conversation. Don’t even get me started on trolls. Oh, and I forgot to tell you about the rating system. Each of us has a chip that records how many times people like or dislike our actions or words. A glowing LED lights up on our head showing our score.
I slowly walk back to my apartment and head inside. Opening the drawer, I pull out the pistol inside. I walk back out and head for a busy part of town, climbing some stairs to the top of a tall building.
As I walk and feel the breeze blowing through my hair the further I climb, I remember the day the Change came. UFOs had appeared in the sky and a broadcast rang out through the world. The aliens said they were fed up with the way we behaved in the communications they had intercepted, so they decided that we should all have to act that way in our real lives too.
I can feel a bit of fear take hold in me as I raise the pistol to my head. A few people notice. A couple people shout out to stop me, and a few even tell me to just pull the trigger. I notice the red LED glow on my forehead change to yellow. I also forgot to mention that the aliens had set up an economic system, whereupon we could pay money to gift different color LEDs to people besides the standard red. You’d be surprised what people were willing to do to get some of the colors.
A crowd eventually congregates below me. I drop the pistol. I only ever needed it to get enough attention for my next stunt. I pull a knife I had hidden in my sock and cut open my left hand. As painful as it was, it was even more painful to pull out the chip the aliens had implanted. But, as I did, a freedom washed over me.
I stood there, holding the chip up to everyone.
“We can all be free, we don’t have to be slaves to this alien technology!” I yell out at the top of my lungs.
“OMG, he just took out his chip #Chip-Gate”
“Oh no he didn’t. Aliens better watch out #Independence Day #‘Murica”
“Freedom!” someone yelled as they also ripped out their chip. After the other responses, I had almost lost all hope in humanity. And then a few seconds later, I did.
“Freedom! #Freedom”
“Freedom^TM #‘Murica #Hell Yeah!”
I found myself picking up the pistol. The guy who ripped out his chip pleaded with me, but I refused. I wasn’t much of a gun owner myself, and I had only one bullet left. I felt bad for him, but he wasn’t going to be the lucky bastard to escape this hell.
Bang!
-151
**Edit: Wow, first Gold! Thanks!**
| I had to hand approve this post. Reddit has your account shadowbanned. Us regular users don't get to know why, but the folks at /r/shadowban might be able to help you figure it out and get things sorted out. |
[WP] Write a story about the perfect girl/boy. | He's kind- not the typical kind where you have to be kind in a certain situation because society would frown upon any other act. No, he's the genuine type of kind.
He's the person that puts others' needs way before his own; he lives on the smiles of his friends and family.
He's the person who would face his biggest fear for the sake of another person- but why? Because he cares.
He cares about everyone whether he knows them or not- that's just the type of person he is.
He's open-minded. While he knows what he likes, he's still more than willing to try new things for another person. He doesn't judge based on appearance or interests, and he's always trying with every type of personality- he doesn't have a specific "type". If you are shy, then he will be the one to help you open up to him. If you are outgoing, he will do what he can to keep up.
But why?
Because he is the kind of person that will love unconditionally.
Isn't that what really matters in the end? | She got that booty and it bounces when it walks and I say damn girl |
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[WP] Write a story about the perfect girl/boy. | Finally. I did it. He's dead. I call the Pope. "Francis" I address him. "Yes, my son." I look down at the true messiah, born of a miracle to a virgin Israeli 16 years a go, lying in his own blood. "I got him, the Church is safe."
| I'm in over my head. I mean, is this girl really flirting with me? She uses her left hand to pull back her dark brown hair behind her ear, revealing small silver earrings. Catching me day dreaming, she shoots me a quick smile.
I laugh myself, "Sorry, I've just... You know."
Jesus, what am I doing? What did I just say? Get a hold of yourself.
"Care to dance?"
Dance? What's a dance? Fuck. "Sure thing."
Her soft hands interlock with mine, and she leads me away from the bar. Attempting to be gentlemanly, I keep my eyes fixated upwards and not to the perfect view I could have if I looked a few degrees south. My peripheral vision will do, and dear god, will it do. Before I know it, she turns around to face me gracefully and hangs her arms around my neck. Instinctively, I place my hands on her waist near her lower back.
It's only now do I lock eyes with her, and I've never wanted to look at anything else. Huge green eyes, that begged for my stare. Pale skin, hourglass figure, and deep red lips. The hardest thing to describe was the way she looked at me, it was as if she was older than she actually was. There was a layer of uncertainty in her eyes, a cold longing. She bit her lower lip, and blinked slowly, never loosing my gaze. All of the nervousness I had felt earlier left me, and I moved my right hand up her body and gently placed my hand on her neck.
Our lips connected briefly, and then she slapped me across the face.
edit: spelling |
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[WP] Write a story about the perfect girl/boy. | Finally. I did it. He's dead. I call the Pope. "Francis" I address him. "Yes, my son." I look down at the true messiah, born of a miracle to a virgin Israeli 16 years a go, lying in his own blood. "I got him, the Church is safe."
| Her eyes twinkled softly in the moonlight on the veranda. Soft cello music wafted through the air, lulling myself, my companion, and the crickets hidden in the surrounding greenery into a soft sense of security. The restaurant grew slowly more deserted as the night wore on, until about 11:30 when we elected to return to my apartment. When we arrived, I told her to make herself comfortable. I walked to the grand glass window overlooking the park, and through open the curtains with a dramatic flick of my wrists. She gasped, looking at the stunning view, leaning against the window in wonderment. As she stared at the view, I stared at her; at some point my engagement with her must have become obvious. She looked at me with liquid eyes, blinking quietly. I leaned in for a kiss...
"...what are you doing?" she quavered.
"Oh! Uh..." I stammered, "I thought this is what you wanted."
"Oh no, you don't understand!" She said, continuing " There's been a mistake. John...I'm the perfect girl!"
"But" I started, "That means..."
"Yes" she said, "This is only a dream."
It made sense, I thought in retrospect, it was odd that I could afford all of this. Just then, I flew out the window into the night. The giant, luminous moon smiled upon me, and I realized I was not alone. A large, comforting hand grasped mine. "I love you, John. And I always will."
I looked towards the voice, with joy in my heart, knowing just who it was.
"I love you too, Morgan Freeman!" |
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[WP] Write a story about the perfect girl/boy. | Finally. I did it. He's dead. I call the Pope. "Francis" I address him. "Yes, my son." I look down at the true messiah, born of a miracle to a virgin Israeli 16 years a go, lying in his own blood. "I got him, the Church is safe."
| He's tall, with dark hair and dark eyes. Slightly scruffy with big arms. A beautiful smile with kinda eyes that contribute to this gravity that seems to surround him. I watch him when he talks, so naturally, to people who have desire written in their eyes. He's, of course, oblivious to this. He has a deep voice, which at time can be slightly effeminate.
Our first date we talked towards the lighthouse with a bottle a coke, which is actually rum. During our first conversations, it is revealed that he speak a second language, arabic, and understands some spanish. He does seem a tiny bit nervous, but only at first. And as we walk, we quickly loose track of all of the distance put between where we had met.
At the lighthouse we smoke, and I learn that he's had some difficulties, he speaks of some things with a bit a pain located behind his eyes. But, what that is, I won't know for sometime. |
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[WP] Write a story about the perfect girl/boy. | "Well hello there good looking" I say to the handsome chunk of man meat just down the bar from me. I hope that drunkenness doesn't come across in my voice, but the angel I'm talking to doesn't seem to have noticed. He's just looking at me like I'm the only person that matters.
"So. You come here often?" Normally I'd curse at myself for asking such a silly question. But he asked it too, at exactly the same time. Not only is this guy the best looking person in the bar, but he's on the same wavelength as me. He's even doing the thing where he mirrors my body language. I cross my arms and he does too, I push my glasses up my nose and he follows suit. He's seven kinds of into me, and I think it's time to make my move.
I casually shuffle up the bar towards him, and see him doing the same. We're just about to touch when I hit the glass pane separating us. So here I am again, with my perfect man stuck on the other side of a mirror. | He's tall, with dark hair and dark eyes. Slightly scruffy with big arms. A beautiful smile with kinda eyes that contribute to this gravity that seems to surround him. I watch him when he talks, so naturally, to people who have desire written in their eyes. He's, of course, oblivious to this. He has a deep voice, which at time can be slightly effeminate.
Our first date we talked towards the lighthouse with a bottle a coke, which is actually rum. During our first conversations, it is revealed that he speak a second language, arabic, and understands some spanish. He does seem a tiny bit nervous, but only at first. And as we walk, we quickly loose track of all of the distance put between where we had met.
At the lighthouse we smoke, and I learn that he's had some difficulties, he speaks of some things with a bit a pain located behind his eyes. But, what that is, I won't know for sometime. |
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[WP] The plane you are in are about to crash with probably no survivors, everyone is panicking except you. Why are you smiling? | I look around at the panicked screaming, the mothers huddled to children, the flight attendants spending their last
moments with their coworkers. The pilots had both died. The fuselage was on fire. Everyone thought they were going to die, but I reclined in my chair and turned up my music. I would be fine, you see, because I was wearing my seat belt. | My perfect sleep was interrupted by the sounds of cries and panics. A mother rushing to her kids, crying and weeping while hugging them. Even the little men that scream and shout during the whole trip followed. An eldery woman clenched a picture of her grandson; her weep sounded like my mother's.
Me? I rested my head on the chair. I knew what was happening even before I needed to close my eyes: the plane was crashing. How? I dreamt of it.
I smiled, content at a mission complete. |
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[WP] The plane you are in are about to crash with probably no survivors, everyone is panicking except you. Why are you smiling? | I look around at the panicked screaming, the mothers huddled to children, the flight attendants spending their last
moments with their coworkers. The pilots had both died. The fuselage was on fire. Everyone thought they were going to die, but I reclined in my chair and turned up my music. I would be fine, you see, because I was wearing my seat belt. | It's funny how some people fear death so deeply. In a whirlwind of screams of terror, crying children and the heavy jerks of my plane seat, everything seems so clear. It doesn't seem to phase me, all is numb. I clench my armrests as I feel his eyes on me, panicked eyes filled with tears. I look up and see him whimper. The man I thought invincible is crying, thick tears rolling down his filthy cheeks. Just moments ago, when all was still well, those cheeks were pushed against mine. His warm breath on my face, his hands on my body. The more I pushed away, the more he pushed back. He likes to take what isn't his. I can't help but feel that this is retaliation, taking something from him. Taking something that doesn't belong to me. After all, he took me away. I wonder where my parents are. When they turn on their television, will they know it was me? After all, they've been looking for me for quite some time. I look down at my bloodstained hands. I wish I felt guilty for causing all of this, but I was just trying to help. I was just a victim. I should feel guilty for all of this. For the blood gushing from the pilot's throat. But getting back to my seat, seeing the terror in the invincible man's face makes it all worth it. I look out the window and see a vast blue stretch to the horizon, it's coming closer. I close my eyes, wrap my arms around my teddybear and can't help but smile. |
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[WP] The plane you are in are about to crash with probably no survivors, everyone is panicking except you. Why are you smiling? | I look around at the panicked screaming, the mothers huddled to children, the flight attendants spending their last
moments with their coworkers. The pilots had both died. The fuselage was on fire. Everyone thought they were going to die, but I reclined in my chair and turned up my music. I would be fine, you see, because I was wearing my seat belt. | Hellfire roared from outside my rightside window as the engine exploded, much like a tomato it's juices spewed out of it and roared in inferno. Even through the window on the plain I could feel the heat dance over my face, including my smile.
The other people on the plane had started screaming. Until now there hadn't been any screaming on the plane, as it thankfully was lacking babies, something that is even better than normal considering the current status of the plane. Even the woman I had talked to earlier that sat on my left side started screaming. People started yelling prayers to their God, even if they weren't meant as prayers; they would be their last.
I didn't fear. I knew what was coming, why would I be worried about it? A chunk of the tomato was accelerating towards the plane, and soon it would accelerate even faster, albeit in a different way. It would break through the walls of the plane, much like how a tank would shoot through a medieval wall, and the plane would experience explosive decompression.
We were currently several thousand feet over water level. The difference in pressure would blow us out of the plane before we would even be able to react. So there wasn't anything to be sad about. Well there were, there is no doubt that we we would die when the chunk of tomato breaks the wall, the collisions and rapid change in pressure would make sure we would become tomato sauce (with tomato chunks), so we won't be able to experience the fall down.
That's a shame.
Oh well. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | For a moment she felt remorse before her sanity slipped
Once more her fingers touched a cold corpse
Remembering the allure of her elusive love
Blood ran in the grooves between the tiles
In through her nose came the scent of those forgotten
Death itself causing all life to retreat
Darkness' fingers crept toward her
Eyes appearing that reflected a love
Never seen for more than a moment, nor ever forgotten | There! She rushes into the hallway, the smile catches on her lips and falls. Confusion plays across her face as she turns back to the room. The shadow slips from the body and away from her. "No!" she yells out. A powerless command. Tears well in her eyes, frustration brings her bloodied hands to her face raking her nails down from her hair, "NO!" louder and more pained her voice breaks out across the empty room. Silence. Her eyes draw down, the mask of his face mocks her anguish, smug in death. She lets out a guttural scream. Unheard and unnoticed. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | Rosa kneeled in front of the folding chair, tying a man’s ankles to it with twine. She cocked her head to examine the knots. Satisfied, she looked up at the man.
“He’s not ugly like they say, you know?”
Gagged with an old dishrag, the man struggled to escape the restraints. He looked at the door, willing anyone to open it. But no one entered. He looked at her, silently begging for mercy with fearful eyes.
“Don’t struggle honey. Even if you got part way free, I’d just have to tie those knots tighter. And no use staring at that door. No one coming in. Well, except him. In a little while.” She grinned and stood up.
“As I was saying, he doesn’t wear that ratty old cape, and he doesn’t carry a nasty scythe. I don’t know where people came up with that idea. Nope, he’s tall and he has dark brown eyes. A great strong chin and a big gorgeous smile.” Rosa pursed her lips, closed her eyes. “Hmm, I can see him now. So very handsome. You’ll get to meet him soon, he’s beautiful.”
The man continued to struggle. He didn’t believe her. Not even a little bit. They never did. Rosa walked over to a smudged mirror hung on the wall. She fussed over her makeup, maybe a bit overdone. She gave her hair one last spritz and turned to look at the man.
“And his suits! Oh his suits!” She clapped and smiled. “Such impeccable taste he has. A different suit for every occasion!”
A different suit for every occasion. And Rosa had seen quite a few suits. Early on, she only ever shot her victims. And Death would come after. Tall and handsome, just like she said. Wearing a formal tuxedo and carrying a white rose.
Every time Rosa saw him, she ran up and tried to give him a kiss. And every time, he passed right through her to reach the body. She understood he had a job to do. But she knew, deep down, that Death loved her. After Death left, Rosa would run to her apartment and masturbate. She came every time. After a while, she could only reach orgasm after seeing Him.
Once though, the gun misfired. The victim shoved Rosa to the side and tried to escape the room. As his nervous fingers fiddled with the door knob, she improvised and bludgeoned the poor man to death with her pistol. Death came, as he always did. But that night he wore a gray suit with a pink tie. So dapper.
Rosa saw Death grin for the first time that night. He looked downright *sexual* in his new suit. Rosa couldn’t wait to get home. Instead, she masturbated right there next to the dead man. She came twice.
And that’s when the fun started for Rosa. Stabbings got red suits. Death wore an exotic orange suit for Electrocutions. She didn’t much care for it, if she was being honest. When she drowned someone, he’d wear a blue tweed suit with a vest. She drowned so many people she lost count. Beheadings, messy as they were, earned a white suit with a black dress shirt, collar undone. Beheadings were worth the mess. And Rosa came every time Death left. Sometimes twice.
The man struggled again. Intent on the door, but he got no closer. All fixed up, Rosa pulled a stool over next to the man and sat on it, facing him.
Her face lit up. “Oh tonight is going to be special! Such a nice occasion! He’ll be wearing my new favorite suit tonight!”
The man craned his head toward the door. It did not open.
Rosa raised her arms and clasped her hands around the man’s neck. She tightened her grip. The man reflexively stiffened. He jerked and swayed against the twine. He spat against the gag. All in vain.
“Relax. It’s always easier if you just let go. If you struggle, my hair just won’t look right.” The man let out a wet gargle. He turned toward the door. “Yes, that’s right, just let it happen.”
The man saw the room fade in and out. He tried to focus on the door, willing it open. As the light faded away, it did open. A tall handsome man wearing a luminescent pearl suit walked in. The man realized Rosa was right all along. Death is beautiful. Death offered a white rose to the man. Freed of his restraints, the man took the rose, and Death took his life.
Addendum: Rosa came three times that night.
| There! She rushes into the hallway, the smile catches on her lips and falls. Confusion plays across her face as she turns back to the room. The shadow slips from the body and away from her. "No!" she yells out. A powerless command. Tears well in her eyes, frustration brings her bloodied hands to her face raking her nails down from her hair, "NO!" louder and more pained her voice breaks out across the empty room. Silence. Her eyes draw down, the mask of his face mocks her anguish, smug in death. She lets out a guttural scream. Unheard and unnoticed. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | Death rolled over slowly, his orbless eyes glancing over at the vibrating tablet on his nightstand. From under the covers, a bony hand made its way past a bottle of Ambien, pausing for a moment as if hesitating. Against his better judgement, he picked it up and swiped at the screen, a pop-up window immediately illuminating his skeletal face.
*853,213 missed deaths.*
He put the tablet back on to his nightstand face down, rolled back over, and groaned into his pillow. Just as he was about to slip back into what he was hoping would be something resembling eternal slumber, the door to his room flew open.
"Team meeting. Now." said Pestilence in a voice that most humans would describe as 'humming phlegm'.
As Death rolled over in his bed to protest, all he saw was the familiar trail of flies, locusts, and the usual variety of angry bacteria that his roommate annoyingly left in his wake. As he exited his room, he noticed that his three brethren were already gathered, sitting in the dying room. War gestured towards the one remaining unoccupied chair with a Great Axe, which Death promptly slumped into.
"Look, mate...", said Famine, looking particularly famished. "We don't know what's gotten into you lately, but you're holding the rest of us up. It's pretty pointless to destroy a critical food supply, spread a previously undiscovered plague in a remote African village, or instigate a war if you don't do your rounds and clean up after us, is there?"
Death sighed, his shoulders slumping, chin dropping to his chest. "It's...well...it's this girl, man. I mean, who tries to pick up Death when your grandmother just died and shit herself all over the place? I mean, it's just unprofessional and awkward."
"DON'T BLOW THIS FOR US, GENE!", bellowed War in a muffled voice from somewhere under his enormous helmet.
Death raised his scythe, thrusting it in War's direction. "YOU should be one to talk, with your ridiculous fascination with Pro Wrestling. Don't think any of us have forgotten the fact that your man-crush on Lex Luger distracted you to the point where there was ALMOST peace in the Middle East."
War seemed to tilt his head back as if to say something, but decided against it, instead choosing to file his nails with a broadsword.
Pestilence opened his mouth to speak, taking a long moment to wheeze, and said, "Maybe we should do something about her? Perhaps a new strain of typhoid fever?" His puffy, bloodshot eyes grew round and wide, as he enthusiastically nodded at each of his roommates.
"Is cancer eating at your brain, fool? Do you know what that would mean? The last thing I want is to have that love-crazed twat moving into the neighborhood."
War suddenly burst out of his seat, drawing a seemingly impossible number of weapons with two hands, and roared in victory.
"I've got it! Tonight, I saddle my red horse and ride like the wind into the land of nightmares, a place that sickens us all, but I will stomach this abomination for the sake of my brother Death."
"Let's just hope Cupid isn't still pissed off about that whole Cory Monteith thing." | There! She rushes into the hallway, the smile catches on her lips and falls. Confusion plays across her face as she turns back to the room. The shadow slips from the body and away from her. "No!" she yells out. A powerless command. Tears well in her eyes, frustration brings her bloodied hands to her face raking her nails down from her hair, "NO!" louder and more pained her voice breaks out across the empty room. Silence. Her eyes draw down, the mask of his face mocks her anguish, smug in death. She lets out a guttural scream. Unheard and unnoticed. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | Mindy giggled.
"My love," she teased in a sing-song tone.
The mist formed a figure in front of the newly dead body. Mindy smiled as the figure of her lover appeared. "You caused such a mess this time." Death smiled at the mutilated body on the ground.
"Anything for you." Mindy approached her star-crossed lover. He kissed her. His lips were cold, but his love felt so good.
Death moved his hand over the body, and out came the soul of a young woman.
"I'll see you soon." Mindy giggled.
"Really soon." Death's tone suddenly became serious.
"Gaaaahh!" Mindy cried as an unbearable pain erupted in her rib. | There! She rushes into the hallway, the smile catches on her lips and falls. Confusion plays across her face as she turns back to the room. The shadow slips from the body and away from her. "No!" she yells out. A powerless command. Tears well in her eyes, frustration brings her bloodied hands to her face raking her nails down from her hair, "NO!" louder and more pained her voice breaks out across the empty room. Silence. Her eyes draw down, the mask of his face mocks her anguish, smug in death. She lets out a guttural scream. Unheard and unnoticed. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | "Death I have missed you so much, that sweet touch when the hair raises on the back of my neck, the way you make my heart heart race, how you are always watching over me. I will never forgot our first time together. First was my husband. That was all before I loved you Death, before I knew that I would never love anyone else ever again. When I killed my husband you came to me, all those feelings I get when you are around overcame me. I didn't know what it was that made me kill my husband, but in hindsight I know it was you telling me to do. You wanted us to be together, if only for a few moments, and I will forever be grateful. Since then we have met three more times. Each time we are brought together by a tragedy. Our time together is brief, but at the same time it feels like an eternity. I cry for days every time you leave me . I can't take it anymore! I want to be with you forever."
On Saturday evening police were called to Bergman apartments after reports of gun fire.
The police report states that after the police entered the unlocked apartments and found a dead body in the corner of the room. In the center was the alleged killer sitting cross-legged on the floor. The officer at the scene claims that he heard the alleged killer muttering to herself, completely oblivious to the officer entering the room, before killing herself. The relationship between the alleged killer and the victim is unknown. Right now the case is considered a murder suicide with no known motive.
| There! She rushes into the hallway, the smile catches on her lips and falls. Confusion plays across her face as she turns back to the room. The shadow slips from the body and away from her. "No!" she yells out. A powerless command. Tears well in her eyes, frustration brings her bloodied hands to her face raking her nails down from her hair, "NO!" louder and more pained her voice breaks out across the empty room. Silence. Her eyes draw down, the mask of his face mocks her anguish, smug in death. She lets out a guttural scream. Unheard and unnoticed. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | The first time I caught a glimpse of Him was behind the tool shed when Grampa's heart beat for the last time. Granny shooed me away to call for help, and as I trotted toward the house, I craned my neck to see the body. Instead, my gaze met a pair of piercing blue eyes that sent a cold jolt of desire through my thirteen year old heart. A sick tickle dripped from the nape of my neck, slowly down my spine, and settled, warm and heavy, at the base of my pelvis.
From that day forward, I spent a lot of time hanging around hospitals. I'd see Him sometimes, but always fleetingly. His flowing black robe fluttering around a corner, or His long, thin, alabaster fingers pulling the remnants of soul from some poor bastard's lifeless sternum. I volunteered in nursing homes and cancer wards, chasing that sweet rush of pubescent desire I'd felt upon our first encounter. My mother thought I was a treasure, an altruist with a heart of gold bent on helping those whose lives were coming to a close. In truth, though, I was a madwoman in love.
What started as an innocent crush had blossomed through my adolescence into true passion. My every waking thought was of His hollow cheeks, His white-blue stare, His ethereal, floating gait. Our brief meetings would no longer suffice. I longed for Him to wrap those thin arms around my waist. I could no longer fantasize about His bony fingers brushing my bare skin; I needed the real thing. So, in an attempt to attract Him straight to me, I claimed my first victim.
I met Rob on a dating site, one of the free ones where every other message is a stranger's dick pic. Rob said he'd love to eat my ass, so I invited him to my place. I spent hours preparing for the date. I wore a black silk dress that felt just like I'd always imagined Death's soft robes would feel against my freshly shaven legs. I wore a pair of black strapped heels that lifted me seven inches, in hopes that I could look straight into those piercing baby blues as I professed my love to Him. And, as a final touch, I applied a blood red lipstick to my mouth. I didn't have to ask to know that Death's favorite color was blood.
I heard a knock at the door, and my heart jumped with excitement. I lifted my silken dress and slipped the small pistol from the drawer of my vanity into my garter belt. "Coming," I sang, as I pranced down the stairs to open the front door. Rob looked me up and down and licked his lips. "Damn girl," he laughed, "You sure put a lot of time into an outfit that I'm gonna tear right off you."
"Oh, you," I giggled, partially to appear affectionate, but mostly at his stupidity. "Please, come in." I closed the door behind us and ushered him toward the couch.
"How about a little strip tease?" Rob smirked and sat down, unbuttoning his jeans. I turned my back to him, and began moving my hips slowly from side to side. Sliding my hands down my torso and between my legs, I bent over, secretly pulling the pistol from my thigh. I held it to my chest, the steel warm from being pressed against my skin, as the other danced down my back, entrancing Rob. "Sorry," I whispered as I threw myself to face him and pulled the trigger four times fast, shooting him thrice in the chest and once in the head. I dropped the gun.
And then there He was. Death walked through the door, eyebrows furrowed, a stern look on His face. "You've been following me." His voice shook the room, but landed on my ears as soft a breath. I weakened at the knees.
Wiping the blood splatter from my dress, I said shakily, "I am sorry. But I have waited for this moment for so long. From the first moment I saw-." He pressed a single bony finger to my lips. It felt just as I'd always hoped. Cool, and simultaneously firm and soft. My heart raced as I pursed my lips and kissed that perfect phalanx. He pulled it away, a red mark remaining where either my lipstick or Rob's blood had left a stain.
"Shut up," He commanded. And so I did. All I wanted was to be dominated by Him. Fascinated, I watched as He leaned over Rob. His billowing robes obstructed my view of His work, but I was content with my gaze fixed upon His back. Just to be in His presence filled me with more pleasure than I'd ever known. Still, I wanted more. Sidling up beside Him, I threw my arms around His waist. "What are you doing?" His voice boomed and set my heart aflutter.
"I need you. I love you. Please, let me love you." I pressed my hips closer to His.
"I am a very busy guy," He spoke, pushing me away, "I have no time for silly love games." My hips tingled where he had touched them. Then He turned to leave, Rob's lifeless body still stooped on the couch where I'd killed him. Before my eyes could fill with tears, I had a realization. Slowly curving my lips into a smile, I laughed, "You will be back! I have control of you now! I can bring you to me any time I please! I WILL make you love me!" Glancing back, Death smirked as He floated away, leaving me alone, but not hopeless. | There! She rushes into the hallway, the smile catches on her lips and falls. Confusion plays across her face as she turns back to the room. The shadow slips from the body and away from her. "No!" she yells out. A powerless command. Tears well in her eyes, frustration brings her bloodied hands to her face raking her nails down from her hair, "NO!" louder and more pained her voice breaks out across the empty room. Silence. Her eyes draw down, the mask of his face mocks her anguish, smug in death. She lets out a guttural scream. Unheard and unnoticed. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | The classical symphonie traced through the room; Carl Vine's Sonata No. 1, her favorite. Only as usual..she didn't hear it. Her mind was racing and overwealmed with the task at hand. Her young and handsome guest was sprawled out before her on the marble flooring. It was a lie, though. Killing someone was never 'easier', if anything it got harder to cover up the disappearances and create fake alibis.
Regardless, the outcomes of her actions made it all worthwhile. Her black heels clicked with her movements, navigating around the tainted wine and broken glass towards her wooden nightstand. The room was bathed in the soft light of the moon; enough for her to see the silver shillings resting in the drawer. Grabbing two, she turned back to gingerly place them over the man's open eyes. His skin and lips still slightly pinked, his grey eyes plastid in horror from his torment only a few minutes prior.
She waited, slightly shifting anxiously in her provocative black dress. She ran her fingers through her short brown hair, and pressed her lips together to reassure her light pink lipstick was still noticable; last minute adjustments to assure perfection.
"You need to stop." Rang a cosmic voice. The woman was slightly startled, gazing around the dark room until her eyes fixed to the pale, bold face; empty sockets in placement of eyes.
"I would, if you would carry the souls of animals as well. Unfortunately, you dont , making it much harder for me." Chimed the woman innocently.
Death's form changed, as it always did, molding the face into a more...disfigured appearal; the sockets remaining constant. He was trying to frighten her, as he always did. "If you don't stop, you will soon carry a far more unbearable toll than a heavy heart." His voice was different with his changes, this time, more husk.
"I didnt chose to carry this consistent pain in my chest, Charon."
For the first time, she listened to a chuckle and a witnessed a crooked smirk. "It's been a long time I've been called that." But the smirk soon disappeared as he kneeled down to the broken corpse, inspecting it closely. "And I do appreciate your payments, nobody does it anymore...especially seeing as it is far easier to transport now."
"You told me, but I still enjoy paying my respects in a way." She quietly laughted to herself for her clever pun, lighting a cigarette. Death moved the coins from the corpse's eyes, releasing a smoke-like mist from his cranium directly into Death's open jaw. Faint wailing, mimicing the man's vocals, was emitted during the transfer, quieter than normal. During this time, the woman finished her cigarette; tossing the butt into the ash tray beside her.
Afterwards, Death stood and turned to take his leave. "So, when will are you planning on stopping this bullshit? I'm tired of seeing your face and wasting my time."
She smiled hungrily, stepping towards the apparition, "Never; I will continue to do everything to see you,no matter how heinous or messy the job; and when I die I will continue to follow you." Drool trickled down her button lip, moving her hands suggestively across her body. "I want you, and I will have you."
It was pointless; wasting words on this sick obsession. She wasn't going to stop, the most he could truly do was continue to revive her during each futile suicide attempts; so at least he wouldn't have to be stuck with her forever so soon..
Or at least until she is finally justly prosecuted for her actions...
EDIT: I'm not sure why it isn't keeping my line transitions....
| There! She rushes into the hallway, the smile catches on her lips and falls. Confusion plays across her face as she turns back to the room. The shadow slips from the body and away from her. "No!" she yells out. A powerless command. Tears well in her eyes, frustration brings her bloodied hands to her face raking her nails down from her hair, "NO!" louder and more pained her voice breaks out across the empty room. Silence. Her eyes draw down, the mask of his face mocks her anguish, smug in death. She lets out a guttural scream. Unheard and unnoticed. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She had seen him only once before when she was 13 years old. That was enough. She had not felt love before or since that moment, her family in the hospital, her mother in tears saying goodbye to her dying father. As a young girl she felt oddly disconnected from the experience of death. She tried not to pay attention to her dying grandfather and maybe that is why she was the only one to notice the tall dark man in an even darker suit. The suit fit him perfectly, his hair sat perfectly, his imperceptibly smile turned ever so slightly upward, perfect. She knew immediately who.. what she was looking at but not one else seemed to notice him, she didn't care.
It had been now 14 years since she had seen him. She had tried endlessly to cultivate relationship after failed relationship. She knew she should be happy but she wasn't, she had a fantastic career that she knew she should love, but she didn't. It was walking home one day after another unfulfilling day that it happened. as she was about to cross the street a young man, maybe 20 at a stretch bolted out trying to win a foot race against traffic was rag dolled horribly into the pavement by a yellow cab. She hadn't seen death, besides her grandfather, up until this point in her life and she was taken aback at how fragile a human can seem under these circumstances. A crowd had begun to gather a gape at the wrecked human in the street but she wasn't looking at the man any longer. She had seen someone... something she hadn't seen in a long long time, she smiled. A young boy across, on the other side of the street was trying not to look at the broken body in the road as his mother held his hand tightly, this was a mistake. What he saw was far more frightening, far more disturbing, looking into the crowd across from him he saw a sea of horrified faces, but that wasn't what stayed with him, it was the singular face in the very center of the crowd, the face of a pretty 27 year old girl, grinning, no, beaming from ear to ear.
She knew what she had to do. He would be there she had never been more sure of anything in her life, all she had to do was call him. She was, up until this point was an upstanding citizen so purchasing a gun was easy. She didn't want to do what she had set out to that night but the alternative seemed unbearable to her. She hailed a cab and asked to be driven out to a diner about 5 kilometers outside of town. As the cab left the city lights there was a loud flash, a surprisingly quiet crack and a splat of red on the inside of the front windshield. She was so surprised at what had happened she looked behind her to make sure was truly her who had shot the cabbie but it had been, she had been so anxious to see him again that the gun had gone off in her hands. Luckily the bullet had met its target. Where was he she thought and then as if prompted by her thoughts he appeared looked at the dead cab driver, turned slowly and then looked directly into her eyes, the same imperceptible smile crept across his face and just like that he was gone.
She was giddy, she pulsated with excitement, it had worked! She somehow knew it would but all the same it make her feel more alive, more powerful, more fulfilled than she ever had before. She was in love.
For the next 2 months she continued, person after person. At first she tried to find "forgettable" people, homeless people, lonely hearts, drug addicts. Anyone she sensed was vulnerable and alone. Night after night she met with him, always the same a quick blast, a flash of red and then him. With his hand on the heart of the person he was there to take with him he would look over stare into her eyes, smile, and then vanish. It was only in this last night that she discovered what she could do to make him stay longer.
After 4 weeks of avoiding taking a cabbie she decided that it had been long enough and she would go again. She liked using the cabbies, it was easy, get in, tell them where to go, and then do it. They never expect a thing. This time however was different, he saw, just as she was taking the gun from her purse he saw the flash of gun metal and slammed on the breaks and bolted from the car into the woods. She was startled, this had never happened before but she knew she couldn't let him go so took off after him. She was wearing good sneakers, she always did now after an incident in the park about 2 weeks earlier where a homeless man almost got away and she had to chase him through the grass with heels. She caught up with the cabbie quick enough, he as fat and slow. She pulled the gun but at the last minute he tripped and in adjusting her aim, fired low and hit him through the lower abdomen. He couldn't move, she had hit his spine and he was bleeding out, slowly. "Shit" she muttered allowed, this was going to take a while for him to arrive but she would wait. At the end of that thought she had a pleasant surprise, he was there, coming through the woods towards the fallen man. He put his hand over his heart and waited. He waited some more. He slowly turned his head, smiled imperceptibly and said I always have to work for these ones. Her jaw dropped, she had never heard him speak before. It was a rich low voice that made her knees shake, and not in the romantic "weak in the knees" sense, no, she felt a shear other worldly power in his voice that scared her... she loved it. He stayed for almost 20 minutes waiting, working to take this mans soul back with him. Right before he left was the only other time he spoke. He just said, you know what you have to do. He vanished again just as the dead mans eyes glazed over. She shuttered, she did know. She would have to die.
She made it home late that night, the cab had gone farther out of the city than she had remembered but she didn't sleep when she got in. There was no sleep for someone embroiled in the same line of thought that she was in. It seemed so foreign to her that this was the way, but no matter how she worked through it, it seemed inevitable. If she wanted to be with him then it had to be done, he had told her it had to be done, didn't he?
The next night was when it would happen, she had gone to the store and bought a length of rope. She already had a gun but didn't want to shoot herself, what happens if you look the same after you are dead as you do the moment that you die. She didn't want to exist forever with giant hole through her head, it seemed, unpleasant. That evening she put on her favorite outfit. She looked up online how to properly tie the noose and then secure the other end. The last thing she wanted was to end up in the hospital maimed but alive. She needed to die. She stood on the outside edge of the oak banister she had secured the rope to. The other end was looped securely around her neck. She had tied off enough slack that should would fall about three feet before quickly stopping at the end of her rope to visit with the man she had come to see. She closed her eyes, smiled and stepped off the edge. She jerked and swung back and forth, she opened her eyes and for an instant she panicked, not because she was going to die but that she wasn't already dead. Her fears were waylay-ed as she saw him slide open the patio door and stroll casually through her living room and up to stare are her face to face. He was taller than she had remembered, he must have been as she knew her face was about 10 feet from the ground. "Hello" he said. She tried to speak but couldn't but he knew what she was thinking, he could hear her thoughts. "Yes" he said "I am here for you". He placed his hand over her heart. "We can finally be together" she thought but to this he laughed, a full, powerful, crushing laugh. "No" he said, her heart sank and the panic welled up again inside of her. "You thought that is what I wanted?", "I did not want for 'Us' as you put it", "I wanted you". She clawed at her noose, but it was too late, she could feel herself being taken from her body, she could feel the power in that hand on her chest pulling her soul from her flesh. She was gone. Just before she last slipped away he looked deep into her eyes, smiled imperceptible and whispered "Luckily for you, you have friends where you are going, you should know, you gave them to me yourself". She slipped away and was gone. He took his hand from her chest, turned and strolled casually back out the patio door and into the woods. "Us" He chuckled to himself as he faded into nothing. | There! She rushes into the hallway, the smile catches on her lips and falls. Confusion plays across her face as she turns back to the room. The shadow slips from the body and away from her. "No!" she yells out. A powerless command. Tears well in her eyes, frustration brings her bloodied hands to her face raking her nails down from her hair, "NO!" louder and more pained her voice breaks out across the empty room. Silence. Her eyes draw down, the mask of his face mocks her anguish, smug in death. She lets out a guttural scream. Unheard and unnoticed. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She waited, nameless, and breathless. Her hands jagged with the dirt of struggle, though her fingers and thumbs clean where they came in deep contact with the homeless mans throat. She never thought they would have been so clean.
From the day she watched Deaths beautiful figure glide in the smoke of her fathers last cigarette, she knew what no living person on earth must know. Death was a woman. She danced, curvaceous. When blood spilled, it spilled so elegantly, and when bodies dried, they curved as if to dance with their new God.
Though the bodies twisted and contorted, and called for their Valkyrie, Death had never come. The boys, the men, the girls, the women, and those in between must never have been worthy for the one who chooses. But tonight, she was certain her kill was the only for her only.
He was a vagabond, bearded from travel, only in town to leave again. He was a traveler of the earth, close to nature unlike all those she'd taken before. It had been years, many years since her first kill and she could imagine that the only thing she hadn't weeded out was this. The ones she had taken were taken before, by this new world they had created. Why should Death take those whom have shunned the world she was born into? So it must have been the vagabond. He wriggled under her hands as she pressed his windpipe down. The moon glinted from his eyes, then disappeared. She had taken one deep breathe for the vagabond who couldn't, and held the rest. Death wouldn't come if a single breathing creature was around, right?
And she was. The wind picked up and left, the ground seemed to fall asleep, and the scenery faded as if into a dream. She had come.
She picked herself up, ripping her body from the numb, dull ground. The air around Death danced, curvaceous. The woman walked towards Death. The vagabond had been raptured into Deaths cloak of smoke and mirrors. Gone. She pressed one hand on Deaths waist, hard and strong, and drew the cloak down over the Valkyries head. There was no woman underneath. Only the face of her father, only the face of each boy, only the face of each man she had killed.
"I know what you want child."
She couldn't help but stare at the image of Death, nothing of what she had imagined.
"Death does not court those who court death."
**Edit** **Glad to see at least two people found the land where comments go to die.** | There! She rushes into the hallway, the smile catches on her lips and falls. Confusion plays across her face as she turns back to the room. The shadow slips from the body and away from her. "No!" she yells out. A powerless command. Tears well in her eyes, frustration brings her bloodied hands to her face raking her nails down from her hair, "NO!" louder and more pained her voice breaks out across the empty room. Silence. Her eyes draw down, the mask of his face mocks her anguish, smug in death. She lets out a guttural scream. Unheard and unnoticed. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | At first I lived in wedded bliss,
No other did I crave.
Until my husband felt Death's kiss,
And took an early grave.
I saw him fade in by his side,
Upon that chilling bed.
His face the sweeping cloak did hide,
The Master of the Dead.
A feeling swept upon my heart,
A love novel and strong.
Was Death my soul mate from the start?
How could this rush be wrong?
I craved the void, the empty gaze,
Beneath the tattered cloak.
Must I wait til end of days,
When my soul he'd revoke?
It started with a single man,
A pill slipped into a drink.
That I'd have a sinister plan,
Was naught the men would think.
From one to five, and to a score,
The times I saw his scythe.
Yet still I craved him ever more,
And murdered for his tithe.
I can no longer wait and kill,
'Til my love will I see.
I swallow now this final pill,
So Death can come for me.
| There! She rushes into the hallway, the smile catches on her lips and falls. Confusion plays across her face as she turns back to the room. The shadow slips from the body and away from her. "No!" she yells out. A powerless command. Tears well in her eyes, frustration brings her bloodied hands to her face raking her nails down from her hair, "NO!" louder and more pained her voice breaks out across the empty room. Silence. Her eyes draw down, the mask of his face mocks her anguish, smug in death. She lets out a guttural scream. Unheard and unnoticed. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | Mindy giggled.
"My love," she teased in a sing-song tone.
The mist formed a figure in front of the newly dead body. Mindy smiled as the figure of her lover appeared. "You caused such a mess this time." Death smiled at the mutilated body on the ground.
"Anything for you." Mindy approached her star-crossed lover. He kissed her. His lips were cold, but his love felt so good.
Death moved his hand over the body, and out came the soul of a young woman.
"I'll see you soon." Mindy giggled.
"Really soon." Death's tone suddenly became serious.
"Gaaaahh!" Mindy cried as an unbearable pain erupted in her rib. | First time posting on WritingPrompts, constructive criticism would be* highly appreciated.
The sun was in full force that day, unhindered by a cloudless baby blue sky, drawing the august haze out of the ground that turned everything into a shimmering panoramic mirage. It was hot and as Josie drove down the dusty dirt road that wound through the never ending landscape of hedges and patchy grass in her rickety pickup truck, she began to peer through the windshield searching for the giant oak tree she had passed beforehand on the same road, the only shade for miles around. Then she spotted it. The tree was a dark green mushroom rising out of a sea of beige dirt, massive and wide languishing under the unrelenting sunlight. She swerved off the dirt road and after a few minutes of bumpy driving she arrived beneath the oak's gnarled branches and hopped out of the truck. She let the light breeze that seemed to circulate in the shade underneath the oak cool the thin layer of sweat that covered her body underneath a loosely fitted white dress. As she stood with her arms outstretched she let out a long breath and drew another in, letting the earthy smell fill her nostrils.
What a beautiful place to die, she thought.
With that in mind she fetched the coil of hemp rope out of the back of the pickup and hoisted it over her shoulder and looked up at the branches of the oak. She unrolled a length of the rope and after a few tries she had looped one end of the rope over a particularly thick branch. Then she opened the passenger seat door of the truck.
In the passenger seat there was another woman. She had a piece of duct tape over her mouth and her wrists were bound with more duct tape. Her eyes were opened wide and blood had caked on the back of her head where shed been with a metal bat a few hours beforehand. But besides those differences, she looked exactly like Josie.
Her name was Rosie.
Josie hoisted the woman out of the seat and onto the ground, coiled the end of the rope around the woman's neck, tied the rope into a noose and tightened it. She brushed back the woman's hair and took the duct tape off her mouth.
"So it was you," Rosie said, hatefully.
"Yep, the whole time," Josie confessed as she walked over to the other end of the rope.
"I should have known, you crazy bitch."
"You should have. Anything you want to tell mom and dad?"
"You're gonna do them too? Jesus. When they catch you, you're gonna pay for what you've done."
"Maybe. Goodbye I guess. Any last words?"
"Fuck you."
Rosie spit at Josie, but it didn't quite reach.
It was only when Josie began to pull the other end of the rope that Rosie tried to scream, but nothing came out except a whine that barely audible over the sound of the heels of her shoes knocking together as she kicked, struggling to free herself. From a distance Josie watched the Rosie's face intently, trying
to read the thoughts going through Rosie's mind as they registered on her face. The moment was coming, she knew, she was waiting for it. Rosie's kicking began to slow, and then it happened, her body went limp and her eyes flickered. For a split second Josie could feel the life leaving Rosie, as if death had come to bring Rosie's soul somewhere far away, leaving behind just a blue faced corpse. Then the moment was gone, the wave of exhilaration running through Josie's spine dissipated, leaving her with a disappointed aftertaste. She released the rope and sat down on an exposed root, letting Rosie's corpse crumple face down on the ground.
Then all of a sudden it came to her why she had decided to hang her twin sister and she stood up again, and removed the noose from Rosie's neck.
They found the two bodies under the tree several days later, in similar states of decomposition, one on the ground her hands bound behind her back with duct tape, and the other hanging from the oak tree in a white dress.
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | "Death I have missed you so much, that sweet touch when the hair raises on the back of my neck, the way you make my heart heart race, how you are always watching over me. I will never forgot our first time together. First was my husband. That was all before I loved you Death, before I knew that I would never love anyone else ever again. When I killed my husband you came to me, all those feelings I get when you are around overcame me. I didn't know what it was that made me kill my husband, but in hindsight I know it was you telling me to do. You wanted us to be together, if only for a few moments, and I will forever be grateful. Since then we have met three more times. Each time we are brought together by a tragedy. Our time together is brief, but at the same time it feels like an eternity. I cry for days every time you leave me . I can't take it anymore! I want to be with you forever."
On Saturday evening police were called to Bergman apartments after reports of gun fire.
The police report states that after the police entered the unlocked apartments and found a dead body in the corner of the room. In the center was the alleged killer sitting cross-legged on the floor. The officer at the scene claims that he heard the alleged killer muttering to herself, completely oblivious to the officer entering the room, before killing herself. The relationship between the alleged killer and the victim is unknown. Right now the case is considered a murder suicide with no known motive.
| First time posting on WritingPrompts, constructive criticism would be* highly appreciated.
The sun was in full force that day, unhindered by a cloudless baby blue sky, drawing the august haze out of the ground that turned everything into a shimmering panoramic mirage. It was hot and as Josie drove down the dusty dirt road that wound through the never ending landscape of hedges and patchy grass in her rickety pickup truck, she began to peer through the windshield searching for the giant oak tree she had passed beforehand on the same road, the only shade for miles around. Then she spotted it. The tree was a dark green mushroom rising out of a sea of beige dirt, massive and wide languishing under the unrelenting sunlight. She swerved off the dirt road and after a few minutes of bumpy driving she arrived beneath the oak's gnarled branches and hopped out of the truck. She let the light breeze that seemed to circulate in the shade underneath the oak cool the thin layer of sweat that covered her body underneath a loosely fitted white dress. As she stood with her arms outstretched she let out a long breath and drew another in, letting the earthy smell fill her nostrils.
What a beautiful place to die, she thought.
With that in mind she fetched the coil of hemp rope out of the back of the pickup and hoisted it over her shoulder and looked up at the branches of the oak. She unrolled a length of the rope and after a few tries she had looped one end of the rope over a particularly thick branch. Then she opened the passenger seat door of the truck.
In the passenger seat there was another woman. She had a piece of duct tape over her mouth and her wrists were bound with more duct tape. Her eyes were opened wide and blood had caked on the back of her head where shed been with a metal bat a few hours beforehand. But besides those differences, she looked exactly like Josie.
Her name was Rosie.
Josie hoisted the woman out of the seat and onto the ground, coiled the end of the rope around the woman's neck, tied the rope into a noose and tightened it. She brushed back the woman's hair and took the duct tape off her mouth.
"So it was you," Rosie said, hatefully.
"Yep, the whole time," Josie confessed as she walked over to the other end of the rope.
"I should have known, you crazy bitch."
"You should have. Anything you want to tell mom and dad?"
"You're gonna do them too? Jesus. When they catch you, you're gonna pay for what you've done."
"Maybe. Goodbye I guess. Any last words?"
"Fuck you."
Rosie spit at Josie, but it didn't quite reach.
It was only when Josie began to pull the other end of the rope that Rosie tried to scream, but nothing came out except a whine that barely audible over the sound of the heels of her shoes knocking together as she kicked, struggling to free herself. From a distance Josie watched the Rosie's face intently, trying
to read the thoughts going through Rosie's mind as they registered on her face. The moment was coming, she knew, she was waiting for it. Rosie's kicking began to slow, and then it happened, her body went limp and her eyes flickered. For a split second Josie could feel the life leaving Rosie, as if death had come to bring Rosie's soul somewhere far away, leaving behind just a blue faced corpse. Then the moment was gone, the wave of exhilaration running through Josie's spine dissipated, leaving her with a disappointed aftertaste. She released the rope and sat down on an exposed root, letting Rosie's corpse crumple face down on the ground.
Then all of a sudden it came to her why she had decided to hang her twin sister and she stood up again, and removed the noose from Rosie's neck.
They found the two bodies under the tree several days later, in similar states of decomposition, one on the ground her hands bound behind her back with duct tape, and the other hanging from the oak tree in a white dress.
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | The first time I caught a glimpse of Him was behind the tool shed when Grampa's heart beat for the last time. Granny shooed me away to call for help, and as I trotted toward the house, I craned my neck to see the body. Instead, my gaze met a pair of piercing blue eyes that sent a cold jolt of desire through my thirteen year old heart. A sick tickle dripped from the nape of my neck, slowly down my spine, and settled, warm and heavy, at the base of my pelvis.
From that day forward, I spent a lot of time hanging around hospitals. I'd see Him sometimes, but always fleetingly. His flowing black robe fluttering around a corner, or His long, thin, alabaster fingers pulling the remnants of soul from some poor bastard's lifeless sternum. I volunteered in nursing homes and cancer wards, chasing that sweet rush of pubescent desire I'd felt upon our first encounter. My mother thought I was a treasure, an altruist with a heart of gold bent on helping those whose lives were coming to a close. In truth, though, I was a madwoman in love.
What started as an innocent crush had blossomed through my adolescence into true passion. My every waking thought was of His hollow cheeks, His white-blue stare, His ethereal, floating gait. Our brief meetings would no longer suffice. I longed for Him to wrap those thin arms around my waist. I could no longer fantasize about His bony fingers brushing my bare skin; I needed the real thing. So, in an attempt to attract Him straight to me, I claimed my first victim.
I met Rob on a dating site, one of the free ones where every other message is a stranger's dick pic. Rob said he'd love to eat my ass, so I invited him to my place. I spent hours preparing for the date. I wore a black silk dress that felt just like I'd always imagined Death's soft robes would feel against my freshly shaven legs. I wore a pair of black strapped heels that lifted me seven inches, in hopes that I could look straight into those piercing baby blues as I professed my love to Him. And, as a final touch, I applied a blood red lipstick to my mouth. I didn't have to ask to know that Death's favorite color was blood.
I heard a knock at the door, and my heart jumped with excitement. I lifted my silken dress and slipped the small pistol from the drawer of my vanity into my garter belt. "Coming," I sang, as I pranced down the stairs to open the front door. Rob looked me up and down and licked his lips. "Damn girl," he laughed, "You sure put a lot of time into an outfit that I'm gonna tear right off you."
"Oh, you," I giggled, partially to appear affectionate, but mostly at his stupidity. "Please, come in." I closed the door behind us and ushered him toward the couch.
"How about a little strip tease?" Rob smirked and sat down, unbuttoning his jeans. I turned my back to him, and began moving my hips slowly from side to side. Sliding my hands down my torso and between my legs, I bent over, secretly pulling the pistol from my thigh. I held it to my chest, the steel warm from being pressed against my skin, as the other danced down my back, entrancing Rob. "Sorry," I whispered as I threw myself to face him and pulled the trigger four times fast, shooting him thrice in the chest and once in the head. I dropped the gun.
And then there He was. Death walked through the door, eyebrows furrowed, a stern look on His face. "You've been following me." His voice shook the room, but landed on my ears as soft a breath. I weakened at the knees.
Wiping the blood splatter from my dress, I said shakily, "I am sorry. But I have waited for this moment for so long. From the first moment I saw-." He pressed a single bony finger to my lips. It felt just as I'd always hoped. Cool, and simultaneously firm and soft. My heart raced as I pursed my lips and kissed that perfect phalanx. He pulled it away, a red mark remaining where either my lipstick or Rob's blood had left a stain.
"Shut up," He commanded. And so I did. All I wanted was to be dominated by Him. Fascinated, I watched as He leaned over Rob. His billowing robes obstructed my view of His work, but I was content with my gaze fixed upon His back. Just to be in His presence filled me with more pleasure than I'd ever known. Still, I wanted more. Sidling up beside Him, I threw my arms around His waist. "What are you doing?" His voice boomed and set my heart aflutter.
"I need you. I love you. Please, let me love you." I pressed my hips closer to His.
"I am a very busy guy," He spoke, pushing me away, "I have no time for silly love games." My hips tingled where he had touched them. Then He turned to leave, Rob's lifeless body still stooped on the couch where I'd killed him. Before my eyes could fill with tears, I had a realization. Slowly curving my lips into a smile, I laughed, "You will be back! I have control of you now! I can bring you to me any time I please! I WILL make you love me!" Glancing back, Death smirked as He floated away, leaving me alone, but not hopeless. | First time posting on WritingPrompts, constructive criticism would be* highly appreciated.
The sun was in full force that day, unhindered by a cloudless baby blue sky, drawing the august haze out of the ground that turned everything into a shimmering panoramic mirage. It was hot and as Josie drove down the dusty dirt road that wound through the never ending landscape of hedges and patchy grass in her rickety pickup truck, she began to peer through the windshield searching for the giant oak tree she had passed beforehand on the same road, the only shade for miles around. Then she spotted it. The tree was a dark green mushroom rising out of a sea of beige dirt, massive and wide languishing under the unrelenting sunlight. She swerved off the dirt road and after a few minutes of bumpy driving she arrived beneath the oak's gnarled branches and hopped out of the truck. She let the light breeze that seemed to circulate in the shade underneath the oak cool the thin layer of sweat that covered her body underneath a loosely fitted white dress. As she stood with her arms outstretched she let out a long breath and drew another in, letting the earthy smell fill her nostrils.
What a beautiful place to die, she thought.
With that in mind she fetched the coil of hemp rope out of the back of the pickup and hoisted it over her shoulder and looked up at the branches of the oak. She unrolled a length of the rope and after a few tries she had looped one end of the rope over a particularly thick branch. Then she opened the passenger seat door of the truck.
In the passenger seat there was another woman. She had a piece of duct tape over her mouth and her wrists were bound with more duct tape. Her eyes were opened wide and blood had caked on the back of her head where shed been with a metal bat a few hours beforehand. But besides those differences, she looked exactly like Josie.
Her name was Rosie.
Josie hoisted the woman out of the seat and onto the ground, coiled the end of the rope around the woman's neck, tied the rope into a noose and tightened it. She brushed back the woman's hair and took the duct tape off her mouth.
"So it was you," Rosie said, hatefully.
"Yep, the whole time," Josie confessed as she walked over to the other end of the rope.
"I should have known, you crazy bitch."
"You should have. Anything you want to tell mom and dad?"
"You're gonna do them too? Jesus. When they catch you, you're gonna pay for what you've done."
"Maybe. Goodbye I guess. Any last words?"
"Fuck you."
Rosie spit at Josie, but it didn't quite reach.
It was only when Josie began to pull the other end of the rope that Rosie tried to scream, but nothing came out except a whine that barely audible over the sound of the heels of her shoes knocking together as she kicked, struggling to free herself. From a distance Josie watched the Rosie's face intently, trying
to read the thoughts going through Rosie's mind as they registered on her face. The moment was coming, she knew, she was waiting for it. Rosie's kicking began to slow, and then it happened, her body went limp and her eyes flickered. For a split second Josie could feel the life leaving Rosie, as if death had come to bring Rosie's soul somewhere far away, leaving behind just a blue faced corpse. Then the moment was gone, the wave of exhilaration running through Josie's spine dissipated, leaving her with a disappointed aftertaste. She released the rope and sat down on an exposed root, letting Rosie's corpse crumple face down on the ground.
Then all of a sudden it came to her why she had decided to hang her twin sister and she stood up again, and removed the noose from Rosie's neck.
They found the two bodies under the tree several days later, in similar states of decomposition, one on the ground her hands bound behind her back with duct tape, and the other hanging from the oak tree in a white dress.
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | The classical symphonie traced through the room; Carl Vine's Sonata No. 1, her favorite. Only as usual..she didn't hear it. Her mind was racing and overwealmed with the task at hand. Her young and handsome guest was sprawled out before her on the marble flooring. It was a lie, though. Killing someone was never 'easier', if anything it got harder to cover up the disappearances and create fake alibis.
Regardless, the outcomes of her actions made it all worthwhile. Her black heels clicked with her movements, navigating around the tainted wine and broken glass towards her wooden nightstand. The room was bathed in the soft light of the moon; enough for her to see the silver shillings resting in the drawer. Grabbing two, she turned back to gingerly place them over the man's open eyes. His skin and lips still slightly pinked, his grey eyes plastid in horror from his torment only a few minutes prior.
She waited, slightly shifting anxiously in her provocative black dress. She ran her fingers through her short brown hair, and pressed her lips together to reassure her light pink lipstick was still noticable; last minute adjustments to assure perfection.
"You need to stop." Rang a cosmic voice. The woman was slightly startled, gazing around the dark room until her eyes fixed to the pale, bold face; empty sockets in placement of eyes.
"I would, if you would carry the souls of animals as well. Unfortunately, you dont , making it much harder for me." Chimed the woman innocently.
Death's form changed, as it always did, molding the face into a more...disfigured appearal; the sockets remaining constant. He was trying to frighten her, as he always did. "If you don't stop, you will soon carry a far more unbearable toll than a heavy heart." His voice was different with his changes, this time, more husk.
"I didnt chose to carry this consistent pain in my chest, Charon."
For the first time, she listened to a chuckle and a witnessed a crooked smirk. "It's been a long time I've been called that." But the smirk soon disappeared as he kneeled down to the broken corpse, inspecting it closely. "And I do appreciate your payments, nobody does it anymore...especially seeing as it is far easier to transport now."
"You told me, but I still enjoy paying my respects in a way." She quietly laughted to herself for her clever pun, lighting a cigarette. Death moved the coins from the corpse's eyes, releasing a smoke-like mist from his cranium directly into Death's open jaw. Faint wailing, mimicing the man's vocals, was emitted during the transfer, quieter than normal. During this time, the woman finished her cigarette; tossing the butt into the ash tray beside her.
Afterwards, Death stood and turned to take his leave. "So, when will are you planning on stopping this bullshit? I'm tired of seeing your face and wasting my time."
She smiled hungrily, stepping towards the apparition, "Never; I will continue to do everything to see you,no matter how heinous or messy the job; and when I die I will continue to follow you." Drool trickled down her button lip, moving her hands suggestively across her body. "I want you, and I will have you."
It was pointless; wasting words on this sick obsession. She wasn't going to stop, the most he could truly do was continue to revive her during each futile suicide attempts; so at least he wouldn't have to be stuck with her forever so soon..
Or at least until she is finally justly prosecuted for her actions...
EDIT: I'm not sure why it isn't keeping my line transitions....
| First time posting on WritingPrompts, constructive criticism would be* highly appreciated.
The sun was in full force that day, unhindered by a cloudless baby blue sky, drawing the august haze out of the ground that turned everything into a shimmering panoramic mirage. It was hot and as Josie drove down the dusty dirt road that wound through the never ending landscape of hedges and patchy grass in her rickety pickup truck, she began to peer through the windshield searching for the giant oak tree she had passed beforehand on the same road, the only shade for miles around. Then she spotted it. The tree was a dark green mushroom rising out of a sea of beige dirt, massive and wide languishing under the unrelenting sunlight. She swerved off the dirt road and after a few minutes of bumpy driving she arrived beneath the oak's gnarled branches and hopped out of the truck. She let the light breeze that seemed to circulate in the shade underneath the oak cool the thin layer of sweat that covered her body underneath a loosely fitted white dress. As she stood with her arms outstretched she let out a long breath and drew another in, letting the earthy smell fill her nostrils.
What a beautiful place to die, she thought.
With that in mind she fetched the coil of hemp rope out of the back of the pickup and hoisted it over her shoulder and looked up at the branches of the oak. She unrolled a length of the rope and after a few tries she had looped one end of the rope over a particularly thick branch. Then she opened the passenger seat door of the truck.
In the passenger seat there was another woman. She had a piece of duct tape over her mouth and her wrists were bound with more duct tape. Her eyes were opened wide and blood had caked on the back of her head where shed been with a metal bat a few hours beforehand. But besides those differences, she looked exactly like Josie.
Her name was Rosie.
Josie hoisted the woman out of the seat and onto the ground, coiled the end of the rope around the woman's neck, tied the rope into a noose and tightened it. She brushed back the woman's hair and took the duct tape off her mouth.
"So it was you," Rosie said, hatefully.
"Yep, the whole time," Josie confessed as she walked over to the other end of the rope.
"I should have known, you crazy bitch."
"You should have. Anything you want to tell mom and dad?"
"You're gonna do them too? Jesus. When they catch you, you're gonna pay for what you've done."
"Maybe. Goodbye I guess. Any last words?"
"Fuck you."
Rosie spit at Josie, but it didn't quite reach.
It was only when Josie began to pull the other end of the rope that Rosie tried to scream, but nothing came out except a whine that barely audible over the sound of the heels of her shoes knocking together as she kicked, struggling to free herself. From a distance Josie watched the Rosie's face intently, trying
to read the thoughts going through Rosie's mind as they registered on her face. The moment was coming, she knew, she was waiting for it. Rosie's kicking began to slow, and then it happened, her body went limp and her eyes flickered. For a split second Josie could feel the life leaving Rosie, as if death had come to bring Rosie's soul somewhere far away, leaving behind just a blue faced corpse. Then the moment was gone, the wave of exhilaration running through Josie's spine dissipated, leaving her with a disappointed aftertaste. She released the rope and sat down on an exposed root, letting Rosie's corpse crumple face down on the ground.
Then all of a sudden it came to her why she had decided to hang her twin sister and she stood up again, and removed the noose from Rosie's neck.
They found the two bodies under the tree several days later, in similar states of decomposition, one on the ground her hands bound behind her back with duct tape, and the other hanging from the oak tree in a white dress.
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She waited, nameless, and breathless. Her hands jagged with the dirt of struggle, though her fingers and thumbs clean where they came in deep contact with the homeless mans throat. She never thought they would have been so clean.
From the day she watched Deaths beautiful figure glide in the smoke of her fathers last cigarette, she knew what no living person on earth must know. Death was a woman. She danced, curvaceous. When blood spilled, it spilled so elegantly, and when bodies dried, they curved as if to dance with their new God.
Though the bodies twisted and contorted, and called for their Valkyrie, Death had never come. The boys, the men, the girls, the women, and those in between must never have been worthy for the one who chooses. But tonight, she was certain her kill was the only for her only.
He was a vagabond, bearded from travel, only in town to leave again. He was a traveler of the earth, close to nature unlike all those she'd taken before. It had been years, many years since her first kill and she could imagine that the only thing she hadn't weeded out was this. The ones she had taken were taken before, by this new world they had created. Why should Death take those whom have shunned the world she was born into? So it must have been the vagabond. He wriggled under her hands as she pressed his windpipe down. The moon glinted from his eyes, then disappeared. She had taken one deep breathe for the vagabond who couldn't, and held the rest. Death wouldn't come if a single breathing creature was around, right?
And she was. The wind picked up and left, the ground seemed to fall asleep, and the scenery faded as if into a dream. She had come.
She picked herself up, ripping her body from the numb, dull ground. The air around Death danced, curvaceous. The woman walked towards Death. The vagabond had been raptured into Deaths cloak of smoke and mirrors. Gone. She pressed one hand on Deaths waist, hard and strong, and drew the cloak down over the Valkyries head. There was no woman underneath. Only the face of her father, only the face of each boy, only the face of each man she had killed.
"I know what you want child."
She couldn't help but stare at the image of Death, nothing of what she had imagined.
"Death does not court those who court death."
**Edit** **Glad to see at least two people found the land where comments go to die.** | First time posting on WritingPrompts, constructive criticism would be* highly appreciated.
The sun was in full force that day, unhindered by a cloudless baby blue sky, drawing the august haze out of the ground that turned everything into a shimmering panoramic mirage. It was hot and as Josie drove down the dusty dirt road that wound through the never ending landscape of hedges and patchy grass in her rickety pickup truck, she began to peer through the windshield searching for the giant oak tree she had passed beforehand on the same road, the only shade for miles around. Then she spotted it. The tree was a dark green mushroom rising out of a sea of beige dirt, massive and wide languishing under the unrelenting sunlight. She swerved off the dirt road and after a few minutes of bumpy driving she arrived beneath the oak's gnarled branches and hopped out of the truck. She let the light breeze that seemed to circulate in the shade underneath the oak cool the thin layer of sweat that covered her body underneath a loosely fitted white dress. As she stood with her arms outstretched she let out a long breath and drew another in, letting the earthy smell fill her nostrils.
What a beautiful place to die, she thought.
With that in mind she fetched the coil of hemp rope out of the back of the pickup and hoisted it over her shoulder and looked up at the branches of the oak. She unrolled a length of the rope and after a few tries she had looped one end of the rope over a particularly thick branch. Then she opened the passenger seat door of the truck.
In the passenger seat there was another woman. She had a piece of duct tape over her mouth and her wrists were bound with more duct tape. Her eyes were opened wide and blood had caked on the back of her head where shed been with a metal bat a few hours beforehand. But besides those differences, she looked exactly like Josie.
Her name was Rosie.
Josie hoisted the woman out of the seat and onto the ground, coiled the end of the rope around the woman's neck, tied the rope into a noose and tightened it. She brushed back the woman's hair and took the duct tape off her mouth.
"So it was you," Rosie said, hatefully.
"Yep, the whole time," Josie confessed as she walked over to the other end of the rope.
"I should have known, you crazy bitch."
"You should have. Anything you want to tell mom and dad?"
"You're gonna do them too? Jesus. When they catch you, you're gonna pay for what you've done."
"Maybe. Goodbye I guess. Any last words?"
"Fuck you."
Rosie spit at Josie, but it didn't quite reach.
It was only when Josie began to pull the other end of the rope that Rosie tried to scream, but nothing came out except a whine that barely audible over the sound of the heels of her shoes knocking together as she kicked, struggling to free herself. From a distance Josie watched the Rosie's face intently, trying
to read the thoughts going through Rosie's mind as they registered on her face. The moment was coming, she knew, she was waiting for it. Rosie's kicking began to slow, and then it happened, her body went limp and her eyes flickered. For a split second Josie could feel the life leaving Rosie, as if death had come to bring Rosie's soul somewhere far away, leaving behind just a blue faced corpse. Then the moment was gone, the wave of exhilaration running through Josie's spine dissipated, leaving her with a disappointed aftertaste. She released the rope and sat down on an exposed root, letting Rosie's corpse crumple face down on the ground.
Then all of a sudden it came to her why she had decided to hang her twin sister and she stood up again, and removed the noose from Rosie's neck.
They found the two bodies under the tree several days later, in similar states of decomposition, one on the ground her hands bound behind her back with duct tape, and the other hanging from the oak tree in a white dress.
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | The first time I caught a glimpse of Him was behind the tool shed when Grampa's heart beat for the last time. Granny shooed me away to call for help, and as I trotted toward the house, I craned my neck to see the body. Instead, my gaze met a pair of piercing blue eyes that sent a cold jolt of desire through my thirteen year old heart. A sick tickle dripped from the nape of my neck, slowly down my spine, and settled, warm and heavy, at the base of my pelvis.
From that day forward, I spent a lot of time hanging around hospitals. I'd see Him sometimes, but always fleetingly. His flowing black robe fluttering around a corner, or His long, thin, alabaster fingers pulling the remnants of soul from some poor bastard's lifeless sternum. I volunteered in nursing homes and cancer wards, chasing that sweet rush of pubescent desire I'd felt upon our first encounter. My mother thought I was a treasure, an altruist with a heart of gold bent on helping those whose lives were coming to a close. In truth, though, I was a madwoman in love.
What started as an innocent crush had blossomed through my adolescence into true passion. My every waking thought was of His hollow cheeks, His white-blue stare, His ethereal, floating gait. Our brief meetings would no longer suffice. I longed for Him to wrap those thin arms around my waist. I could no longer fantasize about His bony fingers brushing my bare skin; I needed the real thing. So, in an attempt to attract Him straight to me, I claimed my first victim.
I met Rob on a dating site, one of the free ones where every other message is a stranger's dick pic. Rob said he'd love to eat my ass, so I invited him to my place. I spent hours preparing for the date. I wore a black silk dress that felt just like I'd always imagined Death's soft robes would feel against my freshly shaven legs. I wore a pair of black strapped heels that lifted me seven inches, in hopes that I could look straight into those piercing baby blues as I professed my love to Him. And, as a final touch, I applied a blood red lipstick to my mouth. I didn't have to ask to know that Death's favorite color was blood.
I heard a knock at the door, and my heart jumped with excitement. I lifted my silken dress and slipped the small pistol from the drawer of my vanity into my garter belt. "Coming," I sang, as I pranced down the stairs to open the front door. Rob looked me up and down and licked his lips. "Damn girl," he laughed, "You sure put a lot of time into an outfit that I'm gonna tear right off you."
"Oh, you," I giggled, partially to appear affectionate, but mostly at his stupidity. "Please, come in." I closed the door behind us and ushered him toward the couch.
"How about a little strip tease?" Rob smirked and sat down, unbuttoning his jeans. I turned my back to him, and began moving my hips slowly from side to side. Sliding my hands down my torso and between my legs, I bent over, secretly pulling the pistol from my thigh. I held it to my chest, the steel warm from being pressed against my skin, as the other danced down my back, entrancing Rob. "Sorry," I whispered as I threw myself to face him and pulled the trigger four times fast, shooting him thrice in the chest and once in the head. I dropped the gun.
And then there He was. Death walked through the door, eyebrows furrowed, a stern look on His face. "You've been following me." His voice shook the room, but landed on my ears as soft a breath. I weakened at the knees.
Wiping the blood splatter from my dress, I said shakily, "I am sorry. But I have waited for this moment for so long. From the first moment I saw-." He pressed a single bony finger to my lips. It felt just as I'd always hoped. Cool, and simultaneously firm and soft. My heart raced as I pursed my lips and kissed that perfect phalanx. He pulled it away, a red mark remaining where either my lipstick or Rob's blood had left a stain.
"Shut up," He commanded. And so I did. All I wanted was to be dominated by Him. Fascinated, I watched as He leaned over Rob. His billowing robes obstructed my view of His work, but I was content with my gaze fixed upon His back. Just to be in His presence filled me with more pleasure than I'd ever known. Still, I wanted more. Sidling up beside Him, I threw my arms around His waist. "What are you doing?" His voice boomed and set my heart aflutter.
"I need you. I love you. Please, let me love you." I pressed my hips closer to His.
"I am a very busy guy," He spoke, pushing me away, "I have no time for silly love games." My hips tingled where he had touched them. Then He turned to leave, Rob's lifeless body still stooped on the couch where I'd killed him. Before my eyes could fill with tears, I had a realization. Slowly curving my lips into a smile, I laughed, "You will be back! I have control of you now! I can bring you to me any time I please! I WILL make you love me!" Glancing back, Death smirked as He floated away, leaving me alone, but not hopeless. | She felt guilty that she felt so happy.
But tonight was her night, after all.
The white was now stained red, as he had told her. Jason was on the floor, and she felt accomplished. Seeing Death once was not enough, and hey, what's a better way to dump a fiancé? She much rather go for sullen cheekbones than a blob of fat.
She checked the clock of the prison van, waiting. Death had said he would come after the deed was done. Where was he?
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | The classical symphonie traced through the room; Carl Vine's Sonata No. 1, her favorite. Only as usual..she didn't hear it. Her mind was racing and overwealmed with the task at hand. Her young and handsome guest was sprawled out before her on the marble flooring. It was a lie, though. Killing someone was never 'easier', if anything it got harder to cover up the disappearances and create fake alibis.
Regardless, the outcomes of her actions made it all worthwhile. Her black heels clicked with her movements, navigating around the tainted wine and broken glass towards her wooden nightstand. The room was bathed in the soft light of the moon; enough for her to see the silver shillings resting in the drawer. Grabbing two, she turned back to gingerly place them over the man's open eyes. His skin and lips still slightly pinked, his grey eyes plastid in horror from his torment only a few minutes prior.
She waited, slightly shifting anxiously in her provocative black dress. She ran her fingers through her short brown hair, and pressed her lips together to reassure her light pink lipstick was still noticable; last minute adjustments to assure perfection.
"You need to stop." Rang a cosmic voice. The woman was slightly startled, gazing around the dark room until her eyes fixed to the pale, bold face; empty sockets in placement of eyes.
"I would, if you would carry the souls of animals as well. Unfortunately, you dont , making it much harder for me." Chimed the woman innocently.
Death's form changed, as it always did, molding the face into a more...disfigured appearal; the sockets remaining constant. He was trying to frighten her, as he always did. "If you don't stop, you will soon carry a far more unbearable toll than a heavy heart." His voice was different with his changes, this time, more husk.
"I didnt chose to carry this consistent pain in my chest, Charon."
For the first time, she listened to a chuckle and a witnessed a crooked smirk. "It's been a long time I've been called that." But the smirk soon disappeared as he kneeled down to the broken corpse, inspecting it closely. "And I do appreciate your payments, nobody does it anymore...especially seeing as it is far easier to transport now."
"You told me, but I still enjoy paying my respects in a way." She quietly laughted to herself for her clever pun, lighting a cigarette. Death moved the coins from the corpse's eyes, releasing a smoke-like mist from his cranium directly into Death's open jaw. Faint wailing, mimicing the man's vocals, was emitted during the transfer, quieter than normal. During this time, the woman finished her cigarette; tossing the butt into the ash tray beside her.
Afterwards, Death stood and turned to take his leave. "So, when will are you planning on stopping this bullshit? I'm tired of seeing your face and wasting my time."
She smiled hungrily, stepping towards the apparition, "Never; I will continue to do everything to see you,no matter how heinous or messy the job; and when I die I will continue to follow you." Drool trickled down her button lip, moving her hands suggestively across her body. "I want you, and I will have you."
It was pointless; wasting words on this sick obsession. She wasn't going to stop, the most he could truly do was continue to revive her during each futile suicide attempts; so at least he wouldn't have to be stuck with her forever so soon..
Or at least until she is finally justly prosecuted for her actions...
EDIT: I'm not sure why it isn't keeping my line transitions....
| She felt guilty that she felt so happy.
But tonight was her night, after all.
The white was now stained red, as he had told her. Jason was on the floor, and she felt accomplished. Seeing Death once was not enough, and hey, what's a better way to dump a fiancé? She much rather go for sullen cheekbones than a blob of fat.
She checked the clock of the prison van, waiting. Death had said he would come after the deed was done. Where was he?
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | The first time I caught a glimpse of Him was behind the tool shed when Grampa's heart beat for the last time. Granny shooed me away to call for help, and as I trotted toward the house, I craned my neck to see the body. Instead, my gaze met a pair of piercing blue eyes that sent a cold jolt of desire through my thirteen year old heart. A sick tickle dripped from the nape of my neck, slowly down my spine, and settled, warm and heavy, at the base of my pelvis.
From that day forward, I spent a lot of time hanging around hospitals. I'd see Him sometimes, but always fleetingly. His flowing black robe fluttering around a corner, or His long, thin, alabaster fingers pulling the remnants of soul from some poor bastard's lifeless sternum. I volunteered in nursing homes and cancer wards, chasing that sweet rush of pubescent desire I'd felt upon our first encounter. My mother thought I was a treasure, an altruist with a heart of gold bent on helping those whose lives were coming to a close. In truth, though, I was a madwoman in love.
What started as an innocent crush had blossomed through my adolescence into true passion. My every waking thought was of His hollow cheeks, His white-blue stare, His ethereal, floating gait. Our brief meetings would no longer suffice. I longed for Him to wrap those thin arms around my waist. I could no longer fantasize about His bony fingers brushing my bare skin; I needed the real thing. So, in an attempt to attract Him straight to me, I claimed my first victim.
I met Rob on a dating site, one of the free ones where every other message is a stranger's dick pic. Rob said he'd love to eat my ass, so I invited him to my place. I spent hours preparing for the date. I wore a black silk dress that felt just like I'd always imagined Death's soft robes would feel against my freshly shaven legs. I wore a pair of black strapped heels that lifted me seven inches, in hopes that I could look straight into those piercing baby blues as I professed my love to Him. And, as a final touch, I applied a blood red lipstick to my mouth. I didn't have to ask to know that Death's favorite color was blood.
I heard a knock at the door, and my heart jumped with excitement. I lifted my silken dress and slipped the small pistol from the drawer of my vanity into my garter belt. "Coming," I sang, as I pranced down the stairs to open the front door. Rob looked me up and down and licked his lips. "Damn girl," he laughed, "You sure put a lot of time into an outfit that I'm gonna tear right off you."
"Oh, you," I giggled, partially to appear affectionate, but mostly at his stupidity. "Please, come in." I closed the door behind us and ushered him toward the couch.
"How about a little strip tease?" Rob smirked and sat down, unbuttoning his jeans. I turned my back to him, and began moving my hips slowly from side to side. Sliding my hands down my torso and between my legs, I bent over, secretly pulling the pistol from my thigh. I held it to my chest, the steel warm from being pressed against my skin, as the other danced down my back, entrancing Rob. "Sorry," I whispered as I threw myself to face him and pulled the trigger four times fast, shooting him thrice in the chest and once in the head. I dropped the gun.
And then there He was. Death walked through the door, eyebrows furrowed, a stern look on His face. "You've been following me." His voice shook the room, but landed on my ears as soft a breath. I weakened at the knees.
Wiping the blood splatter from my dress, I said shakily, "I am sorry. But I have waited for this moment for so long. From the first moment I saw-." He pressed a single bony finger to my lips. It felt just as I'd always hoped. Cool, and simultaneously firm and soft. My heart raced as I pursed my lips and kissed that perfect phalanx. He pulled it away, a red mark remaining where either my lipstick or Rob's blood had left a stain.
"Shut up," He commanded. And so I did. All I wanted was to be dominated by Him. Fascinated, I watched as He leaned over Rob. His billowing robes obstructed my view of His work, but I was content with my gaze fixed upon His back. Just to be in His presence filled me with more pleasure than I'd ever known. Still, I wanted more. Sidling up beside Him, I threw my arms around His waist. "What are you doing?" His voice boomed and set my heart aflutter.
"I need you. I love you. Please, let me love you." I pressed my hips closer to His.
"I am a very busy guy," He spoke, pushing me away, "I have no time for silly love games." My hips tingled where he had touched them. Then He turned to leave, Rob's lifeless body still stooped on the couch where I'd killed him. Before my eyes could fill with tears, I had a realization. Slowly curving my lips into a smile, I laughed, "You will be back! I have control of you now! I can bring you to me any time I please! I WILL make you love me!" Glancing back, Death smirked as He floated away, leaving me alone, but not hopeless. | I expected this. I even anticipated this, but I was nevertheless scared. The straps on my arms hurt a bit. They tied me too tight, but I didn’t think it mattered anymore. Not much did at this point.
The looks on their faces showed no mercy or regrets. I would swear that I caught a gleam of satisfaction. They believed beyond a shadow of doubt that I was about to get exactly what I deserved.
Which was, in fact, true. I deserved no better than this. I deserved the same fate that I had brought upon many people, over and over again. I knew where this would end; I knew I would get caught. I just didn’t really cared.
Did I regret what I had to do? Of course I did. I hated myself for it. If only there was another way…
Would I take back, had I been given the chance? Never. I did it for love. People do crazy things for love. I just took it to the next level.
Suddenly, all my fears left my body as I saw him leaning against the wall.
“Was it all worth it?” he asked, emerging from the shadows.
I turned my head toward him. He came!
“Yes,” I whispered.
“You came for me!”
He shook his head with disappointment and sadness.
“I told you not to do this. I warned you, I begged… We could never be together.”
I felt my eyelids getting heavier as the liquid began flowing in my veins.
“We are now.” I sighed happily as I took my last breath.
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | The classical symphonie traced through the room; Carl Vine's Sonata No. 1, her favorite. Only as usual..she didn't hear it. Her mind was racing and overwealmed with the task at hand. Her young and handsome guest was sprawled out before her on the marble flooring. It was a lie, though. Killing someone was never 'easier', if anything it got harder to cover up the disappearances and create fake alibis.
Regardless, the outcomes of her actions made it all worthwhile. Her black heels clicked with her movements, navigating around the tainted wine and broken glass towards her wooden nightstand. The room was bathed in the soft light of the moon; enough for her to see the silver shillings resting in the drawer. Grabbing two, she turned back to gingerly place them over the man's open eyes. His skin and lips still slightly pinked, his grey eyes plastid in horror from his torment only a few minutes prior.
She waited, slightly shifting anxiously in her provocative black dress. She ran her fingers through her short brown hair, and pressed her lips together to reassure her light pink lipstick was still noticable; last minute adjustments to assure perfection.
"You need to stop." Rang a cosmic voice. The woman was slightly startled, gazing around the dark room until her eyes fixed to the pale, bold face; empty sockets in placement of eyes.
"I would, if you would carry the souls of animals as well. Unfortunately, you dont , making it much harder for me." Chimed the woman innocently.
Death's form changed, as it always did, molding the face into a more...disfigured appearal; the sockets remaining constant. He was trying to frighten her, as he always did. "If you don't stop, you will soon carry a far more unbearable toll than a heavy heart." His voice was different with his changes, this time, more husk.
"I didnt chose to carry this consistent pain in my chest, Charon."
For the first time, she listened to a chuckle and a witnessed a crooked smirk. "It's been a long time I've been called that." But the smirk soon disappeared as he kneeled down to the broken corpse, inspecting it closely. "And I do appreciate your payments, nobody does it anymore...especially seeing as it is far easier to transport now."
"You told me, but I still enjoy paying my respects in a way." She quietly laughted to herself for her clever pun, lighting a cigarette. Death moved the coins from the corpse's eyes, releasing a smoke-like mist from his cranium directly into Death's open jaw. Faint wailing, mimicing the man's vocals, was emitted during the transfer, quieter than normal. During this time, the woman finished her cigarette; tossing the butt into the ash tray beside her.
Afterwards, Death stood and turned to take his leave. "So, when will are you planning on stopping this bullshit? I'm tired of seeing your face and wasting my time."
She smiled hungrily, stepping towards the apparition, "Never; I will continue to do everything to see you,no matter how heinous or messy the job; and when I die I will continue to follow you." Drool trickled down her button lip, moving her hands suggestively across her body. "I want you, and I will have you."
It was pointless; wasting words on this sick obsession. She wasn't going to stop, the most he could truly do was continue to revive her during each futile suicide attempts; so at least he wouldn't have to be stuck with her forever so soon..
Or at least until she is finally justly prosecuted for her actions...
EDIT: I'm not sure why it isn't keeping my line transitions....
| I expected this. I even anticipated this, but I was nevertheless scared. The straps on my arms hurt a bit. They tied me too tight, but I didn’t think it mattered anymore. Not much did at this point.
The looks on their faces showed no mercy or regrets. I would swear that I caught a gleam of satisfaction. They believed beyond a shadow of doubt that I was about to get exactly what I deserved.
Which was, in fact, true. I deserved no better than this. I deserved the same fate that I had brought upon many people, over and over again. I knew where this would end; I knew I would get caught. I just didn’t really cared.
Did I regret what I had to do? Of course I did. I hated myself for it. If only there was another way…
Would I take back, had I been given the chance? Never. I did it for love. People do crazy things for love. I just took it to the next level.
Suddenly, all my fears left my body as I saw him leaning against the wall.
“Was it all worth it?” he asked, emerging from the shadows.
I turned my head toward him. He came!
“Yes,” I whispered.
“You came for me!”
He shook his head with disappointment and sadness.
“I told you not to do this. I warned you, I begged… We could never be together.”
I felt my eyelids getting heavier as the liquid began flowing in my veins.
“We are now.” I sighed happily as I took my last breath.
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | The first time I caught a glimpse of Him was behind the tool shed when Grampa's heart beat for the last time. Granny shooed me away to call for help, and as I trotted toward the house, I craned my neck to see the body. Instead, my gaze met a pair of piercing blue eyes that sent a cold jolt of desire through my thirteen year old heart. A sick tickle dripped from the nape of my neck, slowly down my spine, and settled, warm and heavy, at the base of my pelvis.
From that day forward, I spent a lot of time hanging around hospitals. I'd see Him sometimes, but always fleetingly. His flowing black robe fluttering around a corner, or His long, thin, alabaster fingers pulling the remnants of soul from some poor bastard's lifeless sternum. I volunteered in nursing homes and cancer wards, chasing that sweet rush of pubescent desire I'd felt upon our first encounter. My mother thought I was a treasure, an altruist with a heart of gold bent on helping those whose lives were coming to a close. In truth, though, I was a madwoman in love.
What started as an innocent crush had blossomed through my adolescence into true passion. My every waking thought was of His hollow cheeks, His white-blue stare, His ethereal, floating gait. Our brief meetings would no longer suffice. I longed for Him to wrap those thin arms around my waist. I could no longer fantasize about His bony fingers brushing my bare skin; I needed the real thing. So, in an attempt to attract Him straight to me, I claimed my first victim.
I met Rob on a dating site, one of the free ones where every other message is a stranger's dick pic. Rob said he'd love to eat my ass, so I invited him to my place. I spent hours preparing for the date. I wore a black silk dress that felt just like I'd always imagined Death's soft robes would feel against my freshly shaven legs. I wore a pair of black strapped heels that lifted me seven inches, in hopes that I could look straight into those piercing baby blues as I professed my love to Him. And, as a final touch, I applied a blood red lipstick to my mouth. I didn't have to ask to know that Death's favorite color was blood.
I heard a knock at the door, and my heart jumped with excitement. I lifted my silken dress and slipped the small pistol from the drawer of my vanity into my garter belt. "Coming," I sang, as I pranced down the stairs to open the front door. Rob looked me up and down and licked his lips. "Damn girl," he laughed, "You sure put a lot of time into an outfit that I'm gonna tear right off you."
"Oh, you," I giggled, partially to appear affectionate, but mostly at his stupidity. "Please, come in." I closed the door behind us and ushered him toward the couch.
"How about a little strip tease?" Rob smirked and sat down, unbuttoning his jeans. I turned my back to him, and began moving my hips slowly from side to side. Sliding my hands down my torso and between my legs, I bent over, secretly pulling the pistol from my thigh. I held it to my chest, the steel warm from being pressed against my skin, as the other danced down my back, entrancing Rob. "Sorry," I whispered as I threw myself to face him and pulled the trigger four times fast, shooting him thrice in the chest and once in the head. I dropped the gun.
And then there He was. Death walked through the door, eyebrows furrowed, a stern look on His face. "You've been following me." His voice shook the room, but landed on my ears as soft a breath. I weakened at the knees.
Wiping the blood splatter from my dress, I said shakily, "I am sorry. But I have waited for this moment for so long. From the first moment I saw-." He pressed a single bony finger to my lips. It felt just as I'd always hoped. Cool, and simultaneously firm and soft. My heart raced as I pursed my lips and kissed that perfect phalanx. He pulled it away, a red mark remaining where either my lipstick or Rob's blood had left a stain.
"Shut up," He commanded. And so I did. All I wanted was to be dominated by Him. Fascinated, I watched as He leaned over Rob. His billowing robes obstructed my view of His work, but I was content with my gaze fixed upon His back. Just to be in His presence filled me with more pleasure than I'd ever known. Still, I wanted more. Sidling up beside Him, I threw my arms around His waist. "What are you doing?" His voice boomed and set my heart aflutter.
"I need you. I love you. Please, let me love you." I pressed my hips closer to His.
"I am a very busy guy," He spoke, pushing me away, "I have no time for silly love games." My hips tingled where he had touched them. Then He turned to leave, Rob's lifeless body still stooped on the couch where I'd killed him. Before my eyes could fill with tears, I had a realization. Slowly curving my lips into a smile, I laughed, "You will be back! I have control of you now! I can bring you to me any time I please! I WILL make you love me!" Glancing back, Death smirked as He floated away, leaving me alone, but not hopeless. | The woman who called herself Sable Rose, but who had been born Katherine Elizabeth Teller, crossed the rain-slicked street slowly, purposefully, a sensible black leather purse clutched tightly in her right hand. The entity mankind had named Death watched from the shadows, marking her every step with care. The woman reached the far side of the street without incident, her profile a black paper cutout upon the blurred reflections of streetlights. At the moment her left foot alighted on the rough concrete sidewalk, she had been alive for 28 years, 95 days, 11 hours, 13 minutes, and 37 seconds. Death continued to watch as she mounted the white marble steps that led to the lobby of 125 Tower Plaza, a building which contained, among other things, the offices of one Jeremy Andrew Mattheson, Attorney at Law. Mr. Mattheson was working late that evening, or so he had told his wife over the phone earlier that day. The real reason Mattheson had stayed late was irrelevant to Death, though it ultimately meant he would end up pulling double duty, as it were. The woman swiped her key card, and pulled open the great glass doors of the office building's first floor lobby. Death began to make his way across the empty intersection at a leisurely pace, which was the only kind of pace of which he was capable. To the casual observer, had there been any, he would have appeared as a perfectly ordinary, dark haired man of middle age, wearing an understated suit whose color was somewhere between the abyssal depths of the ocean and the infinite void of space. He had ditched the traditional hooded cloak sometime back in the mid 19th century. Even a figure whose understanding of the concept of “fashion” was vague at best still had some sense of keeping with the times. Also, the suit fit considerably better than the robe ever had. As Death entered the expansive lobby of 125 Tower Plaza, having passed directly through its glass doors with no resistance, he was aware of the woman's upward progress through the buildings innumerable floors, via the left corner elevator. Death had a deep distrust of elevators, and indeed most forms of motorized transportation. He had very good reasons. Ergo, he opted for the stairs.
The woman (Death refused to refer to her by the ridiculous moniker she had chosen, even in his own mind) had begun her killing spree on the morning of January 9, 2011. It hadn't really been a spree at the time, although it would very quickly become one. The morning in question began as a perfectly ordinary one for the woman and her then-husband, Timothy Matthew Ombriann, a wealthy venture capitalist of somewhat ill repute among certain of his colleagues. Technically he was her second husband, though she could barely remember the first, even then. Somehow or another, an argument from the previous night had been re-ignited, and the woman, who had always been possessed of an unusually short fuse, rather lost her temper and stabbed Timothy Ombriann in the neck with a salad fork. As he lay bleeding out on the kitchen tiles, the woman had caught her first glimpse of Death. The dark suit, the smokey eyes, his pale, pale skin...these were the images that had ignited a fire in her mind, the thoughts that had fueled her mad obsession, driving her to kill again and again, reveling in the blood of her oblivious victims as she awaited another brief encounter with her paramour. Death found the whole thing rather morbid.
As he ascended the final flight of stairs to Mattheson's office, Death pondered his predicament. On the one hand, he was strictly forbidden from interfering in human affairs. Show up, clean up, get out. That was the job, and certainly Death had stood by and watched countless atrocities committed across the span of human existence and done nothing to prevent them. It was not for him to judge. Yet the oddly...personal...nature of this particular situation irked him in a way that was unprecedented. As he exited the stairwell onto the 43rd floor of the office building, Death had made a decision. Killing her would be the simplest solution, but, ironically, Death did not possess the power to end life. He merely sorted out the aftermath. But he was not completely impotent. Not. In. The slightest.
Death pushed open the door to Mattheson's office at the precise moment the woman was extracting her knife from the owner's naked back. His lifeless corpse lay across that of a young woman, his “late night work.” The woman was kneeling over them, staring into the face of Death with eyes that blazed white hot with religious fervor. Death's own eyes were merely sad, as they so often were. He raised his skeletal hand, and placed it upon the woman's blood-streaked forehead. She shook with unspeakable ecstasy.
“Are you here to stay?” she asked, her voice breathy with anticipation.
“I never stay,” he intoned, and proceeded to remove the memory of her husband's murder from her mind, and all the memories of their many subsequent encounters. It was a technique he had used many times, often on children who had witnessed the death of a parent. Though he would never admit to it, Death, Destroyer of Worlds, was not without sentiment. As he removed his hand, the woman collapsed into a state of deep unconsciousness. Death left the way he had come in, two very confused and sexually frustrated souls in tow. He closed the door behind him, and wondered briefly if he had done the right thing. But his mind was not equipped for such questions, and so he dropped the issue rather quickly, and began the long and arduous task of ferrying his two wards to the other side. Some questions are better left unanswered.
The woman awoke the next morning among two dead bodies and not a small amount of dried blood. She had no memory of the previous night, nor indeed of the previous three years. It made explaining the situation to the relevant authorities really quite difficult. |
|
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | The classical symphonie traced through the room; Carl Vine's Sonata No. 1, her favorite. Only as usual..she didn't hear it. Her mind was racing and overwealmed with the task at hand. Her young and handsome guest was sprawled out before her on the marble flooring. It was a lie, though. Killing someone was never 'easier', if anything it got harder to cover up the disappearances and create fake alibis.
Regardless, the outcomes of her actions made it all worthwhile. Her black heels clicked with her movements, navigating around the tainted wine and broken glass towards her wooden nightstand. The room was bathed in the soft light of the moon; enough for her to see the silver shillings resting in the drawer. Grabbing two, she turned back to gingerly place them over the man's open eyes. His skin and lips still slightly pinked, his grey eyes plastid in horror from his torment only a few minutes prior.
She waited, slightly shifting anxiously in her provocative black dress. She ran her fingers through her short brown hair, and pressed her lips together to reassure her light pink lipstick was still noticable; last minute adjustments to assure perfection.
"You need to stop." Rang a cosmic voice. The woman was slightly startled, gazing around the dark room until her eyes fixed to the pale, bold face; empty sockets in placement of eyes.
"I would, if you would carry the souls of animals as well. Unfortunately, you dont , making it much harder for me." Chimed the woman innocently.
Death's form changed, as it always did, molding the face into a more...disfigured appearal; the sockets remaining constant. He was trying to frighten her, as he always did. "If you don't stop, you will soon carry a far more unbearable toll than a heavy heart." His voice was different with his changes, this time, more husk.
"I didnt chose to carry this consistent pain in my chest, Charon."
For the first time, she listened to a chuckle and a witnessed a crooked smirk. "It's been a long time I've been called that." But the smirk soon disappeared as he kneeled down to the broken corpse, inspecting it closely. "And I do appreciate your payments, nobody does it anymore...especially seeing as it is far easier to transport now."
"You told me, but I still enjoy paying my respects in a way." She quietly laughted to herself for her clever pun, lighting a cigarette. Death moved the coins from the corpse's eyes, releasing a smoke-like mist from his cranium directly into Death's open jaw. Faint wailing, mimicing the man's vocals, was emitted during the transfer, quieter than normal. During this time, the woman finished her cigarette; tossing the butt into the ash tray beside her.
Afterwards, Death stood and turned to take his leave. "So, when will are you planning on stopping this bullshit? I'm tired of seeing your face and wasting my time."
She smiled hungrily, stepping towards the apparition, "Never; I will continue to do everything to see you,no matter how heinous or messy the job; and when I die I will continue to follow you." Drool trickled down her button lip, moving her hands suggestively across her body. "I want you, and I will have you."
It was pointless; wasting words on this sick obsession. She wasn't going to stop, the most he could truly do was continue to revive her during each futile suicide attempts; so at least he wouldn't have to be stuck with her forever so soon..
Or at least until she is finally justly prosecuted for her actions...
EDIT: I'm not sure why it isn't keeping my line transitions....
| The woman who called herself Sable Rose, but who had been born Katherine Elizabeth Teller, crossed the rain-slicked street slowly, purposefully, a sensible black leather purse clutched tightly in her right hand. The entity mankind had named Death watched from the shadows, marking her every step with care. The woman reached the far side of the street without incident, her profile a black paper cutout upon the blurred reflections of streetlights. At the moment her left foot alighted on the rough concrete sidewalk, she had been alive for 28 years, 95 days, 11 hours, 13 minutes, and 37 seconds. Death continued to watch as she mounted the white marble steps that led to the lobby of 125 Tower Plaza, a building which contained, among other things, the offices of one Jeremy Andrew Mattheson, Attorney at Law. Mr. Mattheson was working late that evening, or so he had told his wife over the phone earlier that day. The real reason Mattheson had stayed late was irrelevant to Death, though it ultimately meant he would end up pulling double duty, as it were. The woman swiped her key card, and pulled open the great glass doors of the office building's first floor lobby. Death began to make his way across the empty intersection at a leisurely pace, which was the only kind of pace of which he was capable. To the casual observer, had there been any, he would have appeared as a perfectly ordinary, dark haired man of middle age, wearing an understated suit whose color was somewhere between the abyssal depths of the ocean and the infinite void of space. He had ditched the traditional hooded cloak sometime back in the mid 19th century. Even a figure whose understanding of the concept of “fashion” was vague at best still had some sense of keeping with the times. Also, the suit fit considerably better than the robe ever had. As Death entered the expansive lobby of 125 Tower Plaza, having passed directly through its glass doors with no resistance, he was aware of the woman's upward progress through the buildings innumerable floors, via the left corner elevator. Death had a deep distrust of elevators, and indeed most forms of motorized transportation. He had very good reasons. Ergo, he opted for the stairs.
The woman (Death refused to refer to her by the ridiculous moniker she had chosen, even in his own mind) had begun her killing spree on the morning of January 9, 2011. It hadn't really been a spree at the time, although it would very quickly become one. The morning in question began as a perfectly ordinary one for the woman and her then-husband, Timothy Matthew Ombriann, a wealthy venture capitalist of somewhat ill repute among certain of his colleagues. Technically he was her second husband, though she could barely remember the first, even then. Somehow or another, an argument from the previous night had been re-ignited, and the woman, who had always been possessed of an unusually short fuse, rather lost her temper and stabbed Timothy Ombriann in the neck with a salad fork. As he lay bleeding out on the kitchen tiles, the woman had caught her first glimpse of Death. The dark suit, the smokey eyes, his pale, pale skin...these were the images that had ignited a fire in her mind, the thoughts that had fueled her mad obsession, driving her to kill again and again, reveling in the blood of her oblivious victims as she awaited another brief encounter with her paramour. Death found the whole thing rather morbid.
As he ascended the final flight of stairs to Mattheson's office, Death pondered his predicament. On the one hand, he was strictly forbidden from interfering in human affairs. Show up, clean up, get out. That was the job, and certainly Death had stood by and watched countless atrocities committed across the span of human existence and done nothing to prevent them. It was not for him to judge. Yet the oddly...personal...nature of this particular situation irked him in a way that was unprecedented. As he exited the stairwell onto the 43rd floor of the office building, Death had made a decision. Killing her would be the simplest solution, but, ironically, Death did not possess the power to end life. He merely sorted out the aftermath. But he was not completely impotent. Not. In. The slightest.
Death pushed open the door to Mattheson's office at the precise moment the woman was extracting her knife from the owner's naked back. His lifeless corpse lay across that of a young woman, his “late night work.” The woman was kneeling over them, staring into the face of Death with eyes that blazed white hot with religious fervor. Death's own eyes were merely sad, as they so often were. He raised his skeletal hand, and placed it upon the woman's blood-streaked forehead. She shook with unspeakable ecstasy.
“Are you here to stay?” she asked, her voice breathy with anticipation.
“I never stay,” he intoned, and proceeded to remove the memory of her husband's murder from her mind, and all the memories of their many subsequent encounters. It was a technique he had used many times, often on children who had witnessed the death of a parent. Though he would never admit to it, Death, Destroyer of Worlds, was not without sentiment. As he removed his hand, the woman collapsed into a state of deep unconsciousness. Death left the way he had come in, two very confused and sexually frustrated souls in tow. He closed the door behind him, and wondered briefly if he had done the right thing. But his mind was not equipped for such questions, and so he dropped the issue rather quickly, and began the long and arduous task of ferrying his two wards to the other side. Some questions are better left unanswered.
The woman awoke the next morning among two dead bodies and not a small amount of dried blood. She had no memory of the previous night, nor indeed of the previous three years. It made explaining the situation to the relevant authorities really quite difficult. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | The first time I caught a glimpse of Him was behind the tool shed when Grampa's heart beat for the last time. Granny shooed me away to call for help, and as I trotted toward the house, I craned my neck to see the body. Instead, my gaze met a pair of piercing blue eyes that sent a cold jolt of desire through my thirteen year old heart. A sick tickle dripped from the nape of my neck, slowly down my spine, and settled, warm and heavy, at the base of my pelvis.
From that day forward, I spent a lot of time hanging around hospitals. I'd see Him sometimes, but always fleetingly. His flowing black robe fluttering around a corner, or His long, thin, alabaster fingers pulling the remnants of soul from some poor bastard's lifeless sternum. I volunteered in nursing homes and cancer wards, chasing that sweet rush of pubescent desire I'd felt upon our first encounter. My mother thought I was a treasure, an altruist with a heart of gold bent on helping those whose lives were coming to a close. In truth, though, I was a madwoman in love.
What started as an innocent crush had blossomed through my adolescence into true passion. My every waking thought was of His hollow cheeks, His white-blue stare, His ethereal, floating gait. Our brief meetings would no longer suffice. I longed for Him to wrap those thin arms around my waist. I could no longer fantasize about His bony fingers brushing my bare skin; I needed the real thing. So, in an attempt to attract Him straight to me, I claimed my first victim.
I met Rob on a dating site, one of the free ones where every other message is a stranger's dick pic. Rob said he'd love to eat my ass, so I invited him to my place. I spent hours preparing for the date. I wore a black silk dress that felt just like I'd always imagined Death's soft robes would feel against my freshly shaven legs. I wore a pair of black strapped heels that lifted me seven inches, in hopes that I could look straight into those piercing baby blues as I professed my love to Him. And, as a final touch, I applied a blood red lipstick to my mouth. I didn't have to ask to know that Death's favorite color was blood.
I heard a knock at the door, and my heart jumped with excitement. I lifted my silken dress and slipped the small pistol from the drawer of my vanity into my garter belt. "Coming," I sang, as I pranced down the stairs to open the front door. Rob looked me up and down and licked his lips. "Damn girl," he laughed, "You sure put a lot of time into an outfit that I'm gonna tear right off you."
"Oh, you," I giggled, partially to appear affectionate, but mostly at his stupidity. "Please, come in." I closed the door behind us and ushered him toward the couch.
"How about a little strip tease?" Rob smirked and sat down, unbuttoning his jeans. I turned my back to him, and began moving my hips slowly from side to side. Sliding my hands down my torso and between my legs, I bent over, secretly pulling the pistol from my thigh. I held it to my chest, the steel warm from being pressed against my skin, as the other danced down my back, entrancing Rob. "Sorry," I whispered as I threw myself to face him and pulled the trigger four times fast, shooting him thrice in the chest and once in the head. I dropped the gun.
And then there He was. Death walked through the door, eyebrows furrowed, a stern look on His face. "You've been following me." His voice shook the room, but landed on my ears as soft a breath. I weakened at the knees.
Wiping the blood splatter from my dress, I said shakily, "I am sorry. But I have waited for this moment for so long. From the first moment I saw-." He pressed a single bony finger to my lips. It felt just as I'd always hoped. Cool, and simultaneously firm and soft. My heart raced as I pursed my lips and kissed that perfect phalanx. He pulled it away, a red mark remaining where either my lipstick or Rob's blood had left a stain.
"Shut up," He commanded. And so I did. All I wanted was to be dominated by Him. Fascinated, I watched as He leaned over Rob. His billowing robes obstructed my view of His work, but I was content with my gaze fixed upon His back. Just to be in His presence filled me with more pleasure than I'd ever known. Still, I wanted more. Sidling up beside Him, I threw my arms around His waist. "What are you doing?" His voice boomed and set my heart aflutter.
"I need you. I love you. Please, let me love you." I pressed my hips closer to His.
"I am a very busy guy," He spoke, pushing me away, "I have no time for silly love games." My hips tingled where he had touched them. Then He turned to leave, Rob's lifeless body still stooped on the couch where I'd killed him. Before my eyes could fill with tears, I had a realization. Slowly curving my lips into a smile, I laughed, "You will be back! I have control of you now! I can bring you to me any time I please! I WILL make you love me!" Glancing back, Death smirked as He floated away, leaving me alone, but not hopeless. | The serial killer inaccurately called the Black Widow, aka the Dame (or Diva) of Death, waited in silence. It wouldn’t be long before *he* showed up. She wiped a clear oval in the fog on the bathroom’s mirror and used it to check her make-up, thumbing away a smudge of lipstick and wiping it on a towel.
Beside her, the naked man in the tub shuddered and went limp. The satisfied look had fallen from his face, replaced with simple contentment.
One moment she was alone with a corpse, the next moment *he* stood there, silver pocket watch in hand. He never looked at her. This time she would get his attention. Paralysis gripped her the way that it had every time she’d seen him. She concentrated hard on talking, yelling, screaming. As if she were flexing invisible muscles, she felt the bonds of whatever was holding her, weaken. *Yes!*
Life rushed into her and he was gone. Again.
She had almost told him this time. It looked like she would have to kill again. Maybe next time she’d tell him that she loved him.
|
|
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | The classical symphonie traced through the room; Carl Vine's Sonata No. 1, her favorite. Only as usual..she didn't hear it. Her mind was racing and overwealmed with the task at hand. Her young and handsome guest was sprawled out before her on the marble flooring. It was a lie, though. Killing someone was never 'easier', if anything it got harder to cover up the disappearances and create fake alibis.
Regardless, the outcomes of her actions made it all worthwhile. Her black heels clicked with her movements, navigating around the tainted wine and broken glass towards her wooden nightstand. The room was bathed in the soft light of the moon; enough for her to see the silver shillings resting in the drawer. Grabbing two, she turned back to gingerly place them over the man's open eyes. His skin and lips still slightly pinked, his grey eyes plastid in horror from his torment only a few minutes prior.
She waited, slightly shifting anxiously in her provocative black dress. She ran her fingers through her short brown hair, and pressed her lips together to reassure her light pink lipstick was still noticable; last minute adjustments to assure perfection.
"You need to stop." Rang a cosmic voice. The woman was slightly startled, gazing around the dark room until her eyes fixed to the pale, bold face; empty sockets in placement of eyes.
"I would, if you would carry the souls of animals as well. Unfortunately, you dont , making it much harder for me." Chimed the woman innocently.
Death's form changed, as it always did, molding the face into a more...disfigured appearal; the sockets remaining constant. He was trying to frighten her, as he always did. "If you don't stop, you will soon carry a far more unbearable toll than a heavy heart." His voice was different with his changes, this time, more husk.
"I didnt chose to carry this consistent pain in my chest, Charon."
For the first time, she listened to a chuckle and a witnessed a crooked smirk. "It's been a long time I've been called that." But the smirk soon disappeared as he kneeled down to the broken corpse, inspecting it closely. "And I do appreciate your payments, nobody does it anymore...especially seeing as it is far easier to transport now."
"You told me, but I still enjoy paying my respects in a way." She quietly laughted to herself for her clever pun, lighting a cigarette. Death moved the coins from the corpse's eyes, releasing a smoke-like mist from his cranium directly into Death's open jaw. Faint wailing, mimicing the man's vocals, was emitted during the transfer, quieter than normal. During this time, the woman finished her cigarette; tossing the butt into the ash tray beside her.
Afterwards, Death stood and turned to take his leave. "So, when will are you planning on stopping this bullshit? I'm tired of seeing your face and wasting my time."
She smiled hungrily, stepping towards the apparition, "Never; I will continue to do everything to see you,no matter how heinous or messy the job; and when I die I will continue to follow you." Drool trickled down her button lip, moving her hands suggestively across her body. "I want you, and I will have you."
It was pointless; wasting words on this sick obsession. She wasn't going to stop, the most he could truly do was continue to revive her during each futile suicide attempts; so at least he wouldn't have to be stuck with her forever so soon..
Or at least until she is finally justly prosecuted for her actions...
EDIT: I'm not sure why it isn't keeping my line transitions....
| The serial killer inaccurately called the Black Widow, aka the Dame (or Diva) of Death, waited in silence. It wouldn’t be long before *he* showed up. She wiped a clear oval in the fog on the bathroom’s mirror and used it to check her make-up, thumbing away a smudge of lipstick and wiping it on a towel.
Beside her, the naked man in the tub shuddered and went limp. The satisfied look had fallen from his face, replaced with simple contentment.
One moment she was alone with a corpse, the next moment *he* stood there, silver pocket watch in hand. He never looked at her. This time she would get his attention. Paralysis gripped her the way that it had every time she’d seen him. She concentrated hard on talking, yelling, screaming. As if she were flexing invisible muscles, she felt the bonds of whatever was holding her, weaken. *Yes!*
Life rushed into her and he was gone. Again.
She had almost told him this time. It looked like she would have to kill again. Maybe next time she’d tell him that she loved him.
|
|
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | The classical symphonie traced through the room; Carl Vine's Sonata No. 1, her favorite. Only as usual..she didn't hear it. Her mind was racing and overwealmed with the task at hand. Her young and handsome guest was sprawled out before her on the marble flooring. It was a lie, though. Killing someone was never 'easier', if anything it got harder to cover up the disappearances and create fake alibis.
Regardless, the outcomes of her actions made it all worthwhile. Her black heels clicked with her movements, navigating around the tainted wine and broken glass towards her wooden nightstand. The room was bathed in the soft light of the moon; enough for her to see the silver shillings resting in the drawer. Grabbing two, she turned back to gingerly place them over the man's open eyes. His skin and lips still slightly pinked, his grey eyes plastid in horror from his torment only a few minutes prior.
She waited, slightly shifting anxiously in her provocative black dress. She ran her fingers through her short brown hair, and pressed her lips together to reassure her light pink lipstick was still noticable; last minute adjustments to assure perfection.
"You need to stop." Rang a cosmic voice. The woman was slightly startled, gazing around the dark room until her eyes fixed to the pale, bold face; empty sockets in placement of eyes.
"I would, if you would carry the souls of animals as well. Unfortunately, you dont , making it much harder for me." Chimed the woman innocently.
Death's form changed, as it always did, molding the face into a more...disfigured appearal; the sockets remaining constant. He was trying to frighten her, as he always did. "If you don't stop, you will soon carry a far more unbearable toll than a heavy heart." His voice was different with his changes, this time, more husk.
"I didnt chose to carry this consistent pain in my chest, Charon."
For the first time, she listened to a chuckle and a witnessed a crooked smirk. "It's been a long time I've been called that." But the smirk soon disappeared as he kneeled down to the broken corpse, inspecting it closely. "And I do appreciate your payments, nobody does it anymore...especially seeing as it is far easier to transport now."
"You told me, but I still enjoy paying my respects in a way." She quietly laughted to herself for her clever pun, lighting a cigarette. Death moved the coins from the corpse's eyes, releasing a smoke-like mist from his cranium directly into Death's open jaw. Faint wailing, mimicing the man's vocals, was emitted during the transfer, quieter than normal. During this time, the woman finished her cigarette; tossing the butt into the ash tray beside her.
Afterwards, Death stood and turned to take his leave. "So, when will are you planning on stopping this bullshit? I'm tired of seeing your face and wasting my time."
She smiled hungrily, stepping towards the apparition, "Never; I will continue to do everything to see you,no matter how heinous or messy the job; and when I die I will continue to follow you." Drool trickled down her button lip, moving her hands suggestively across her body. "I want you, and I will have you."
It was pointless; wasting words on this sick obsession. She wasn't going to stop, the most he could truly do was continue to revive her during each futile suicide attempts; so at least he wouldn't have to be stuck with her forever so soon..
Or at least until she is finally justly prosecuted for her actions...
EDIT: I'm not sure why it isn't keeping my line transitions....
| ...soon it was not enough to just get a glimpse of him, she wanted more. She started to become jelous of the dead from seeing him escorting all of her victims. The woman could not bear the heartbreak, she wanted to feel the warmth embrace of death so she goes to the top of a building and jumps with a smile on her face knowing she will be with death soon... The woman later opens her eyes to only find herself on a hospital bed unable to move a single muscle nor speak, but she could hear her family crying telling the doctor to keep her on life support forever |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | The classical symphonie traced through the room; Carl Vine's Sonata No. 1, her favorite. Only as usual..she didn't hear it. Her mind was racing and overwealmed with the task at hand. Her young and handsome guest was sprawled out before her on the marble flooring. It was a lie, though. Killing someone was never 'easier', if anything it got harder to cover up the disappearances and create fake alibis.
Regardless, the outcomes of her actions made it all worthwhile. Her black heels clicked with her movements, navigating around the tainted wine and broken glass towards her wooden nightstand. The room was bathed in the soft light of the moon; enough for her to see the silver shillings resting in the drawer. Grabbing two, she turned back to gingerly place them over the man's open eyes. His skin and lips still slightly pinked, his grey eyes plastid in horror from his torment only a few minutes prior.
She waited, slightly shifting anxiously in her provocative black dress. She ran her fingers through her short brown hair, and pressed her lips together to reassure her light pink lipstick was still noticable; last minute adjustments to assure perfection.
"You need to stop." Rang a cosmic voice. The woman was slightly startled, gazing around the dark room until her eyes fixed to the pale, bold face; empty sockets in placement of eyes.
"I would, if you would carry the souls of animals as well. Unfortunately, you dont , making it much harder for me." Chimed the woman innocently.
Death's form changed, as it always did, molding the face into a more...disfigured appearal; the sockets remaining constant. He was trying to frighten her, as he always did. "If you don't stop, you will soon carry a far more unbearable toll than a heavy heart." His voice was different with his changes, this time, more husk.
"I didnt chose to carry this consistent pain in my chest, Charon."
For the first time, she listened to a chuckle and a witnessed a crooked smirk. "It's been a long time I've been called that." But the smirk soon disappeared as he kneeled down to the broken corpse, inspecting it closely. "And I do appreciate your payments, nobody does it anymore...especially seeing as it is far easier to transport now."
"You told me, but I still enjoy paying my respects in a way." She quietly laughted to herself for her clever pun, lighting a cigarette. Death moved the coins from the corpse's eyes, releasing a smoke-like mist from his cranium directly into Death's open jaw. Faint wailing, mimicing the man's vocals, was emitted during the transfer, quieter than normal. During this time, the woman finished her cigarette; tossing the butt into the ash tray beside her.
Afterwards, Death stood and turned to take his leave. "So, when will are you planning on stopping this bullshit? I'm tired of seeing your face and wasting my time."
She smiled hungrily, stepping towards the apparition, "Never; I will continue to do everything to see you,no matter how heinous or messy the job; and when I die I will continue to follow you." Drool trickled down her button lip, moving her hands suggestively across her body. "I want you, and I will have you."
It was pointless; wasting words on this sick obsession. She wasn't going to stop, the most he could truly do was continue to revive her during each futile suicide attempts; so at least he wouldn't have to be stuck with her forever so soon..
Or at least until she is finally justly prosecuted for her actions...
EDIT: I'm not sure why it isn't keeping my line transitions....
| "Sally, all you ever talk about is getting boned," said Herbert, shortly before he was decapitated by an out-of-control bus.
Years ago, when she was young and had just started using the family computer, Sally stumbled across one of the more disturbing facets of internet pornography. The 'art' was a Japanese comic that depicted a couple brutally mutilating each other while having sex, culminating in them both thrusting and grinding away on a guillotine bench and losing both their heads in a well-timed chop at the moment of climax.
Sally was unable to look away; as much as she felt grossed out, she couldn't help but get a tense and excited feeling in her belly when she stared at the line-art of blood and semen mixing together. She saved the file on the family computer seven folders deep; at nights, when she couldn't sleep and had that frustrating but exciting feeling again, she would make sure everyone else was asleep, sneak in to the computer room, open up the comic, and do things to herself that her mother told her no polite girl should ever do, hating herself for it the whole time.
Now a poly-sci sophomore in college, Sally had moved past that phase, she thought - no more gross-out porno for her, real men were more than enough to keep her entertained.
The first spurts of blood from the body that used to be Herbert's erupted from their jugular prison and splatted onto on her face and neck, sliding down her chest to go beneath the rather revealing low-cut sundress she had just bought at Francois' for half price. Meanwhile, Herbert's hapless head hurdled through the air, leaving a trail of gore behind it, then rebounded off of the storefront behind Sally and landed neatly next to his body with a wet "ths-splunk!"
"Gyuh, gyah -" squawked Sally, still too shocked to think. Her hands and arms decided of their own volition to jump up into the sky - to do what she wasn't sure - and, despite herself, she couldn't help but notice that some of the quickly-cooling blood gently slid from her neck onto the tip of one of her nipples, giving her a much-unwanted chill down her spine.
"Oh man," said an unrecognizable voice behind her, sounding exactly like Norm MacDonald. "What a way to fucking go."
She turned slowly, eyes still wide with shock, to see the brightest, whitest set of teeth she'd ever laid eyes on sparkling at her. Next to the teeth were equally bright, white, and sparkly cheekbones, which lead up into dark, empty, brooding, depthless eye-sockets that reminded Sally of her father.
All of it was cupped gracefully by the warm, slightly itchy embrace of a black woolen cloak. Finally, held in hands that nearly blinded her with their alabaster aura, there was a long, hard, wooden, beautifully-etched scythe.
"Gyuh, hyah," Sally said, hands still waving as if they just didn't care.
"Yeah," said Death. "Sure." He walked over to the body and brushed his scythe up against Herbert's head; it seemed to temporarily ignite, making Sally squint. "Well," said Death, pulling up an arm of his cloak to reveal his bare radias, ulna, and Rolex™ Submariner wristwatch - Sally had never realized how much men with wristwatches turned her on until now - "I suppose I best get a move-on. Things aren't going well for that bus." His bony face turned towards her, and he reached down. "Seeya later, toots." With that, he pinched her ass, then faded away, body dissolving much in the way the bodies in Star Trek did when they teleported, except without any of the weird sounds they put in that had always annoyed her, and nobody said "beam me up" or "engage" or anything.
Sally switched her major to pre-med as quickly as possible. She had been told that sophomore year was far too late to start, that she had no chance, but now there was a burn in her belly that no wacko Japanese artist or poorly-handled college penis cold fulfill. She took on 24-credit semesters like they were popcorn, the MCATs like it was a box of Skittles, and her time in scrubs like it was one of those giant tubs of soda you got because soda was already expensive anyway and it was only twenty-five more cents to get the bigger one, so why not.
Whenever there was a code, she would run to go see, she would hope and pray that she would get to see *him* - "*the D*," as she began to think of him affectionately. And yet, throughout the years, she only saw glimpses; a piece of dark cloth, a shining tooth, the calcaneus of his back-left foot when he had to lean over for that one guy who no one liked and fell out of his bed. Each time, though, she would be reinvigorated, and spend as much of the next week as possible in bed with a Hitachi™ Magic wand that she had wrapped in PVC pipe and drawn on to look like a femur.
Finally, she found herself where she wanted to be; she was a doctor, she was in an old woman's house in Washington state, and she was specializing in their assisted-suicide program.
"MURDERER!" screamed people outside, but she didn't care. Today was the day! She was finally going to see him, she was finally going to be there when *he* came. Maybe he would pinch her ass again! She hoped he would, and the thought made her squeeze her thighs together in anticipation.
The old woman who was using Sally's assistance pointed her one good eye at Sally and nodded. She tried to give a toothy grin, but her dentures were out for her final moments, so it just looked kind of gross. Her family surrounded her, and she took the cup of not-life from Sally.
"I love you, all of you," the old woman said through moist gums, a serene look coming over her as she met every person in the room's eyes. "We love you too," her family said back, smiling, with tears running down some of their faces. The old woman slowly lifted the chalice to her gums, and Sally struggled against the impulse to just jam the chalice down her throat.
The old woman drank, and her eyes closed. Her family and friends gathered around her bed, all of them laying their heads and arms again her, quietly crying. As Sally watched, a dark-cloaked arm joined the family's and pressed up gently against the old woman's cheek. There was a flash of light, but it was cut short as Sally grabbed Death's cloak and pulled him into the next room.
"Hey, what the hell, man?!" Yelled death quietly, so as not to disturb the mourning family.
"You!" said Sally, not quite sure what to do. "I... I want you!" She said, half-crazed. She was blowing it! What should she say? *I love him,* she thought, *I love him so much, I want him, every part of him, his femur, his ischium, his washboard floating ribs*! *I want you,* she thought desperately, trying to figure out how to put it into words, until she yelled, finally - "I want *the D*!"
"Uh," said Death. "Well, I'm kind of, you know, a skeleton."
"It's okay," she said breathlessly, and reached into her bag to pull out her not-quite-a-femur vibrator. "I brought you a bone!"
*Oh god,* she thought, regretting it immediately. "Not that I think you're some kind of dog, you know! Just, well, ever since I saw you all those years ago, I've always wanted you. I've read a whole bunch of medieval literature just thinking of you, and -"
"Mm, well, uh, this is all very flattering," Death said, "but I don't really know you that well. And anyway, I mean, who's to say I'm not already in a relationship?"
Sally squeaked. The thought had never reached her head.
"Are... are you?" she asked.
"Well, not at the moment, no. But I don't just take all comers, you know, I have self-respect. People have done crazy things just for glimpses of me!" Death shuddered. "Did you know Genghis Khan was gay?"
This wasn't what she wanted. "But, I've worked so hard to *be* with you," she said, hating the whining tone her voice took on.
"Hmm," said Death, his thick, boney hands going up to his mental protuberance and stroking it as if it were a beard. "And you're really hot for me, specifically? Not just some weirdo necrophiliac who wants their bones to be moving on their own?"
"Yes," she sputtered, and threw herself against his cloak, gripping it with heat; "oh god, please, *yes*."
"Hmm," he mused. She was unable to stop herself from grinding up against his pelvis, placing her legs between his long femur. He leaned forward, and pressed her into a dresser the old lady had told her was her deceased husband's from "the war;" she hadn't asked which one. Death ground his femur in, and Sally moaned as she felt herself beginning to go light-headed when Death pulled away and said, "sorry baby, but I've got work to do."
"No!" She nearly yelled. "It's been 8 years, I want you now!"
Death paused. "Here, I have an idea." He stuck his digits into his mouth, and there was a sickening suck as his tongue dislodged from his jaws. He plopped the wriggling muscle into her hand, where she looked at it, bewildered.
"What? But, how will you talk?" asked Sally.
Death pointed towards the old woman's room, placed his forefingers in the air in a pinching motion, then feigned plucking the old woman's tongue out.
"But... will I see you again?"
Death placed a finger-bone above and below his eye-socket. He deftly snapped them together and apart, miming a wink with the rest of his body, then dissipated.
Sally's frustration was nearly unbearable. She ripped at her hair with one of her hands, kicked at the air, and was about to cry out when she felt a tingle spawn from her wrist and quickly run up to her neck, making her shiver. She looked down, and noticed Death's tongue was still wriggling in her hand, generating a thick, slimy saliva out of nowhere.
"What should I do with -" she jumped as she heard crying still from the other room. *The family is far too upset to barge in,* she thought to herself; *should give them some time to themselves, it's best for them.*
She walked into the bathroom, dropped her pants, trailed her hand down her stomach with her present from Death in it, and moments later, her toes curled. |
|
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | The classical symphonie traced through the room; Carl Vine's Sonata No. 1, her favorite. Only as usual..she didn't hear it. Her mind was racing and overwealmed with the task at hand. Her young and handsome guest was sprawled out before her on the marble flooring. It was a lie, though. Killing someone was never 'easier', if anything it got harder to cover up the disappearances and create fake alibis.
Regardless, the outcomes of her actions made it all worthwhile. Her black heels clicked with her movements, navigating around the tainted wine and broken glass towards her wooden nightstand. The room was bathed in the soft light of the moon; enough for her to see the silver shillings resting in the drawer. Grabbing two, she turned back to gingerly place them over the man's open eyes. His skin and lips still slightly pinked, his grey eyes plastid in horror from his torment only a few minutes prior.
She waited, slightly shifting anxiously in her provocative black dress. She ran her fingers through her short brown hair, and pressed her lips together to reassure her light pink lipstick was still noticable; last minute adjustments to assure perfection.
"You need to stop." Rang a cosmic voice. The woman was slightly startled, gazing around the dark room until her eyes fixed to the pale, bold face; empty sockets in placement of eyes.
"I would, if you would carry the souls of animals as well. Unfortunately, you dont , making it much harder for me." Chimed the woman innocently.
Death's form changed, as it always did, molding the face into a more...disfigured appearal; the sockets remaining constant. He was trying to frighten her, as he always did. "If you don't stop, you will soon carry a far more unbearable toll than a heavy heart." His voice was different with his changes, this time, more husk.
"I didnt chose to carry this consistent pain in my chest, Charon."
For the first time, she listened to a chuckle and a witnessed a crooked smirk. "It's been a long time I've been called that." But the smirk soon disappeared as he kneeled down to the broken corpse, inspecting it closely. "And I do appreciate your payments, nobody does it anymore...especially seeing as it is far easier to transport now."
"You told me, but I still enjoy paying my respects in a way." She quietly laughted to herself for her clever pun, lighting a cigarette. Death moved the coins from the corpse's eyes, releasing a smoke-like mist from his cranium directly into Death's open jaw. Faint wailing, mimicing the man's vocals, was emitted during the transfer, quieter than normal. During this time, the woman finished her cigarette; tossing the butt into the ash tray beside her.
Afterwards, Death stood and turned to take his leave. "So, when will are you planning on stopping this bullshit? I'm tired of seeing your face and wasting my time."
She smiled hungrily, stepping towards the apparition, "Never; I will continue to do everything to see you,no matter how heinous or messy the job; and when I die I will continue to follow you." Drool trickled down her button lip, moving her hands suggestively across her body. "I want you, and I will have you."
It was pointless; wasting words on this sick obsession. She wasn't going to stop, the most he could truly do was continue to revive her during each futile suicide attempts; so at least he wouldn't have to be stuck with her forever so soon..
Or at least until she is finally justly prosecuted for her actions...
EDIT: I'm not sure why it isn't keeping my line transitions....
| The blonde/ blue eyed woman appeared as a goddess to him. Everything that he had ever done was motivated in trying to make her happy. He had gone to the darkest depths of the human soul just to see her smile.
The chambers were the only place she seemed truly happy. Not the room itself or the grand scheme involved in filling them. Nor even the continental movement that she had inspired him to command made her shine like the final moments of the lives that departed within its walls.
Moments after the lasts breathes and the screams had quit echoing in the cold steel room her happiness would start to fade. It was in this moment hearing her angelic voice he would not regret anything he had ever done. "That was terrific my Hitler....please show me more". |
|
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | The classical symphonie traced through the room; Carl Vine's Sonata No. 1, her favorite. Only as usual..she didn't hear it. Her mind was racing and overwealmed with the task at hand. Her young and handsome guest was sprawled out before her on the marble flooring. It was a lie, though. Killing someone was never 'easier', if anything it got harder to cover up the disappearances and create fake alibis.
Regardless, the outcomes of her actions made it all worthwhile. Her black heels clicked with her movements, navigating around the tainted wine and broken glass towards her wooden nightstand. The room was bathed in the soft light of the moon; enough for her to see the silver shillings resting in the drawer. Grabbing two, she turned back to gingerly place them over the man's open eyes. His skin and lips still slightly pinked, his grey eyes plastid in horror from his torment only a few minutes prior.
She waited, slightly shifting anxiously in her provocative black dress. She ran her fingers through her short brown hair, and pressed her lips together to reassure her light pink lipstick was still noticable; last minute adjustments to assure perfection.
"You need to stop." Rang a cosmic voice. The woman was slightly startled, gazing around the dark room until her eyes fixed to the pale, bold face; empty sockets in placement of eyes.
"I would, if you would carry the souls of animals as well. Unfortunately, you dont , making it much harder for me." Chimed the woman innocently.
Death's form changed, as it always did, molding the face into a more...disfigured appearal; the sockets remaining constant. He was trying to frighten her, as he always did. "If you don't stop, you will soon carry a far more unbearable toll than a heavy heart." His voice was different with his changes, this time, more husk.
"I didnt chose to carry this consistent pain in my chest, Charon."
For the first time, she listened to a chuckle and a witnessed a crooked smirk. "It's been a long time I've been called that." But the smirk soon disappeared as he kneeled down to the broken corpse, inspecting it closely. "And I do appreciate your payments, nobody does it anymore...especially seeing as it is far easier to transport now."
"You told me, but I still enjoy paying my respects in a way." She quietly laughted to herself for her clever pun, lighting a cigarette. Death moved the coins from the corpse's eyes, releasing a smoke-like mist from his cranium directly into Death's open jaw. Faint wailing, mimicing the man's vocals, was emitted during the transfer, quieter than normal. During this time, the woman finished her cigarette; tossing the butt into the ash tray beside her.
Afterwards, Death stood and turned to take his leave. "So, when will are you planning on stopping this bullshit? I'm tired of seeing your face and wasting my time."
She smiled hungrily, stepping towards the apparition, "Never; I will continue to do everything to see you,no matter how heinous or messy the job; and when I die I will continue to follow you." Drool trickled down her button lip, moving her hands suggestively across her body. "I want you, and I will have you."
It was pointless; wasting words on this sick obsession. She wasn't going to stop, the most he could truly do was continue to revive her during each futile suicide attempts; so at least he wouldn't have to be stuck with her forever so soon..
Or at least until she is finally justly prosecuted for her actions...
EDIT: I'm not sure why it isn't keeping my line transitions....
| The flash of her camera made the dark blood bright again, splattered across the wall behind where the man was standing before she put a bullet through his head.
“Come on…” she whispered, bringing the viewfinder to her shadowed eye. “Please…”
Another flash illuminated the tapestry of gore splashed against the wall and dripping to the floor; bone fragment, brain matter and blood. She looked at the display screen to look for Him but she only saw the dead man.
“Please, baby…”
The glow from the streetlamp outside the window cast a crucifix shadow over her face, crimson lips parted and breath heavy while she waited for a sign, any sign that He was on his way.
She held her breath as a thought dawned on her.
Is he still alive? Maybe He’s not here because he’s still alive.
She approached the man, still warm to the touch and felt for a pulse. The circle in his forehead where the bullet had pierced the skull stared like a small, black, crusty eye demanding an explanation.
“I’m not sorry,” she said coldly.
She took her hand from his neck, assured the man was dead, and clutched the camera to her chest. The corpse slid along the wall and fell into a pool of lamplight coming through the window, dead eyes wide, frozen in permanent terror, the terror reflecting the final thought before the bullet followed hot on its heels.
“Come on baby, I did this for you,” she whispered, glancing around the room, her camera still pressed to her chest.
She backed up to the wall, raised the camera and snapped another photo, the flash first blinding and then spotting her vision. She looked at the LCD screen and scanned from fore to background for any sign of Him.
“Oh… Baby! Where are you? Haven’t I been good to you? Isn’t this what you wanted?” She cried hoarsely, dejected.
For a moment she thought she would start crying, but as sudden as a bullet to the brain, another thought came to her mind.
She slid down the wall and sat with her knees locked together; black floral print dress hiked up, exposing her thighs. Combat boots, white socks appearing above the ankle. She smiled, bit the tip of her red tongue with her white teeth, opened the small purse that hung at her side and produced the PX4 Compact Beretta she had become so comfortable with. Her hand closed around the black rubber grip, she slid the barrel between her lips, clattering past her teeth, chipping at the enamel.
“Is this what you want, baby?” she asked in a garbled voice, tears beginning to well in her eyes. “I’ll do it if this is what you want. I love you, baby.”
A lock of red hair from her trembling skull fell over her eyes; a crisp breeze pulled it back behind her ear.
“Baby, is that you? Is this what you want?”
A blast of frigid air sent an overhead chandelier tinkling and her red hair splayed out in a wild mane against the wall like gunshot splatter, drying her tears against her cheek.
“Oh… baby, I knew you’d come. I knew you’d come,” she said, pulling back the Beretta’s hammer with her pallid thumb.
“And now we can finally be together.”
|
|
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | The classical symphonie traced through the room; Carl Vine's Sonata No. 1, her favorite. Only as usual..she didn't hear it. Her mind was racing and overwealmed with the task at hand. Her young and handsome guest was sprawled out before her on the marble flooring. It was a lie, though. Killing someone was never 'easier', if anything it got harder to cover up the disappearances and create fake alibis.
Regardless, the outcomes of her actions made it all worthwhile. Her black heels clicked with her movements, navigating around the tainted wine and broken glass towards her wooden nightstand. The room was bathed in the soft light of the moon; enough for her to see the silver shillings resting in the drawer. Grabbing two, she turned back to gingerly place them over the man's open eyes. His skin and lips still slightly pinked, his grey eyes plastid in horror from his torment only a few minutes prior.
She waited, slightly shifting anxiously in her provocative black dress. She ran her fingers through her short brown hair, and pressed her lips together to reassure her light pink lipstick was still noticable; last minute adjustments to assure perfection.
"You need to stop." Rang a cosmic voice. The woman was slightly startled, gazing around the dark room until her eyes fixed to the pale, bold face; empty sockets in placement of eyes.
"I would, if you would carry the souls of animals as well. Unfortunately, you dont , making it much harder for me." Chimed the woman innocently.
Death's form changed, as it always did, molding the face into a more...disfigured appearal; the sockets remaining constant. He was trying to frighten her, as he always did. "If you don't stop, you will soon carry a far more unbearable toll than a heavy heart." His voice was different with his changes, this time, more husk.
"I didnt chose to carry this consistent pain in my chest, Charon."
For the first time, she listened to a chuckle and a witnessed a crooked smirk. "It's been a long time I've been called that." But the smirk soon disappeared as he kneeled down to the broken corpse, inspecting it closely. "And I do appreciate your payments, nobody does it anymore...especially seeing as it is far easier to transport now."
"You told me, but I still enjoy paying my respects in a way." She quietly laughted to herself for her clever pun, lighting a cigarette. Death moved the coins from the corpse's eyes, releasing a smoke-like mist from his cranium directly into Death's open jaw. Faint wailing, mimicing the man's vocals, was emitted during the transfer, quieter than normal. During this time, the woman finished her cigarette; tossing the butt into the ash tray beside her.
Afterwards, Death stood and turned to take his leave. "So, when will are you planning on stopping this bullshit? I'm tired of seeing your face and wasting my time."
She smiled hungrily, stepping towards the apparition, "Never; I will continue to do everything to see you,no matter how heinous or messy the job; and when I die I will continue to follow you." Drool trickled down her button lip, moving her hands suggestively across her body. "I want you, and I will have you."
It was pointless; wasting words on this sick obsession. She wasn't going to stop, the most he could truly do was continue to revive her during each futile suicide attempts; so at least he wouldn't have to be stuck with her forever so soon..
Or at least until she is finally justly prosecuted for her actions...
EDIT: I'm not sure why it isn't keeping my line transitions....
| The first time was blue.
Fatal car accident.
Supposedly fatal car accident.
She appeared blue, but as he approached, she turned.
"...That's new."
In his state of awe, she escaped his grasp, resuscitated by the EMT.
"How curious."
He was bored of the usual by now, after a eternity of it.
Humans had their intrigue at their beginning.
But by now, they had essentially been reduced to red, blue, and occasionally still, white.
Red for murder, blue for accidentals, white for the insane, emotionless.
However, pink.
Pink was new. pink was exciting.
But he'd never see it again.
Until next month.
Blue at first, with the small rodent at her feet.
He sighed a lung full of disappointment, and then chuckled, thinking about where the air had come from in his empty rib cage
She turned, startled, but there it was again.
Pink.
"...What?"
He stopped, confused, but walked and whisked the soul away.
It was only a mouse, no complexity, quick in and out.
He turned as he left, and saw her pink quickly turn back to blue.
How unusual.
"Again?"
Same woman.
But this time, green.
Envy? Longing?
He stepped through the shade, toward the mice.
Green to pink.
Pink. Pink?
She opened her mouth and began to speak.
He stared and listened, but it didn't make sense; it was all gibberish.
Not understanding, he slowly turned and collected his dues.
Green.
He swore he saw her flicker,
But as he approached, he saw the pink appear in her again,
Accentuated by the knife in her hands.
The body lay warm on the ground, still oozing liquid like a cracked dam.
More gibberish. faster this time, more urgent.
She reached out her hands and grasped for his, but nothing was there.
He collected the soul. larger. more complex, more life.
And he left, with her following until he vanished.
Time and time again.
He enjoyed these.
It was a pleasant change of scenery from his usual work.
But as time went on, the flickering was more and more apparent.
The pink slowly faded.
Her eyes rose to meet his,
She flickered, wavering away from the bright passion.
She was becoming white.
The sight of him was enough to muster a weak pink, but that died out as time and lives past.
How boring.
She had escaped him through being new and exciting.
But the excitement was over, interest didn't stay his hand any longer. |
|
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | The classical symphonie traced through the room; Carl Vine's Sonata No. 1, her favorite. Only as usual..she didn't hear it. Her mind was racing and overwealmed with the task at hand. Her young and handsome guest was sprawled out before her on the marble flooring. It was a lie, though. Killing someone was never 'easier', if anything it got harder to cover up the disappearances and create fake alibis.
Regardless, the outcomes of her actions made it all worthwhile. Her black heels clicked with her movements, navigating around the tainted wine and broken glass towards her wooden nightstand. The room was bathed in the soft light of the moon; enough for her to see the silver shillings resting in the drawer. Grabbing two, she turned back to gingerly place them over the man's open eyes. His skin and lips still slightly pinked, his grey eyes plastid in horror from his torment only a few minutes prior.
She waited, slightly shifting anxiously in her provocative black dress. She ran her fingers through her short brown hair, and pressed her lips together to reassure her light pink lipstick was still noticable; last minute adjustments to assure perfection.
"You need to stop." Rang a cosmic voice. The woman was slightly startled, gazing around the dark room until her eyes fixed to the pale, bold face; empty sockets in placement of eyes.
"I would, if you would carry the souls of animals as well. Unfortunately, you dont , making it much harder for me." Chimed the woman innocently.
Death's form changed, as it always did, molding the face into a more...disfigured appearal; the sockets remaining constant. He was trying to frighten her, as he always did. "If you don't stop, you will soon carry a far more unbearable toll than a heavy heart." His voice was different with his changes, this time, more husk.
"I didnt chose to carry this consistent pain in my chest, Charon."
For the first time, she listened to a chuckle and a witnessed a crooked smirk. "It's been a long time I've been called that." But the smirk soon disappeared as he kneeled down to the broken corpse, inspecting it closely. "And I do appreciate your payments, nobody does it anymore...especially seeing as it is far easier to transport now."
"You told me, but I still enjoy paying my respects in a way." She quietly laughted to herself for her clever pun, lighting a cigarette. Death moved the coins from the corpse's eyes, releasing a smoke-like mist from his cranium directly into Death's open jaw. Faint wailing, mimicing the man's vocals, was emitted during the transfer, quieter than normal. During this time, the woman finished her cigarette; tossing the butt into the ash tray beside her.
Afterwards, Death stood and turned to take his leave. "So, when will are you planning on stopping this bullshit? I'm tired of seeing your face and wasting my time."
She smiled hungrily, stepping towards the apparition, "Never; I will continue to do everything to see you,no matter how heinous or messy the job; and when I die I will continue to follow you." Drool trickled down her button lip, moving her hands suggestively across her body. "I want you, and I will have you."
It was pointless; wasting words on this sick obsession. She wasn't going to stop, the most he could truly do was continue to revive her during each futile suicide attempts; so at least he wouldn't have to be stuck with her forever so soon..
Or at least until she is finally justly prosecuted for her actions...
EDIT: I'm not sure why it isn't keeping my line transitions....
| Just as their lips were ready to touch, Anne Leone raised the blade to the man’s throat. It went through easy, just as expected. She had learned through trial and error just the right angle, just the right pressure, and just the right kind of blade to ensure her victim stayed living for just a few moments. It was important that they don't perish immediately. The man grabbed his throat weakly before falling back onto the grass below.
Anne watched the man choke on his own blood. What was his name, Eduardo? It didn't matter. She watched the fear in his eyes. After a few moments his choking seemed to stop and his chest steadied and she began to turn around. Another simple death, nothing exciting tonight. Then she saw it. Was it just an illusion? Just the trees of this secluded little park playing tricks on her?
No. This was it. Tonight was the night. He was finally here.
He stepped out onto his stage as though from an invisible curtain. He was tall and dark, a single black silhouette of a large robe against the night sky. He crossed the few steps of grass to the dying man, and just like she had seen before he knelt down by him, his hood looking right into the man’s eyes. He reached out a single pale hand and pushed it through the man’s chest like water, and pulled out a small white glowing orb in his palm. The man’s eyes finally shut and he let out his last breath as he was finally released. The shadow stood back up and with a flicker of his other hand the little orb shifted to a light blue hue before floating upwards into the moonlight. He stared at the orb as it ascended for a few moments before he began to walk away.
“Death.” Anne whispered.
The shadow stopped, but did not turn. Anne’s heart pounded in her chest. It was funny after how many times she had rehearsed this in her head the imposing figure of this reaper had her breathless. She felt like a schoolgirl approaching her big crush.
“Please, won't you stay a while? I've been waiting a long time for this.” There was a moment of silence before the hooded figure continued walking towards his invisible exit. Suddenly the trance on Anne seemed to lift and she felt her face begin to flush.
“No! Wait! You can’t leave! Don’t you see? **I did all this for you!**” she shouted pointing at the corpse of her previous ‘date.’ Death stopped again and turned to face her. His hood was filled with nothing but darkness, and it stared straight into her. She had his attention.
“I've made twenty-six bodies since I first saw you, my love. All to find you again. Please, won’t you stay with me just tonight?” After a few moments an answer came. The voice wasn't deep or angry, it didn't carry any tone at all. It was a thin, raspy voice; almost a whisper. It only spoke a single word.
*“No.”*
Death turned and within moments he had made his escape, vanishing from sight. Exit, stage right. Anne felt herself begin to boil over in anger. Her face was hot and she clenched her fists. She was ready to stomp the corpse’s face in out of anger when she stopped herself. No, must not create any evidence. This is nothing.
Next time.
Next time she would convince him.
* * *
It was a sunny afternoon in the park when the police arrived on the scene. Two visitors had stumbled upon the bodies. The man had died to a sliced throat, courtesy of a knife with fingerprints on it from the other body. The woman.
She had suffered a heart attack at some point, seemingly right after committing the murder. How long ago was this? They didn't know. When they examined her closer they discovered something terrifying. She was still alive, her eyes wide in agony. She had been this way for hours, but no matter how much she suffered death refused to take her.
~~Only 8 days late to this one. Just saw it in the top monthly stuff and got inspired. Can't wait for nobody to see it. Also, first post here.~~ |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She had seen him only once before when she was 13 years old. That was enough. She had not felt love before or since that moment, her family in the hospital, her mother in tears saying goodbye to her dying father. As a young girl she felt oddly disconnected from the experience of death. She tried not to pay attention to her dying grandfather and maybe that is why she was the only one to notice the tall dark man in an even darker suit. The suit fit him perfectly, his hair sat perfectly, his imperceptibly smile turned ever so slightly upward, perfect. She knew immediately who.. what she was looking at but not one else seemed to notice him, she didn't care.
It had been now 14 years since she had seen him. She had tried endlessly to cultivate relationship after failed relationship. She knew she should be happy but she wasn't, she had a fantastic career that she knew she should love, but she didn't. It was walking home one day after another unfulfilling day that it happened. as she was about to cross the street a young man, maybe 20 at a stretch bolted out trying to win a foot race against traffic was rag dolled horribly into the pavement by a yellow cab. She hadn't seen death, besides her grandfather, up until this point in her life and she was taken aback at how fragile a human can seem under these circumstances. A crowd had begun to gather a gape at the wrecked human in the street but she wasn't looking at the man any longer. She had seen someone... something she hadn't seen in a long long time, she smiled. A young boy across, on the other side of the street was trying not to look at the broken body in the road as his mother held his hand tightly, this was a mistake. What he saw was far more frightening, far more disturbing, looking into the crowd across from him he saw a sea of horrified faces, but that wasn't what stayed with him, it was the singular face in the very center of the crowd, the face of a pretty 27 year old girl, grinning, no, beaming from ear to ear.
She knew what she had to do. He would be there she had never been more sure of anything in her life, all she had to do was call him. She was, up until this point was an upstanding citizen so purchasing a gun was easy. She didn't want to do what she had set out to that night but the alternative seemed unbearable to her. She hailed a cab and asked to be driven out to a diner about 5 kilometers outside of town. As the cab left the city lights there was a loud flash, a surprisingly quiet crack and a splat of red on the inside of the front windshield. She was so surprised at what had happened she looked behind her to make sure was truly her who had shot the cabbie but it had been, she had been so anxious to see him again that the gun had gone off in her hands. Luckily the bullet had met its target. Where was he she thought and then as if prompted by her thoughts he appeared looked at the dead cab driver, turned slowly and then looked directly into her eyes, the same imperceptible smile crept across his face and just like that he was gone.
She was giddy, she pulsated with excitement, it had worked! She somehow knew it would but all the same it make her feel more alive, more powerful, more fulfilled than she ever had before. She was in love.
For the next 2 months she continued, person after person. At first she tried to find "forgettable" people, homeless people, lonely hearts, drug addicts. Anyone she sensed was vulnerable and alone. Night after night she met with him, always the same a quick blast, a flash of red and then him. With his hand on the heart of the person he was there to take with him he would look over stare into her eyes, smile, and then vanish. It was only in this last night that she discovered what she could do to make him stay longer.
After 4 weeks of avoiding taking a cabbie she decided that it had been long enough and she would go again. She liked using the cabbies, it was easy, get in, tell them where to go, and then do it. They never expect a thing. This time however was different, he saw, just as she was taking the gun from her purse he saw the flash of gun metal and slammed on the breaks and bolted from the car into the woods. She was startled, this had never happened before but she knew she couldn't let him go so took off after him. She was wearing good sneakers, she always did now after an incident in the park about 2 weeks earlier where a homeless man almost got away and she had to chase him through the grass with heels. She caught up with the cabbie quick enough, he as fat and slow. She pulled the gun but at the last minute he tripped and in adjusting her aim, fired low and hit him through the lower abdomen. He couldn't move, she had hit his spine and he was bleeding out, slowly. "Shit" she muttered allowed, this was going to take a while for him to arrive but she would wait. At the end of that thought she had a pleasant surprise, he was there, coming through the woods towards the fallen man. He put his hand over his heart and waited. He waited some more. He slowly turned his head, smiled imperceptibly and said I always have to work for these ones. Her jaw dropped, she had never heard him speak before. It was a rich low voice that made her knees shake, and not in the romantic "weak in the knees" sense, no, she felt a shear other worldly power in his voice that scared her... she loved it. He stayed for almost 20 minutes waiting, working to take this mans soul back with him. Right before he left was the only other time he spoke. He just said, you know what you have to do. He vanished again just as the dead mans eyes glazed over. She shuttered, she did know. She would have to die.
She made it home late that night, the cab had gone farther out of the city than she had remembered but she didn't sleep when she got in. There was no sleep for someone embroiled in the same line of thought that she was in. It seemed so foreign to her that this was the way, but no matter how she worked through it, it seemed inevitable. If she wanted to be with him then it had to be done, he had told her it had to be done, didn't he?
The next night was when it would happen, she had gone to the store and bought a length of rope. She already had a gun but didn't want to shoot herself, what happens if you look the same after you are dead as you do the moment that you die. She didn't want to exist forever with giant hole through her head, it seemed, unpleasant. That evening she put on her favorite outfit. She looked up online how to properly tie the noose and then secure the other end. The last thing she wanted was to end up in the hospital maimed but alive. She needed to die. She stood on the outside edge of the oak banister she had secured the rope to. The other end was looped securely around her neck. She had tied off enough slack that should would fall about three feet before quickly stopping at the end of her rope to visit with the man she had come to see. She closed her eyes, smiled and stepped off the edge. She jerked and swung back and forth, she opened her eyes and for an instant she panicked, not because she was going to die but that she wasn't already dead. Her fears were waylay-ed as she saw him slide open the patio door and stroll casually through her living room and up to stare are her face to face. He was taller than she had remembered, he must have been as she knew her face was about 10 feet from the ground. "Hello" he said. She tried to speak but couldn't but he knew what she was thinking, he could hear her thoughts. "Yes" he said "I am here for you". He placed his hand over her heart. "We can finally be together" she thought but to this he laughed, a full, powerful, crushing laugh. "No" he said, her heart sank and the panic welled up again inside of her. "You thought that is what I wanted?", "I did not want for 'Us' as you put it", "I wanted you". She clawed at her noose, but it was too late, she could feel herself being taken from her body, she could feel the power in that hand on her chest pulling her soul from her flesh. She was gone. Just before she last slipped away he looked deep into her eyes, smiled imperceptible and whispered "Luckily for you, you have friends where you are going, you should know, you gave them to me yourself". She slipped away and was gone. He took his hand from her chest, turned and strolled casually back out the patio door and into the woods. "Us" He chuckled to himself as he faded into nothing. | For a moment she felt remorse before her sanity slipped
Once more her fingers touched a cold corpse
Remembering the allure of her elusive love
Blood ran in the grooves between the tiles
In through her nose came the scent of those forgotten
Death itself causing all life to retreat
Darkness' fingers crept toward her
Eyes appearing that reflected a love
Never seen for more than a moment, nor ever forgotten |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She waited, nameless, and breathless. Her hands jagged with the dirt of struggle, though her fingers and thumbs clean where they came in deep contact with the homeless mans throat. She never thought they would have been so clean.
From the day she watched Deaths beautiful figure glide in the smoke of her fathers last cigarette, she knew what no living person on earth must know. Death was a woman. She danced, curvaceous. When blood spilled, it spilled so elegantly, and when bodies dried, they curved as if to dance with their new God.
Though the bodies twisted and contorted, and called for their Valkyrie, Death had never come. The boys, the men, the girls, the women, and those in between must never have been worthy for the one who chooses. But tonight, she was certain her kill was the only for her only.
He was a vagabond, bearded from travel, only in town to leave again. He was a traveler of the earth, close to nature unlike all those she'd taken before. It had been years, many years since her first kill and she could imagine that the only thing she hadn't weeded out was this. The ones she had taken were taken before, by this new world they had created. Why should Death take those whom have shunned the world she was born into? So it must have been the vagabond. He wriggled under her hands as she pressed his windpipe down. The moon glinted from his eyes, then disappeared. She had taken one deep breathe for the vagabond who couldn't, and held the rest. Death wouldn't come if a single breathing creature was around, right?
And she was. The wind picked up and left, the ground seemed to fall asleep, and the scenery faded as if into a dream. She had come.
She picked herself up, ripping her body from the numb, dull ground. The air around Death danced, curvaceous. The woman walked towards Death. The vagabond had been raptured into Deaths cloak of smoke and mirrors. Gone. She pressed one hand on Deaths waist, hard and strong, and drew the cloak down over the Valkyries head. There was no woman underneath. Only the face of her father, only the face of each boy, only the face of each man she had killed.
"I know what you want child."
She couldn't help but stare at the image of Death, nothing of what she had imagined.
"Death does not court those who court death."
**Edit** **Glad to see at least two people found the land where comments go to die.** | For a moment she felt remorse before her sanity slipped
Once more her fingers touched a cold corpse
Remembering the allure of her elusive love
Blood ran in the grooves between the tiles
In through her nose came the scent of those forgotten
Death itself causing all life to retreat
Darkness' fingers crept toward her
Eyes appearing that reflected a love
Never seen for more than a moment, nor ever forgotten |
|
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | At first I lived in wedded bliss,
No other did I crave.
Until my husband felt Death's kiss,
And took an early grave.
I saw him fade in by his side,
Upon that chilling bed.
His face the sweeping cloak did hide,
The Master of the Dead.
A feeling swept upon my heart,
A love novel and strong.
Was Death my soul mate from the start?
How could this rush be wrong?
I craved the void, the empty gaze,
Beneath the tattered cloak.
Must I wait til end of days,
When my soul he'd revoke?
It started with a single man,
A pill slipped into a drink.
That I'd have a sinister plan,
Was naught the men would think.
From one to five, and to a score,
The times I saw his scythe.
Yet still I craved him ever more,
And murdered for his tithe.
I can no longer wait and kill,
'Til my love will I see.
I swallow now this final pill,
So Death can come for me.
| For a moment she felt remorse before her sanity slipped
Once more her fingers touched a cold corpse
Remembering the allure of her elusive love
Blood ran in the grooves between the tiles
In through her nose came the scent of those forgotten
Death itself causing all life to retreat
Darkness' fingers crept toward her
Eyes appearing that reflected a love
Never seen for more than a moment, nor ever forgotten |
|
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She waited, nameless, and breathless. Her hands jagged with the dirt of struggle, though her fingers and thumbs clean where they came in deep contact with the homeless mans throat. She never thought they would have been so clean.
From the day she watched Deaths beautiful figure glide in the smoke of her fathers last cigarette, she knew what no living person on earth must know. Death was a woman. She danced, curvaceous. When blood spilled, it spilled so elegantly, and when bodies dried, they curved as if to dance with their new God.
Though the bodies twisted and contorted, and called for their Valkyrie, Death had never come. The boys, the men, the girls, the women, and those in between must never have been worthy for the one who chooses. But tonight, she was certain her kill was the only for her only.
He was a vagabond, bearded from travel, only in town to leave again. He was a traveler of the earth, close to nature unlike all those she'd taken before. It had been years, many years since her first kill and she could imagine that the only thing she hadn't weeded out was this. The ones she had taken were taken before, by this new world they had created. Why should Death take those whom have shunned the world she was born into? So it must have been the vagabond. He wriggled under her hands as she pressed his windpipe down. The moon glinted from his eyes, then disappeared. She had taken one deep breathe for the vagabond who couldn't, and held the rest. Death wouldn't come if a single breathing creature was around, right?
And she was. The wind picked up and left, the ground seemed to fall asleep, and the scenery faded as if into a dream. She had come.
She picked herself up, ripping her body from the numb, dull ground. The air around Death danced, curvaceous. The woman walked towards Death. The vagabond had been raptured into Deaths cloak of smoke and mirrors. Gone. She pressed one hand on Deaths waist, hard and strong, and drew the cloak down over the Valkyries head. There was no woman underneath. Only the face of her father, only the face of each boy, only the face of each man she had killed.
"I know what you want child."
She couldn't help but stare at the image of Death, nothing of what she had imagined.
"Death does not court those who court death."
**Edit** **Glad to see at least two people found the land where comments go to die.** | Rosa kneeled in front of the folding chair, tying a man’s ankles to it with twine. She cocked her head to examine the knots. Satisfied, she looked up at the man.
“He’s not ugly like they say, you know?”
Gagged with an old dishrag, the man struggled to escape the restraints. He looked at the door, willing anyone to open it. But no one entered. He looked at her, silently begging for mercy with fearful eyes.
“Don’t struggle honey. Even if you got part way free, I’d just have to tie those knots tighter. And no use staring at that door. No one coming in. Well, except him. In a little while.” She grinned and stood up.
“As I was saying, he doesn’t wear that ratty old cape, and he doesn’t carry a nasty scythe. I don’t know where people came up with that idea. Nope, he’s tall and he has dark brown eyes. A great strong chin and a big gorgeous smile.” Rosa pursed her lips, closed her eyes. “Hmm, I can see him now. So very handsome. You’ll get to meet him soon, he’s beautiful.”
The man continued to struggle. He didn’t believe her. Not even a little bit. They never did. Rosa walked over to a smudged mirror hung on the wall. She fussed over her makeup, maybe a bit overdone. She gave her hair one last spritz and turned to look at the man.
“And his suits! Oh his suits!” She clapped and smiled. “Such impeccable taste he has. A different suit for every occasion!”
A different suit for every occasion. And Rosa had seen quite a few suits. Early on, she only ever shot her victims. And Death would come after. Tall and handsome, just like she said. Wearing a formal tuxedo and carrying a white rose.
Every time Rosa saw him, she ran up and tried to give him a kiss. And every time, he passed right through her to reach the body. She understood he had a job to do. But she knew, deep down, that Death loved her. After Death left, Rosa would run to her apartment and masturbate. She came every time. After a while, she could only reach orgasm after seeing Him.
Once though, the gun misfired. The victim shoved Rosa to the side and tried to escape the room. As his nervous fingers fiddled with the door knob, she improvised and bludgeoned the poor man to death with her pistol. Death came, as he always did. But that night he wore a gray suit with a pink tie. So dapper.
Rosa saw Death grin for the first time that night. He looked downright *sexual* in his new suit. Rosa couldn’t wait to get home. Instead, she masturbated right there next to the dead man. She came twice.
And that’s when the fun started for Rosa. Stabbings got red suits. Death wore an exotic orange suit for Electrocutions. She didn’t much care for it, if she was being honest. When she drowned someone, he’d wear a blue tweed suit with a vest. She drowned so many people she lost count. Beheadings, messy as they were, earned a white suit with a black dress shirt, collar undone. Beheadings were worth the mess. And Rosa came every time Death left. Sometimes twice.
The man struggled again. Intent on the door, but he got no closer. All fixed up, Rosa pulled a stool over next to the man and sat on it, facing him.
Her face lit up. “Oh tonight is going to be special! Such a nice occasion! He’ll be wearing my new favorite suit tonight!”
The man craned his head toward the door. It did not open.
Rosa raised her arms and clasped her hands around the man’s neck. She tightened her grip. The man reflexively stiffened. He jerked and swayed against the twine. He spat against the gag. All in vain.
“Relax. It’s always easier if you just let go. If you struggle, my hair just won’t look right.” The man let out a wet gargle. He turned toward the door. “Yes, that’s right, just let it happen.”
The man saw the room fade in and out. He tried to focus on the door, willing it open. As the light faded away, it did open. A tall handsome man wearing a luminescent pearl suit walked in. The man realized Rosa was right all along. Death is beautiful. Death offered a white rose to the man. Freed of his restraints, the man took the rose, and Death took his life.
Addendum: Rosa came three times that night.
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | At first I lived in wedded bliss,
No other did I crave.
Until my husband felt Death's kiss,
And took an early grave.
I saw him fade in by his side,
Upon that chilling bed.
His face the sweeping cloak did hide,
The Master of the Dead.
A feeling swept upon my heart,
A love novel and strong.
Was Death my soul mate from the start?
How could this rush be wrong?
I craved the void, the empty gaze,
Beneath the tattered cloak.
Must I wait til end of days,
When my soul he'd revoke?
It started with a single man,
A pill slipped into a drink.
That I'd have a sinister plan,
Was naught the men would think.
From one to five, and to a score,
The times I saw his scythe.
Yet still I craved him ever more,
And murdered for his tithe.
I can no longer wait and kill,
'Til my love will I see.
I swallow now this final pill,
So Death can come for me.
| Rosa kneeled in front of the folding chair, tying a man’s ankles to it with twine. She cocked her head to examine the knots. Satisfied, she looked up at the man.
“He’s not ugly like they say, you know?”
Gagged with an old dishrag, the man struggled to escape the restraints. He looked at the door, willing anyone to open it. But no one entered. He looked at her, silently begging for mercy with fearful eyes.
“Don’t struggle honey. Even if you got part way free, I’d just have to tie those knots tighter. And no use staring at that door. No one coming in. Well, except him. In a little while.” She grinned and stood up.
“As I was saying, he doesn’t wear that ratty old cape, and he doesn’t carry a nasty scythe. I don’t know where people came up with that idea. Nope, he’s tall and he has dark brown eyes. A great strong chin and a big gorgeous smile.” Rosa pursed her lips, closed her eyes. “Hmm, I can see him now. So very handsome. You’ll get to meet him soon, he’s beautiful.”
The man continued to struggle. He didn’t believe her. Not even a little bit. They never did. Rosa walked over to a smudged mirror hung on the wall. She fussed over her makeup, maybe a bit overdone. She gave her hair one last spritz and turned to look at the man.
“And his suits! Oh his suits!” She clapped and smiled. “Such impeccable taste he has. A different suit for every occasion!”
A different suit for every occasion. And Rosa had seen quite a few suits. Early on, she only ever shot her victims. And Death would come after. Tall and handsome, just like she said. Wearing a formal tuxedo and carrying a white rose.
Every time Rosa saw him, she ran up and tried to give him a kiss. And every time, he passed right through her to reach the body. She understood he had a job to do. But she knew, deep down, that Death loved her. After Death left, Rosa would run to her apartment and masturbate. She came every time. After a while, she could only reach orgasm after seeing Him.
Once though, the gun misfired. The victim shoved Rosa to the side and tried to escape the room. As his nervous fingers fiddled with the door knob, she improvised and bludgeoned the poor man to death with her pistol. Death came, as he always did. But that night he wore a gray suit with a pink tie. So dapper.
Rosa saw Death grin for the first time that night. He looked downright *sexual* in his new suit. Rosa couldn’t wait to get home. Instead, she masturbated right there next to the dead man. She came twice.
And that’s when the fun started for Rosa. Stabbings got red suits. Death wore an exotic orange suit for Electrocutions. She didn’t much care for it, if she was being honest. When she drowned someone, he’d wear a blue tweed suit with a vest. She drowned so many people she lost count. Beheadings, messy as they were, earned a white suit with a black dress shirt, collar undone. Beheadings were worth the mess. And Rosa came every time Death left. Sometimes twice.
The man struggled again. Intent on the door, but he got no closer. All fixed up, Rosa pulled a stool over next to the man and sat on it, facing him.
Her face lit up. “Oh tonight is going to be special! Such a nice occasion! He’ll be wearing my new favorite suit tonight!”
The man craned his head toward the door. It did not open.
Rosa raised her arms and clasped her hands around the man’s neck. She tightened her grip. The man reflexively stiffened. He jerked and swayed against the twine. He spat against the gag. All in vain.
“Relax. It’s always easier if you just let go. If you struggle, my hair just won’t look right.” The man let out a wet gargle. He turned toward the door. “Yes, that’s right, just let it happen.”
The man saw the room fade in and out. He tried to focus on the door, willing it open. As the light faded away, it did open. A tall handsome man wearing a luminescent pearl suit walked in. The man realized Rosa was right all along. Death is beautiful. Death offered a white rose to the man. Freed of his restraints, the man took the rose, and Death took his life.
Addendum: Rosa came three times that night.
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She waited, nameless, and breathless. Her hands jagged with the dirt of struggle, though her fingers and thumbs clean where they came in deep contact with the homeless mans throat. She never thought they would have been so clean.
From the day she watched Deaths beautiful figure glide in the smoke of her fathers last cigarette, she knew what no living person on earth must know. Death was a woman. She danced, curvaceous. When blood spilled, it spilled so elegantly, and when bodies dried, they curved as if to dance with their new God.
Though the bodies twisted and contorted, and called for their Valkyrie, Death had never come. The boys, the men, the girls, the women, and those in between must never have been worthy for the one who chooses. But tonight, she was certain her kill was the only for her only.
He was a vagabond, bearded from travel, only in town to leave again. He was a traveler of the earth, close to nature unlike all those she'd taken before. It had been years, many years since her first kill and she could imagine that the only thing she hadn't weeded out was this. The ones she had taken were taken before, by this new world they had created. Why should Death take those whom have shunned the world she was born into? So it must have been the vagabond. He wriggled under her hands as she pressed his windpipe down. The moon glinted from his eyes, then disappeared. She had taken one deep breathe for the vagabond who couldn't, and held the rest. Death wouldn't come if a single breathing creature was around, right?
And she was. The wind picked up and left, the ground seemed to fall asleep, and the scenery faded as if into a dream. She had come.
She picked herself up, ripping her body from the numb, dull ground. The air around Death danced, curvaceous. The woman walked towards Death. The vagabond had been raptured into Deaths cloak of smoke and mirrors. Gone. She pressed one hand on Deaths waist, hard and strong, and drew the cloak down over the Valkyries head. There was no woman underneath. Only the face of her father, only the face of each boy, only the face of each man she had killed.
"I know what you want child."
She couldn't help but stare at the image of Death, nothing of what she had imagined.
"Death does not court those who court death."
**Edit** **Glad to see at least two people found the land where comments go to die.** | Death rolled over slowly, his orbless eyes glancing over at the vibrating tablet on his nightstand. From under the covers, a bony hand made its way past a bottle of Ambien, pausing for a moment as if hesitating. Against his better judgement, he picked it up and swiped at the screen, a pop-up window immediately illuminating his skeletal face.
*853,213 missed deaths.*
He put the tablet back on to his nightstand face down, rolled back over, and groaned into his pillow. Just as he was about to slip back into what he was hoping would be something resembling eternal slumber, the door to his room flew open.
"Team meeting. Now." said Pestilence in a voice that most humans would describe as 'humming phlegm'.
As Death rolled over in his bed to protest, all he saw was the familiar trail of flies, locusts, and the usual variety of angry bacteria that his roommate annoyingly left in his wake. As he exited his room, he noticed that his three brethren were already gathered, sitting in the dying room. War gestured towards the one remaining unoccupied chair with a Great Axe, which Death promptly slumped into.
"Look, mate...", said Famine, looking particularly famished. "We don't know what's gotten into you lately, but you're holding the rest of us up. It's pretty pointless to destroy a critical food supply, spread a previously undiscovered plague in a remote African village, or instigate a war if you don't do your rounds and clean up after us, is there?"
Death sighed, his shoulders slumping, chin dropping to his chest. "It's...well...it's this girl, man. I mean, who tries to pick up Death when your grandmother just died and shit herself all over the place? I mean, it's just unprofessional and awkward."
"DON'T BLOW THIS FOR US, GENE!", bellowed War in a muffled voice from somewhere under his enormous helmet.
Death raised his scythe, thrusting it in War's direction. "YOU should be one to talk, with your ridiculous fascination with Pro Wrestling. Don't think any of us have forgotten the fact that your man-crush on Lex Luger distracted you to the point where there was ALMOST peace in the Middle East."
War seemed to tilt his head back as if to say something, but decided against it, instead choosing to file his nails with a broadsword.
Pestilence opened his mouth to speak, taking a long moment to wheeze, and said, "Maybe we should do something about her? Perhaps a new strain of typhoid fever?" His puffy, bloodshot eyes grew round and wide, as he enthusiastically nodded at each of his roommates.
"Is cancer eating at your brain, fool? Do you know what that would mean? The last thing I want is to have that love-crazed twat moving into the neighborhood."
War suddenly burst out of his seat, drawing a seemingly impossible number of weapons with two hands, and roared in victory.
"I've got it! Tonight, I saddle my red horse and ride like the wind into the land of nightmares, a place that sickens us all, but I will stomach this abomination for the sake of my brother Death."
"Let's just hope Cupid isn't still pissed off about that whole Cory Monteith thing." |
|
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | At first I lived in wedded bliss,
No other did I crave.
Until my husband felt Death's kiss,
And took an early grave.
I saw him fade in by his side,
Upon that chilling bed.
His face the sweeping cloak did hide,
The Master of the Dead.
A feeling swept upon my heart,
A love novel and strong.
Was Death my soul mate from the start?
How could this rush be wrong?
I craved the void, the empty gaze,
Beneath the tattered cloak.
Must I wait til end of days,
When my soul he'd revoke?
It started with a single man,
A pill slipped into a drink.
That I'd have a sinister plan,
Was naught the men would think.
From one to five, and to a score,
The times I saw his scythe.
Yet still I craved him ever more,
And murdered for his tithe.
I can no longer wait and kill,
'Til my love will I see.
I swallow now this final pill,
So Death can come for me.
| Death rolled over slowly, his orbless eyes glancing over at the vibrating tablet on his nightstand. From under the covers, a bony hand made its way past a bottle of Ambien, pausing for a moment as if hesitating. Against his better judgement, he picked it up and swiped at the screen, a pop-up window immediately illuminating his skeletal face.
*853,213 missed deaths.*
He put the tablet back on to his nightstand face down, rolled back over, and groaned into his pillow. Just as he was about to slip back into what he was hoping would be something resembling eternal slumber, the door to his room flew open.
"Team meeting. Now." said Pestilence in a voice that most humans would describe as 'humming phlegm'.
As Death rolled over in his bed to protest, all he saw was the familiar trail of flies, locusts, and the usual variety of angry bacteria that his roommate annoyingly left in his wake. As he exited his room, he noticed that his three brethren were already gathered, sitting in the dying room. War gestured towards the one remaining unoccupied chair with a Great Axe, which Death promptly slumped into.
"Look, mate...", said Famine, looking particularly famished. "We don't know what's gotten into you lately, but you're holding the rest of us up. It's pretty pointless to destroy a critical food supply, spread a previously undiscovered plague in a remote African village, or instigate a war if you don't do your rounds and clean up after us, is there?"
Death sighed, his shoulders slumping, chin dropping to his chest. "It's...well...it's this girl, man. I mean, who tries to pick up Death when your grandmother just died and shit herself all over the place? I mean, it's just unprofessional and awkward."
"DON'T BLOW THIS FOR US, GENE!", bellowed War in a muffled voice from somewhere under his enormous helmet.
Death raised his scythe, thrusting it in War's direction. "YOU should be one to talk, with your ridiculous fascination with Pro Wrestling. Don't think any of us have forgotten the fact that your man-crush on Lex Luger distracted you to the point where there was ALMOST peace in the Middle East."
War seemed to tilt his head back as if to say something, but decided against it, instead choosing to file his nails with a broadsword.
Pestilence opened his mouth to speak, taking a long moment to wheeze, and said, "Maybe we should do something about her? Perhaps a new strain of typhoid fever?" His puffy, bloodshot eyes grew round and wide, as he enthusiastically nodded at each of his roommates.
"Is cancer eating at your brain, fool? Do you know what that would mean? The last thing I want is to have that love-crazed twat moving into the neighborhood."
War suddenly burst out of his seat, drawing a seemingly impossible number of weapons with two hands, and roared in victory.
"I've got it! Tonight, I saddle my red horse and ride like the wind into the land of nightmares, a place that sickens us all, but I will stomach this abomination for the sake of my brother Death."
"Let's just hope Cupid isn't still pissed off about that whole Cory Monteith thing." |
|
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She waited, nameless, and breathless. Her hands jagged with the dirt of struggle, though her fingers and thumbs clean where they came in deep contact with the homeless mans throat. She never thought they would have been so clean.
From the day she watched Deaths beautiful figure glide in the smoke of her fathers last cigarette, she knew what no living person on earth must know. Death was a woman. She danced, curvaceous. When blood spilled, it spilled so elegantly, and when bodies dried, they curved as if to dance with their new God.
Though the bodies twisted and contorted, and called for their Valkyrie, Death had never come. The boys, the men, the girls, the women, and those in between must never have been worthy for the one who chooses. But tonight, she was certain her kill was the only for her only.
He was a vagabond, bearded from travel, only in town to leave again. He was a traveler of the earth, close to nature unlike all those she'd taken before. It had been years, many years since her first kill and she could imagine that the only thing she hadn't weeded out was this. The ones she had taken were taken before, by this new world they had created. Why should Death take those whom have shunned the world she was born into? So it must have been the vagabond. He wriggled under her hands as she pressed his windpipe down. The moon glinted from his eyes, then disappeared. She had taken one deep breathe for the vagabond who couldn't, and held the rest. Death wouldn't come if a single breathing creature was around, right?
And she was. The wind picked up and left, the ground seemed to fall asleep, and the scenery faded as if into a dream. She had come.
She picked herself up, ripping her body from the numb, dull ground. The air around Death danced, curvaceous. The woman walked towards Death. The vagabond had been raptured into Deaths cloak of smoke and mirrors. Gone. She pressed one hand on Deaths waist, hard and strong, and drew the cloak down over the Valkyries head. There was no woman underneath. Only the face of her father, only the face of each boy, only the face of each man she had killed.
"I know what you want child."
She couldn't help but stare at the image of Death, nothing of what she had imagined.
"Death does not court those who court death."
**Edit** **Glad to see at least two people found the land where comments go to die.** | Mindy giggled.
"My love," she teased in a sing-song tone.
The mist formed a figure in front of the newly dead body. Mindy smiled as the figure of her lover appeared. "You caused such a mess this time." Death smiled at the mutilated body on the ground.
"Anything for you." Mindy approached her star-crossed lover. He kissed her. His lips were cold, but his love felt so good.
Death moved his hand over the body, and out came the soul of a young woman.
"I'll see you soon." Mindy giggled.
"Really soon." Death's tone suddenly became serious.
"Gaaaahh!" Mindy cried as an unbearable pain erupted in her rib. |
|
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She waited, nameless, and breathless. Her hands jagged with the dirt of struggle, though her fingers and thumbs clean where they came in deep contact with the homeless mans throat. She never thought they would have been so clean.
From the day she watched Deaths beautiful figure glide in the smoke of her fathers last cigarette, she knew what no living person on earth must know. Death was a woman. She danced, curvaceous. When blood spilled, it spilled so elegantly, and when bodies dried, they curved as if to dance with their new God.
Though the bodies twisted and contorted, and called for their Valkyrie, Death had never come. The boys, the men, the girls, the women, and those in between must never have been worthy for the one who chooses. But tonight, she was certain her kill was the only for her only.
He was a vagabond, bearded from travel, only in town to leave again. He was a traveler of the earth, close to nature unlike all those she'd taken before. It had been years, many years since her first kill and she could imagine that the only thing she hadn't weeded out was this. The ones she had taken were taken before, by this new world they had created. Why should Death take those whom have shunned the world she was born into? So it must have been the vagabond. He wriggled under her hands as she pressed his windpipe down. The moon glinted from his eyes, then disappeared. She had taken one deep breathe for the vagabond who couldn't, and held the rest. Death wouldn't come if a single breathing creature was around, right?
And she was. The wind picked up and left, the ground seemed to fall asleep, and the scenery faded as if into a dream. She had come.
She picked herself up, ripping her body from the numb, dull ground. The air around Death danced, curvaceous. The woman walked towards Death. The vagabond had been raptured into Deaths cloak of smoke and mirrors. Gone. She pressed one hand on Deaths waist, hard and strong, and drew the cloak down over the Valkyries head. There was no woman underneath. Only the face of her father, only the face of each boy, only the face of each man she had killed.
"I know what you want child."
She couldn't help but stare at the image of Death, nothing of what she had imagined.
"Death does not court those who court death."
**Edit** **Glad to see at least two people found the land where comments go to die.** | "Death I have missed you so much, that sweet touch when the hair raises on the back of my neck, the way you make my heart heart race, how you are always watching over me. I will never forgot our first time together. First was my husband. That was all before I loved you Death, before I knew that I would never love anyone else ever again. When I killed my husband you came to me, all those feelings I get when you are around overcame me. I didn't know what it was that made me kill my husband, but in hindsight I know it was you telling me to do. You wanted us to be together, if only for a few moments, and I will forever be grateful. Since then we have met three more times. Each time we are brought together by a tragedy. Our time together is brief, but at the same time it feels like an eternity. I cry for days every time you leave me . I can't take it anymore! I want to be with you forever."
On Saturday evening police were called to Bergman apartments after reports of gun fire.
The police report states that after the police entered the unlocked apartments and found a dead body in the corner of the room. In the center was the alleged killer sitting cross-legged on the floor. The officer at the scene claims that he heard the alleged killer muttering to herself, completely oblivious to the officer entering the room, before killing herself. The relationship between the alleged killer and the victim is unknown. Right now the case is considered a murder suicide with no known motive.
|
|
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | Another night, another bloodstained knife. The daylight gave way to darkness as the candlelight flickered and the streets outside quickly became deserted.
He had put up a fight, this one. It had become routine and she had been careless, even arrogant as she settled back into it. The knife that was missing from the dinner table was small enough to not be missed, but as she approached him the candlelight flickered and her shadow on the wall reaching for him alerted her prey.
This one's name was Calvin, or perhaps Clarke. She tried not to remember their names. There were moments where she wondered how she had ended up here, but she needed it. It mystified her, and she may have been the only living person to know it existed. She felt a certain pride in that fact, though afterwards she always wondered why - at least for a little while.
Spinning around, he had deflected the thrusting knife and managed to take it from her, thrusting it back towards her. She had moved to the side, avoiding it, and they circled. Mori, as she called herself, didn't give him time to do anything else. Growing impatient so close to her prize, she pulled a small gun from the back of her jeans and shot him in the neck.
The body slumped to the ground as the gunshot echoed through the streets. She noted it but quickly brushed it aside, as short-sighted as that may have been. She had done it, and she would see it again.
*It is nice to see you once more.*
She swung around to see its face, its hollow eye sockets somehow glowing in its deep black hood. There had been no sound, no whisper, he could have been there all along. That familiar feeling returned to her, a sense of cold dread that sent goosebumps down her spine and stood her hair on end. She had grown to love it.
"Really?" A hopeful expression was not one that It was often greeted with. It made a noise almost like chuckling, but a little darker. *Oh yes, I knew this day would come soon.*
The man, whatever his name had been, made a gurgling sound behind her. Not quite dead, but getting there. She ignored him. "You'll stay with me then?" She looked into the dark depths of its eyes with a loving expression, her voice quivered with excitement.
*Not exactly.* Its mouth was almost grinning, but a little wrong. Her legs felt weak and she fell to her knees. She wasn't sure why, probably just overwhelmed.
"Why did you do this?" Came a voice from behind her. She turned to see the man standing above his corpse. He was an apparition, translucent, and looked like he didn't belong in this world. "I liked you." The voice sounded hollow, empty of whatever it was that had made it sound alive before.
"I had to see it. I had to!" She snapped, her strength returning as she stood up. "It belongs with me."
*I think, perhaps, that it is you who belongs with me.*
She turned back to it and moved closer, begging it to take her. Sirens echoed through the streets, ever closer. She reached for its cloak, if the shadows that made it up could be called such a thing, and gasped. Her hand was translucent. "...what?" She spun around to see the knife's handle glinting in the candlelight, its blade buried between her ribs in a pool of crimson.
*It pierced a lung.*
"What?" she repeated, dumbfounded, "but I didn't feel anything." She thought for a second as it moved towards the man, almost like walking, but a little worse. She had been too set on her goal, too focused even to notice the knife as it thundered home. "So I'm dead?"
Momentarily, Mori was devastated. She turned to the window, seeing the flashing blue lights of the police cars outside, here to investigate a gun shot. The expression quickly turned to one almost of glee, but just a little different. "So you can take me with you?" she asked, watching through the window as the police moved into the building.
*Yes.* Tears had begun to fall, like glittering pearls in the flashing blue light. *I did not know ghosts could cry.*
"I am not crying" she said, turning to show the smile on her face. It shook its head, almost mournful. *I do not understand you humans. You cower behind locked doors at night to keep the darkness at bay, but really it is your heart that is stained with shadow. Nothing else could have done this.*
The man spoke up again, finally coming to terms with the situation, "I didn't want this."
*Perhaps not, but you knew there was something off. You noticed something different, but you were too busy not thinking to realise you should have left her alone. You have lived a self-destructive life, one woman after another, never stopping even to remember names. You two are not so different, Clarke, you use people up just to move onto someone else. You have broken as many hearts as she has.*
"I didn't find the right person."
*Yes you did. But you did what you always do. You just left in the night, never giving her a chance.* The man looked into its eyes and felt eternity press down on him. He felt himself fade away, "who was she?" he asked. It just chuckled and turned away as the apparition faded until he was gone, leaving just a mangled shell of himself on the floor.
The chastisement had no effect on Mori. *My dear Eve, if you had only listened.* Its voice, if it was such a thing, was almost regretful. *I was not meant to meet you for many years.*
"I needed you," came her response, "I saw you and I had to see you again and again. You must understand."
*I do.* She gazed into its eyes and the abyss stared back as eternity pressed upon her. She felt herself fade but didn't care. She would be with him finally, and she was content.
She faded as the door burst open and armed officers stormed into the room. The police secured the crime scene, eventually linking Mori to 16 other murders. They saw nobody in the room, but one cop swore he saw something in the window from the street. It almost looked like a person, but a bit darker. | The cold shiver running down her spine. A feeling she had become all too familiar with. As the razor slight at her soft, tender wrists.
"Soon we shall meet again, for you and I belong to each other."
In a swift movement, the blood begins to flow. The smell wafted in the breeze and her anticipation grows.
As she slumps over, the voice grows in strength.
"How glad am I to see you again my sweet. Although, you know you will not stay here for long this time. You need to find another way. A way in which you..."
She slowly woke in a hospital bed.
Numb from the experience.
"Why? Why are you taken from me again?" She exclaimed.
All night she tossed and turned, thinking, trying to find a way.
Once she arrived home, the thought consumed her.
All night she tossed and turned, thinking, trying to find a way.
Once she arrived home, the thought consumed her.
"I've found a way for us to be together..."
As she walked home with a hamster she had purchased, her anticipation grew.
"Thank you gentle creature, through your generous act, I shall meet with my love."
She set the hamster on the cutting board. The blade of the knife seemed to glow as the light shone through the window.
"Thank you gentle creature."
In that moment the cold shiver ran through her spine. The glint of light shined in the hamster's eyes.
"My sweet, this moment is fleeting, it will not last long."
"How? HOW? How can I make this last longer?" She cried.
She sat in the corner with tears in her eyes. A smirk began to form on her tear covered face.
"A creature this small, how could I expect a long time..."
As she walked down the street, with the knife hidden in her purse. Seeing her sad demeanor, a young man approached her.
"Hey sweetie, why so down? Looks like you could use some fun to cheer you up. Anything I could do to help?"
She looked up at him and smiled. "Yes, I suppose there is something you could do."
"Just walk with me and I will think of what you can do."
|
|
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She waited, nameless, and breathless. Her hands jagged with the dirt of struggle, though her fingers and thumbs clean where they came in deep contact with the homeless mans throat. She never thought they would have been so clean.
From the day she watched Deaths beautiful figure glide in the smoke of her fathers last cigarette, she knew what no living person on earth must know. Death was a woman. She danced, curvaceous. When blood spilled, it spilled so elegantly, and when bodies dried, they curved as if to dance with their new God.
Though the bodies twisted and contorted, and called for their Valkyrie, Death had never come. The boys, the men, the girls, the women, and those in between must never have been worthy for the one who chooses. But tonight, she was certain her kill was the only for her only.
He was a vagabond, bearded from travel, only in town to leave again. He was a traveler of the earth, close to nature unlike all those she'd taken before. It had been years, many years since her first kill and she could imagine that the only thing she hadn't weeded out was this. The ones she had taken were taken before, by this new world they had created. Why should Death take those whom have shunned the world she was born into? So it must have been the vagabond. He wriggled under her hands as she pressed his windpipe down. The moon glinted from his eyes, then disappeared. She had taken one deep breathe for the vagabond who couldn't, and held the rest. Death wouldn't come if a single breathing creature was around, right?
And she was. The wind picked up and left, the ground seemed to fall asleep, and the scenery faded as if into a dream. She had come.
She picked herself up, ripping her body from the numb, dull ground. The air around Death danced, curvaceous. The woman walked towards Death. The vagabond had been raptured into Deaths cloak of smoke and mirrors. Gone. She pressed one hand on Deaths waist, hard and strong, and drew the cloak down over the Valkyries head. There was no woman underneath. Only the face of her father, only the face of each boy, only the face of each man she had killed.
"I know what you want child."
She couldn't help but stare at the image of Death, nothing of what she had imagined.
"Death does not court those who court death."
**Edit** **Glad to see at least two people found the land where comments go to die.** | The cold shiver running down her spine. A feeling she had become all too familiar with. As the razor slight at her soft, tender wrists.
"Soon we shall meet again, for you and I belong to each other."
In a swift movement, the blood begins to flow. The smell wafted in the breeze and her anticipation grows.
As she slumps over, the voice grows in strength.
"How glad am I to see you again my sweet. Although, you know you will not stay here for long this time. You need to find another way. A way in which you..."
She slowly woke in a hospital bed.
Numb from the experience.
"Why? Why are you taken from me again?" She exclaimed.
All night she tossed and turned, thinking, trying to find a way.
Once she arrived home, the thought consumed her.
All night she tossed and turned, thinking, trying to find a way.
Once she arrived home, the thought consumed her.
"I've found a way for us to be together..."
As she walked home with a hamster she had purchased, her anticipation grew.
"Thank you gentle creature, through your generous act, I shall meet with my love."
She set the hamster on the cutting board. The blade of the knife seemed to glow as the light shone through the window.
"Thank you gentle creature."
In that moment the cold shiver ran through her spine. The glint of light shined in the hamster's eyes.
"My sweet, this moment is fleeting, it will not last long."
"How? HOW? How can I make this last longer?" She cried.
She sat in the corner with tears in her eyes. A smirk began to form on her tear covered face.
"A creature this small, how could I expect a long time..."
As she walked down the street, with the knife hidden in her purse. Seeing her sad demeanor, a young man approached her.
"Hey sweetie, why so down? Looks like you could use some fun to cheer you up. Anything I could do to help?"
She looked up at him and smiled. "Yes, I suppose there is something you could do."
"Just walk with me and I will think of what you can do."
|
|
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | At first I lived in wedded bliss,
No other did I crave.
Until my husband felt Death's kiss,
And took an early grave.
I saw him fade in by his side,
Upon that chilling bed.
His face the sweeping cloak did hide,
The Master of the Dead.
A feeling swept upon my heart,
A love novel and strong.
Was Death my soul mate from the start?
How could this rush be wrong?
I craved the void, the empty gaze,
Beneath the tattered cloak.
Must I wait til end of days,
When my soul he'd revoke?
It started with a single man,
A pill slipped into a drink.
That I'd have a sinister plan,
Was naught the men would think.
From one to five, and to a score,
The times I saw his scythe.
Yet still I craved him ever more,
And murdered for his tithe.
I can no longer wait and kill,
'Til my love will I see.
I swallow now this final pill,
So Death can come for me.
| The cold shiver running down her spine. A feeling she had become all too familiar with. As the razor slight at her soft, tender wrists.
"Soon we shall meet again, for you and I belong to each other."
In a swift movement, the blood begins to flow. The smell wafted in the breeze and her anticipation grows.
As she slumps over, the voice grows in strength.
"How glad am I to see you again my sweet. Although, you know you will not stay here for long this time. You need to find another way. A way in which you..."
She slowly woke in a hospital bed.
Numb from the experience.
"Why? Why are you taken from me again?" She exclaimed.
All night she tossed and turned, thinking, trying to find a way.
Once she arrived home, the thought consumed her.
All night she tossed and turned, thinking, trying to find a way.
Once she arrived home, the thought consumed her.
"I've found a way for us to be together..."
As she walked home with a hamster she had purchased, her anticipation grew.
"Thank you gentle creature, through your generous act, I shall meet with my love."
She set the hamster on the cutting board. The blade of the knife seemed to glow as the light shone through the window.
"Thank you gentle creature."
In that moment the cold shiver ran through her spine. The glint of light shined in the hamster's eyes.
"My sweet, this moment is fleeting, it will not last long."
"How? HOW? How can I make this last longer?" She cried.
She sat in the corner with tears in her eyes. A smirk began to form on her tear covered face.
"A creature this small, how could I expect a long time..."
As she walked down the street, with the knife hidden in her purse. Seeing her sad demeanor, a young man approached her.
"Hey sweetie, why so down? Looks like you could use some fun to cheer you up. Anything I could do to help?"
She looked up at him and smiled. "Yes, I suppose there is something you could do."
"Just walk with me and I will think of what you can do."
|
|
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She held the dying woman's hand. The woman, old, sick, in pain, and lonely looked up at the pretty red head. "Thank you," she whispered. Her voice was weak, but happy - hopeful.
The young lady smiled and held the older woman's hand tighter. "My pleasure," she responded.
The sick woman, the tired woman, closed her eyes and rested.
The young lady checked the woman's pulse. She was gone.
As she put away the bottle of serum and needle she had used Inez felt the room shift slightly.
Death had come.
Inez didn't turn to look at him. She was young, but she had learned from a hard early life that staring death in the face was asking for trouble. Instead she busied herself with cleaning the area. Done with her task Inez stood awkwardly in the hospice room. Death had not left.
She smoothed her nurses outfit over her hips and fixed her collar. Still Death was there.
"You need to slow down," a voice said behind her. It was as she remembered it: dark, smooth, comforting. "You'll get caught."
"They ask me," Inez replied. "They ask me to help them. It's hard to deny their pleas to save them in a way that they don't damn themselves."
"And so you damn yourself," Death was just behind her. His voice was close, but there was no breath on her ear. She shrugged.
"There are..." she hesitated, "Perks." Warmth, smooth and silk like, had began to pool in her abdomen and seep between her thighs. It did every time Death came near. This was the closet he had been. The warmth leaped up into her heart.
"You do a good thing," Death said. "You should not get caught."
Inez smiled and was glad she wasn't facing him. Her blush would be too obvious.
"I can see the headlines now," she joked. "'Hospice Nurse is Angel of ...'" She trailed off embarrassed.
She felt a hand, not bony or cold, but soothing and possibly...affectionate, touch her shoulder. "Do not get caught," Death said. "No one will understand the peace you bring."
Inez felt the room shift again. Her warmth was replaced with longing.
"No one but you," she said, but she was alone.
| The cold shiver running down her spine. A feeling she had become all too familiar with. As the razor slight at her soft, tender wrists.
"Soon we shall meet again, for you and I belong to each other."
In a swift movement, the blood begins to flow. The smell wafted in the breeze and her anticipation grows.
As she slumps over, the voice grows in strength.
"How glad am I to see you again my sweet. Although, you know you will not stay here for long this time. You need to find another way. A way in which you..."
She slowly woke in a hospital bed.
Numb from the experience.
"Why? Why are you taken from me again?" She exclaimed.
All night she tossed and turned, thinking, trying to find a way.
Once she arrived home, the thought consumed her.
All night she tossed and turned, thinking, trying to find a way.
Once she arrived home, the thought consumed her.
"I've found a way for us to be together..."
As she walked home with a hamster she had purchased, her anticipation grew.
"Thank you gentle creature, through your generous act, I shall meet with my love."
She set the hamster on the cutting board. The blade of the knife seemed to glow as the light shone through the window.
"Thank you gentle creature."
In that moment the cold shiver ran through her spine. The glint of light shined in the hamster's eyes.
"My sweet, this moment is fleeting, it will not last long."
"How? HOW? How can I make this last longer?" She cried.
She sat in the corner with tears in her eyes. A smirk began to form on her tear covered face.
"A creature this small, how could I expect a long time..."
As she walked down the street, with the knife hidden in her purse. Seeing her sad demeanor, a young man approached her.
"Hey sweetie, why so down? Looks like you could use some fun to cheer you up. Anything I could do to help?"
She looked up at him and smiled. "Yes, I suppose there is something you could do."
"Just walk with me and I will think of what you can do."
|
|
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She waited, nameless, and breathless. Her hands jagged with the dirt of struggle, though her fingers and thumbs clean where they came in deep contact with the homeless mans throat. She never thought they would have been so clean.
From the day she watched Deaths beautiful figure glide in the smoke of her fathers last cigarette, she knew what no living person on earth must know. Death was a woman. She danced, curvaceous. When blood spilled, it spilled so elegantly, and when bodies dried, they curved as if to dance with their new God.
Though the bodies twisted and contorted, and called for their Valkyrie, Death had never come. The boys, the men, the girls, the women, and those in between must never have been worthy for the one who chooses. But tonight, she was certain her kill was the only for her only.
He was a vagabond, bearded from travel, only in town to leave again. He was a traveler of the earth, close to nature unlike all those she'd taken before. It had been years, many years since her first kill and she could imagine that the only thing she hadn't weeded out was this. The ones she had taken were taken before, by this new world they had created. Why should Death take those whom have shunned the world she was born into? So it must have been the vagabond. He wriggled under her hands as she pressed his windpipe down. The moon glinted from his eyes, then disappeared. She had taken one deep breathe for the vagabond who couldn't, and held the rest. Death wouldn't come if a single breathing creature was around, right?
And she was. The wind picked up and left, the ground seemed to fall asleep, and the scenery faded as if into a dream. She had come.
She picked herself up, ripping her body from the numb, dull ground. The air around Death danced, curvaceous. The woman walked towards Death. The vagabond had been raptured into Deaths cloak of smoke and mirrors. Gone. She pressed one hand on Deaths waist, hard and strong, and drew the cloak down over the Valkyries head. There was no woman underneath. Only the face of her father, only the face of each boy, only the face of each man she had killed.
"I know what you want child."
She couldn't help but stare at the image of Death, nothing of what she had imagined.
"Death does not court those who court death."
**Edit** **Glad to see at least two people found the land where comments go to die.** | She had seen him only once before when she was 13 years old. That was enough. She had not felt love before or since that moment, her family in the hospital, her mother in tears saying goodbye to her dying father. As a young girl she felt oddly disconnected from the experience of death. She tried not to pay attention to her dying grandfather and maybe that is why she was the only one to notice the tall dark man in an even darker suit. The suit fit him perfectly, his hair sat perfectly, his imperceptibly smile turned ever so slightly upward, perfect. She knew immediately who.. what she was looking at but not one else seemed to notice him, she didn't care.
It had been now 14 years since she had seen him. She had tried endlessly to cultivate relationship after failed relationship. She knew she should be happy but she wasn't, she had a fantastic career that she knew she should love, but she didn't. It was walking home one day after another unfulfilling day that it happened. as she was about to cross the street a young man, maybe 20 at a stretch bolted out trying to win a foot race against traffic was rag dolled horribly into the pavement by a yellow cab. She hadn't seen death, besides her grandfather, up until this point in her life and she was taken aback at how fragile a human can seem under these circumstances. A crowd had begun to gather a gape at the wrecked human in the street but she wasn't looking at the man any longer. She had seen someone... something she hadn't seen in a long long time, she smiled. A young boy across, on the other side of the street was trying not to look at the broken body in the road as his mother held his hand tightly, this was a mistake. What he saw was far more frightening, far more disturbing, looking into the crowd across from him he saw a sea of horrified faces, but that wasn't what stayed with him, it was the singular face in the very center of the crowd, the face of a pretty 27 year old girl, grinning, no, beaming from ear to ear.
She knew what she had to do. He would be there she had never been more sure of anything in her life, all she had to do was call him. She was, up until this point was an upstanding citizen so purchasing a gun was easy. She didn't want to do what she had set out to that night but the alternative seemed unbearable to her. She hailed a cab and asked to be driven out to a diner about 5 kilometers outside of town. As the cab left the city lights there was a loud flash, a surprisingly quiet crack and a splat of red on the inside of the front windshield. She was so surprised at what had happened she looked behind her to make sure was truly her who had shot the cabbie but it had been, she had been so anxious to see him again that the gun had gone off in her hands. Luckily the bullet had met its target. Where was he she thought and then as if prompted by her thoughts he appeared looked at the dead cab driver, turned slowly and then looked directly into her eyes, the same imperceptible smile crept across his face and just like that he was gone.
She was giddy, she pulsated with excitement, it had worked! She somehow knew it would but all the same it make her feel more alive, more powerful, more fulfilled than she ever had before. She was in love.
For the next 2 months she continued, person after person. At first she tried to find "forgettable" people, homeless people, lonely hearts, drug addicts. Anyone she sensed was vulnerable and alone. Night after night she met with him, always the same a quick blast, a flash of red and then him. With his hand on the heart of the person he was there to take with him he would look over stare into her eyes, smile, and then vanish. It was only in this last night that she discovered what she could do to make him stay longer.
After 4 weeks of avoiding taking a cabbie she decided that it had been long enough and she would go again. She liked using the cabbies, it was easy, get in, tell them where to go, and then do it. They never expect a thing. This time however was different, he saw, just as she was taking the gun from her purse he saw the flash of gun metal and slammed on the breaks and bolted from the car into the woods. She was startled, this had never happened before but she knew she couldn't let him go so took off after him. She was wearing good sneakers, she always did now after an incident in the park about 2 weeks earlier where a homeless man almost got away and she had to chase him through the grass with heels. She caught up with the cabbie quick enough, he as fat and slow. She pulled the gun but at the last minute he tripped and in adjusting her aim, fired low and hit him through the lower abdomen. He couldn't move, she had hit his spine and he was bleeding out, slowly. "Shit" she muttered allowed, this was going to take a while for him to arrive but she would wait. At the end of that thought she had a pleasant surprise, he was there, coming through the woods towards the fallen man. He put his hand over his heart and waited. He waited some more. He slowly turned his head, smiled imperceptibly and said I always have to work for these ones. Her jaw dropped, she had never heard him speak before. It was a rich low voice that made her knees shake, and not in the romantic "weak in the knees" sense, no, she felt a shear other worldly power in his voice that scared her... she loved it. He stayed for almost 20 minutes waiting, working to take this mans soul back with him. Right before he left was the only other time he spoke. He just said, you know what you have to do. He vanished again just as the dead mans eyes glazed over. She shuttered, she did know. She would have to die.
She made it home late that night, the cab had gone farther out of the city than she had remembered but she didn't sleep when she got in. There was no sleep for someone embroiled in the same line of thought that she was in. It seemed so foreign to her that this was the way, but no matter how she worked through it, it seemed inevitable. If she wanted to be with him then it had to be done, he had told her it had to be done, didn't he?
The next night was when it would happen, she had gone to the store and bought a length of rope. She already had a gun but didn't want to shoot herself, what happens if you look the same after you are dead as you do the moment that you die. She didn't want to exist forever with giant hole through her head, it seemed, unpleasant. That evening she put on her favorite outfit. She looked up online how to properly tie the noose and then secure the other end. The last thing she wanted was to end up in the hospital maimed but alive. She needed to die. She stood on the outside edge of the oak banister she had secured the rope to. The other end was looped securely around her neck. She had tied off enough slack that should would fall about three feet before quickly stopping at the end of her rope to visit with the man she had come to see. She closed her eyes, smiled and stepped off the edge. She jerked and swung back and forth, she opened her eyes and for an instant she panicked, not because she was going to die but that she wasn't already dead. Her fears were waylay-ed as she saw him slide open the patio door and stroll casually through her living room and up to stare are her face to face. He was taller than she had remembered, he must have been as she knew her face was about 10 feet from the ground. "Hello" he said. She tried to speak but couldn't but he knew what she was thinking, he could hear her thoughts. "Yes" he said "I am here for you". He placed his hand over her heart. "We can finally be together" she thought but to this he laughed, a full, powerful, crushing laugh. "No" he said, her heart sank and the panic welled up again inside of her. "You thought that is what I wanted?", "I did not want for 'Us' as you put it", "I wanted you". She clawed at her noose, but it was too late, she could feel herself being taken from her body, she could feel the power in that hand on her chest pulling her soul from her flesh. She was gone. Just before she last slipped away he looked deep into her eyes, smiled imperceptible and whispered "Luckily for you, you have friends where you are going, you should know, you gave them to me yourself". She slipped away and was gone. He took his hand from her chest, turned and strolled casually back out the patio door and into the woods. "Us" He chuckled to himself as he faded into nothing. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | At first I lived in wedded bliss,
No other did I crave.
Until my husband felt Death's kiss,
And took an early grave.
I saw him fade in by his side,
Upon that chilling bed.
His face the sweeping cloak did hide,
The Master of the Dead.
A feeling swept upon my heart,
A love novel and strong.
Was Death my soul mate from the start?
How could this rush be wrong?
I craved the void, the empty gaze,
Beneath the tattered cloak.
Must I wait til end of days,
When my soul he'd revoke?
It started with a single man,
A pill slipped into a drink.
That I'd have a sinister plan,
Was naught the men would think.
From one to five, and to a score,
The times I saw his scythe.
Yet still I craved him ever more,
And murdered for his tithe.
I can no longer wait and kill,
'Til my love will I see.
I swallow now this final pill,
So Death can come for me.
| She had seen him only once before when she was 13 years old. That was enough. She had not felt love before or since that moment, her family in the hospital, her mother in tears saying goodbye to her dying father. As a young girl she felt oddly disconnected from the experience of death. She tried not to pay attention to her dying grandfather and maybe that is why she was the only one to notice the tall dark man in an even darker suit. The suit fit him perfectly, his hair sat perfectly, his imperceptibly smile turned ever so slightly upward, perfect. She knew immediately who.. what she was looking at but not one else seemed to notice him, she didn't care.
It had been now 14 years since she had seen him. She had tried endlessly to cultivate relationship after failed relationship. She knew she should be happy but she wasn't, she had a fantastic career that she knew she should love, but she didn't. It was walking home one day after another unfulfilling day that it happened. as she was about to cross the street a young man, maybe 20 at a stretch bolted out trying to win a foot race against traffic was rag dolled horribly into the pavement by a yellow cab. She hadn't seen death, besides her grandfather, up until this point in her life and she was taken aback at how fragile a human can seem under these circumstances. A crowd had begun to gather a gape at the wrecked human in the street but she wasn't looking at the man any longer. She had seen someone... something she hadn't seen in a long long time, she smiled. A young boy across, on the other side of the street was trying not to look at the broken body in the road as his mother held his hand tightly, this was a mistake. What he saw was far more frightening, far more disturbing, looking into the crowd across from him he saw a sea of horrified faces, but that wasn't what stayed with him, it was the singular face in the very center of the crowd, the face of a pretty 27 year old girl, grinning, no, beaming from ear to ear.
She knew what she had to do. He would be there she had never been more sure of anything in her life, all she had to do was call him. She was, up until this point was an upstanding citizen so purchasing a gun was easy. She didn't want to do what she had set out to that night but the alternative seemed unbearable to her. She hailed a cab and asked to be driven out to a diner about 5 kilometers outside of town. As the cab left the city lights there was a loud flash, a surprisingly quiet crack and a splat of red on the inside of the front windshield. She was so surprised at what had happened she looked behind her to make sure was truly her who had shot the cabbie but it had been, she had been so anxious to see him again that the gun had gone off in her hands. Luckily the bullet had met its target. Where was he she thought and then as if prompted by her thoughts he appeared looked at the dead cab driver, turned slowly and then looked directly into her eyes, the same imperceptible smile crept across his face and just like that he was gone.
She was giddy, she pulsated with excitement, it had worked! She somehow knew it would but all the same it make her feel more alive, more powerful, more fulfilled than she ever had before. She was in love.
For the next 2 months she continued, person after person. At first she tried to find "forgettable" people, homeless people, lonely hearts, drug addicts. Anyone she sensed was vulnerable and alone. Night after night she met with him, always the same a quick blast, a flash of red and then him. With his hand on the heart of the person he was there to take with him he would look over stare into her eyes, smile, and then vanish. It was only in this last night that she discovered what she could do to make him stay longer.
After 4 weeks of avoiding taking a cabbie she decided that it had been long enough and she would go again. She liked using the cabbies, it was easy, get in, tell them where to go, and then do it. They never expect a thing. This time however was different, he saw, just as she was taking the gun from her purse he saw the flash of gun metal and slammed on the breaks and bolted from the car into the woods. She was startled, this had never happened before but she knew she couldn't let him go so took off after him. She was wearing good sneakers, she always did now after an incident in the park about 2 weeks earlier where a homeless man almost got away and she had to chase him through the grass with heels. She caught up with the cabbie quick enough, he as fat and slow. She pulled the gun but at the last minute he tripped and in adjusting her aim, fired low and hit him through the lower abdomen. He couldn't move, she had hit his spine and he was bleeding out, slowly. "Shit" she muttered allowed, this was going to take a while for him to arrive but she would wait. At the end of that thought she had a pleasant surprise, he was there, coming through the woods towards the fallen man. He put his hand over his heart and waited. He waited some more. He slowly turned his head, smiled imperceptibly and said I always have to work for these ones. Her jaw dropped, she had never heard him speak before. It was a rich low voice that made her knees shake, and not in the romantic "weak in the knees" sense, no, she felt a shear other worldly power in his voice that scared her... she loved it. He stayed for almost 20 minutes waiting, working to take this mans soul back with him. Right before he left was the only other time he spoke. He just said, you know what you have to do. He vanished again just as the dead mans eyes glazed over. She shuttered, she did know. She would have to die.
She made it home late that night, the cab had gone farther out of the city than she had remembered but she didn't sleep when she got in. There was no sleep for someone embroiled in the same line of thought that she was in. It seemed so foreign to her that this was the way, but no matter how she worked through it, it seemed inevitable. If she wanted to be with him then it had to be done, he had told her it had to be done, didn't he?
The next night was when it would happen, she had gone to the store and bought a length of rope. She already had a gun but didn't want to shoot herself, what happens if you look the same after you are dead as you do the moment that you die. She didn't want to exist forever with giant hole through her head, it seemed, unpleasant. That evening she put on her favorite outfit. She looked up online how to properly tie the noose and then secure the other end. The last thing she wanted was to end up in the hospital maimed but alive. She needed to die. She stood on the outside edge of the oak banister she had secured the rope to. The other end was looped securely around her neck. She had tied off enough slack that should would fall about three feet before quickly stopping at the end of her rope to visit with the man she had come to see. She closed her eyes, smiled and stepped off the edge. She jerked and swung back and forth, she opened her eyes and for an instant she panicked, not because she was going to die but that she wasn't already dead. Her fears were waylay-ed as she saw him slide open the patio door and stroll casually through her living room and up to stare are her face to face. He was taller than she had remembered, he must have been as she knew her face was about 10 feet from the ground. "Hello" he said. She tried to speak but couldn't but he knew what she was thinking, he could hear her thoughts. "Yes" he said "I am here for you". He placed his hand over her heart. "We can finally be together" she thought but to this he laughed, a full, powerful, crushing laugh. "No" he said, her heart sank and the panic welled up again inside of her. "You thought that is what I wanted?", "I did not want for 'Us' as you put it", "I wanted you". She clawed at her noose, but it was too late, she could feel herself being taken from her body, she could feel the power in that hand on her chest pulling her soul from her flesh. She was gone. Just before she last slipped away he looked deep into her eyes, smiled imperceptible and whispered "Luckily for you, you have friends where you are going, you should know, you gave them to me yourself". She slipped away and was gone. He took his hand from her chest, turned and strolled casually back out the patio door and into the woods. "Us" He chuckled to himself as he faded into nothing. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | Another night, another bloodstained knife. The daylight gave way to darkness as the candlelight flickered and the streets outside quickly became deserted.
He had put up a fight, this one. It had become routine and she had been careless, even arrogant as she settled back into it. The knife that was missing from the dinner table was small enough to not be missed, but as she approached him the candlelight flickered and her shadow on the wall reaching for him alerted her prey.
This one's name was Calvin, or perhaps Clarke. She tried not to remember their names. There were moments where she wondered how she had ended up here, but she needed it. It mystified her, and she may have been the only living person to know it existed. She felt a certain pride in that fact, though afterwards she always wondered why - at least for a little while.
Spinning around, he had deflected the thrusting knife and managed to take it from her, thrusting it back towards her. She had moved to the side, avoiding it, and they circled. Mori, as she called herself, didn't give him time to do anything else. Growing impatient so close to her prize, she pulled a small gun from the back of her jeans and shot him in the neck.
The body slumped to the ground as the gunshot echoed through the streets. She noted it but quickly brushed it aside, as short-sighted as that may have been. She had done it, and she would see it again.
*It is nice to see you once more.*
She swung around to see its face, its hollow eye sockets somehow glowing in its deep black hood. There had been no sound, no whisper, he could have been there all along. That familiar feeling returned to her, a sense of cold dread that sent goosebumps down her spine and stood her hair on end. She had grown to love it.
"Really?" A hopeful expression was not one that It was often greeted with. It made a noise almost like chuckling, but a little darker. *Oh yes, I knew this day would come soon.*
The man, whatever his name had been, made a gurgling sound behind her. Not quite dead, but getting there. She ignored him. "You'll stay with me then?" She looked into the dark depths of its eyes with a loving expression, her voice quivered with excitement.
*Not exactly.* Its mouth was almost grinning, but a little wrong. Her legs felt weak and she fell to her knees. She wasn't sure why, probably just overwhelmed.
"Why did you do this?" Came a voice from behind her. She turned to see the man standing above his corpse. He was an apparition, translucent, and looked like he didn't belong in this world. "I liked you." The voice sounded hollow, empty of whatever it was that had made it sound alive before.
"I had to see it. I had to!" She snapped, her strength returning as she stood up. "It belongs with me."
*I think, perhaps, that it is you who belongs with me.*
She turned back to it and moved closer, begging it to take her. Sirens echoed through the streets, ever closer. She reached for its cloak, if the shadows that made it up could be called such a thing, and gasped. Her hand was translucent. "...what?" She spun around to see the knife's handle glinting in the candlelight, its blade buried between her ribs in a pool of crimson.
*It pierced a lung.*
"What?" she repeated, dumbfounded, "but I didn't feel anything." She thought for a second as it moved towards the man, almost like walking, but a little worse. She had been too set on her goal, too focused even to notice the knife as it thundered home. "So I'm dead?"
Momentarily, Mori was devastated. She turned to the window, seeing the flashing blue lights of the police cars outside, here to investigate a gun shot. The expression quickly turned to one almost of glee, but just a little different. "So you can take me with you?" she asked, watching through the window as the police moved into the building.
*Yes.* Tears had begun to fall, like glittering pearls in the flashing blue light. *I did not know ghosts could cry.*
"I am not crying" she said, turning to show the smile on her face. It shook its head, almost mournful. *I do not understand you humans. You cower behind locked doors at night to keep the darkness at bay, but really it is your heart that is stained with shadow. Nothing else could have done this.*
The man spoke up again, finally coming to terms with the situation, "I didn't want this."
*Perhaps not, but you knew there was something off. You noticed something different, but you were too busy not thinking to realise you should have left her alone. You have lived a self-destructive life, one woman after another, never stopping even to remember names. You two are not so different, Clarke, you use people up just to move onto someone else. You have broken as many hearts as she has.*
"I didn't find the right person."
*Yes you did. But you did what you always do. You just left in the night, never giving her a chance.* The man looked into its eyes and felt eternity press down on him. He felt himself fade away, "who was she?" he asked. It just chuckled and turned away as the apparition faded until he was gone, leaving just a mangled shell of himself on the floor.
The chastisement had no effect on Mori. *My dear Eve, if you had only listened.* Its voice, if it was such a thing, was almost regretful. *I was not meant to meet you for many years.*
"I needed you," came her response, "I saw you and I had to see you again and again. You must understand."
*I do.* She gazed into its eyes and the abyss stared back as eternity pressed upon her. She felt herself fade but didn't care. She would be with him finally, and she was content.
She faded as the door burst open and armed officers stormed into the room. The police secured the crime scene, eventually linking Mori to 16 other murders. They saw nobody in the room, but one cop swore he saw something in the window from the street. It almost looked like a person, but a bit darker. | Crimson walls, muffled moans. Soul escaping into the unknown.
Sure enough Death answered the call, as he had done so many times before.
She looked at him with ecstasy, hoping it would last an eternity.
This time was different she knew for sure, for she would be with him, evermore.
Serenity fading, madness invading. She gave it all, her soul for the taking.
All for him, now she burns for her sin. All for desire now she rests on her funeral pyre. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She waited, nameless, and breathless. Her hands jagged with the dirt of struggle, though her fingers and thumbs clean where they came in deep contact with the homeless mans throat. She never thought they would have been so clean.
From the day she watched Deaths beautiful figure glide in the smoke of her fathers last cigarette, she knew what no living person on earth must know. Death was a woman. She danced, curvaceous. When blood spilled, it spilled so elegantly, and when bodies dried, they curved as if to dance with their new God.
Though the bodies twisted and contorted, and called for their Valkyrie, Death had never come. The boys, the men, the girls, the women, and those in between must never have been worthy for the one who chooses. But tonight, she was certain her kill was the only for her only.
He was a vagabond, bearded from travel, only in town to leave again. He was a traveler of the earth, close to nature unlike all those she'd taken before. It had been years, many years since her first kill and she could imagine that the only thing she hadn't weeded out was this. The ones she had taken were taken before, by this new world they had created. Why should Death take those whom have shunned the world she was born into? So it must have been the vagabond. He wriggled under her hands as she pressed his windpipe down. The moon glinted from his eyes, then disappeared. She had taken one deep breathe for the vagabond who couldn't, and held the rest. Death wouldn't come if a single breathing creature was around, right?
And she was. The wind picked up and left, the ground seemed to fall asleep, and the scenery faded as if into a dream. She had come.
She picked herself up, ripping her body from the numb, dull ground. The air around Death danced, curvaceous. The woman walked towards Death. The vagabond had been raptured into Deaths cloak of smoke and mirrors. Gone. She pressed one hand on Deaths waist, hard and strong, and drew the cloak down over the Valkyries head. There was no woman underneath. Only the face of her father, only the face of each boy, only the face of each man she had killed.
"I know what you want child."
She couldn't help but stare at the image of Death, nothing of what she had imagined.
"Death does not court those who court death."
**Edit** **Glad to see at least two people found the land where comments go to die.** | Crimson walls, muffled moans. Soul escaping into the unknown.
Sure enough Death answered the call, as he had done so many times before.
She looked at him with ecstasy, hoping it would last an eternity.
This time was different she knew for sure, for she would be with him, evermore.
Serenity fading, madness invading. She gave it all, her soul for the taking.
All for him, now she burns for her sin. All for desire now she rests on her funeral pyre. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | At first I lived in wedded bliss,
No other did I crave.
Until my husband felt Death's kiss,
And took an early grave.
I saw him fade in by his side,
Upon that chilling bed.
His face the sweeping cloak did hide,
The Master of the Dead.
A feeling swept upon my heart,
A love novel and strong.
Was Death my soul mate from the start?
How could this rush be wrong?
I craved the void, the empty gaze,
Beneath the tattered cloak.
Must I wait til end of days,
When my soul he'd revoke?
It started with a single man,
A pill slipped into a drink.
That I'd have a sinister plan,
Was naught the men would think.
From one to five, and to a score,
The times I saw his scythe.
Yet still I craved him ever more,
And murdered for his tithe.
I can no longer wait and kill,
'Til my love will I see.
I swallow now this final pill,
So Death can come for me.
| Crimson walls, muffled moans. Soul escaping into the unknown.
Sure enough Death answered the call, as he had done so many times before.
She looked at him with ecstasy, hoping it would last an eternity.
This time was different she knew for sure, for she would be with him, evermore.
Serenity fading, madness invading. She gave it all, her soul for the taking.
All for him, now she burns for her sin. All for desire now she rests on her funeral pyre. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | * *I'll preface this by saying that I never write for fun. But something about this prompt made me want to jump in. Apologies for the amateur nature of the following.*
I never should have let her in. Two hundred years of being careful, of being guarded. All that time and work, lost because I was lonely. Sandra and her husband: that was the deal. It couldn’t have been easier. A car accident is a walk in the park. No second thoughts, no planning. No thinking. Nothing.
Why did she have to look, sound, even smell like Abby? I was promised that I would never have to go through it again. One time was enough. It was supposed to be so simple. Close my eyes, conjure the event, and see it through. But I was told, no, promised Goddamnit! How does he expect me to follow through when he breaches his own contract?
Fuck it. I wisped her out of the event. She’d be sad to lose her husband, but maybe she’d feel something. Maybe she’d know it was me who “saved” her. I just couldn’t bear seeing her essence pass through my world again. I made it as much of a freak accident as I could. Kids are always throwing things off highway overpasses, Right?
I should have seen it after her coworker died. Death in bunches or spread out, that’s how it works for those who I have to visit often. I guess my infatuation made me forget that Don from accounting died on the anniversary of Sandra’s husband dying. I went to check on her at her house. She’d just recently taken down all the pictures of her and Adam. She was facing her bathroom mirror.
“I see you every day,” she whispered.
It’s always interesting to see how long it takes for some people to get over the death of a loved one. Sandra was taking her sweet time.
“I know you’re watching over me.”
No, my dear, he isn’t. They never are.
“How do we know each other?”
She was staring right through me in the mirror. There was no way she knew. Right?
| Crimson walls, muffled moans. Soul escaping into the unknown.
Sure enough Death answered the call, as he had done so many times before.
She looked at him with ecstasy, hoping it would last an eternity.
This time was different she knew for sure, for she would be with him, evermore.
Serenity fading, madness invading. She gave it all, her soul for the taking.
All for him, now she burns for her sin. All for desire now she rests on her funeral pyre. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She held the dying woman's hand. The woman, old, sick, in pain, and lonely looked up at the pretty red head. "Thank you," she whispered. Her voice was weak, but happy - hopeful.
The young lady smiled and held the older woman's hand tighter. "My pleasure," she responded.
The sick woman, the tired woman, closed her eyes and rested.
The young lady checked the woman's pulse. She was gone.
As she put away the bottle of serum and needle she had used Inez felt the room shift slightly.
Death had come.
Inez didn't turn to look at him. She was young, but she had learned from a hard early life that staring death in the face was asking for trouble. Instead she busied herself with cleaning the area. Done with her task Inez stood awkwardly in the hospice room. Death had not left.
She smoothed her nurses outfit over her hips and fixed her collar. Still Death was there.
"You need to slow down," a voice said behind her. It was as she remembered it: dark, smooth, comforting. "You'll get caught."
"They ask me," Inez replied. "They ask me to help them. It's hard to deny their pleas to save them in a way that they don't damn themselves."
"And so you damn yourself," Death was just behind her. His voice was close, but there was no breath on her ear. She shrugged.
"There are..." she hesitated, "Perks." Warmth, smooth and silk like, had began to pool in her abdomen and seep between her thighs. It did every time Death came near. This was the closet he had been. The warmth leaped up into her heart.
"You do a good thing," Death said. "You should not get caught."
Inez smiled and was glad she wasn't facing him. Her blush would be too obvious.
"I can see the headlines now," she joked. "'Hospice Nurse is Angel of ...'" She trailed off embarrassed.
She felt a hand, not bony or cold, but soothing and possibly...affectionate, touch her shoulder. "Do not get caught," Death said. "No one will understand the peace you bring."
Inez felt the room shift again. Her warmth was replaced with longing.
"No one but you," she said, but she was alone.
| Crimson walls, muffled moans. Soul escaping into the unknown.
Sure enough Death answered the call, as he had done so many times before.
She looked at him with ecstasy, hoping it would last an eternity.
This time was different she knew for sure, for she would be with him, evermore.
Serenity fading, madness invading. She gave it all, her soul for the taking.
All for him, now she burns for her sin. All for desire now she rests on her funeral pyre. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | Another night, another bloodstained knife. The daylight gave way to darkness as the candlelight flickered and the streets outside quickly became deserted.
He had put up a fight, this one. It had become routine and she had been careless, even arrogant as she settled back into it. The knife that was missing from the dinner table was small enough to not be missed, but as she approached him the candlelight flickered and her shadow on the wall reaching for him alerted her prey.
This one's name was Calvin, or perhaps Clarke. She tried not to remember their names. There were moments where she wondered how she had ended up here, but she needed it. It mystified her, and she may have been the only living person to know it existed. She felt a certain pride in that fact, though afterwards she always wondered why - at least for a little while.
Spinning around, he had deflected the thrusting knife and managed to take it from her, thrusting it back towards her. She had moved to the side, avoiding it, and they circled. Mori, as she called herself, didn't give him time to do anything else. Growing impatient so close to her prize, she pulled a small gun from the back of her jeans and shot him in the neck.
The body slumped to the ground as the gunshot echoed through the streets. She noted it but quickly brushed it aside, as short-sighted as that may have been. She had done it, and she would see it again.
*It is nice to see you once more.*
She swung around to see its face, its hollow eye sockets somehow glowing in its deep black hood. There had been no sound, no whisper, he could have been there all along. That familiar feeling returned to her, a sense of cold dread that sent goosebumps down her spine and stood her hair on end. She had grown to love it.
"Really?" A hopeful expression was not one that It was often greeted with. It made a noise almost like chuckling, but a little darker. *Oh yes, I knew this day would come soon.*
The man, whatever his name had been, made a gurgling sound behind her. Not quite dead, but getting there. She ignored him. "You'll stay with me then?" She looked into the dark depths of its eyes with a loving expression, her voice quivered with excitement.
*Not exactly.* Its mouth was almost grinning, but a little wrong. Her legs felt weak and she fell to her knees. She wasn't sure why, probably just overwhelmed.
"Why did you do this?" Came a voice from behind her. She turned to see the man standing above his corpse. He was an apparition, translucent, and looked like he didn't belong in this world. "I liked you." The voice sounded hollow, empty of whatever it was that had made it sound alive before.
"I had to see it. I had to!" She snapped, her strength returning as she stood up. "It belongs with me."
*I think, perhaps, that it is you who belongs with me.*
She turned back to it and moved closer, begging it to take her. Sirens echoed through the streets, ever closer. She reached for its cloak, if the shadows that made it up could be called such a thing, and gasped. Her hand was translucent. "...what?" She spun around to see the knife's handle glinting in the candlelight, its blade buried between her ribs in a pool of crimson.
*It pierced a lung.*
"What?" she repeated, dumbfounded, "but I didn't feel anything." She thought for a second as it moved towards the man, almost like walking, but a little worse. She had been too set on her goal, too focused even to notice the knife as it thundered home. "So I'm dead?"
Momentarily, Mori was devastated. She turned to the window, seeing the flashing blue lights of the police cars outside, here to investigate a gun shot. The expression quickly turned to one almost of glee, but just a little different. "So you can take me with you?" she asked, watching through the window as the police moved into the building.
*Yes.* Tears had begun to fall, like glittering pearls in the flashing blue light. *I did not know ghosts could cry.*
"I am not crying" she said, turning to show the smile on her face. It shook its head, almost mournful. *I do not understand you humans. You cower behind locked doors at night to keep the darkness at bay, but really it is your heart that is stained with shadow. Nothing else could have done this.*
The man spoke up again, finally coming to terms with the situation, "I didn't want this."
*Perhaps not, but you knew there was something off. You noticed something different, but you were too busy not thinking to realise you should have left her alone. You have lived a self-destructive life, one woman after another, never stopping even to remember names. You two are not so different, Clarke, you use people up just to move onto someone else. You have broken as many hearts as she has.*
"I didn't find the right person."
*Yes you did. But you did what you always do. You just left in the night, never giving her a chance.* The man looked into its eyes and felt eternity press down on him. He felt himself fade away, "who was she?" he asked. It just chuckled and turned away as the apparition faded until he was gone, leaving just a mangled shell of himself on the floor.
The chastisement had no effect on Mori. *My dear Eve, if you had only listened.* Its voice, if it was such a thing, was almost regretful. *I was not meant to meet you for many years.*
"I needed you," came her response, "I saw you and I had to see you again and again. You must understand."
*I do.* She gazed into its eyes and the abyss stared back as eternity pressed upon her. She felt herself fade but didn't care. She would be with him finally, and she was content.
She faded as the door burst open and armed officers stormed into the room. The police secured the crime scene, eventually linking Mori to 16 other murders. They saw nobody in the room, but one cop swore he saw something in the window from the street. It almost looked like a person, but a bit darker. | "Urngh.. wh..what?" The man twisted his neck to look at the face of his killer. His hands reached weakly for the knife tip protruding from his chest as he collapsed on the floor.
She gazed downward silently, emotionless. Long ago she stopped apologizing, asking for forgiveness, because to ask for forgiveness means you wouldn't do it again.
The man's eyes clouded as he felt himself succumb to blackness. He seized and slumped to the floor as the blackness surged over his being and became him, and from it emerged Death.
Death drew himself to his full height and looked at the figure before him. A woman, in her thirties, with strong hands and shoulders and long hair bound behind her in a thick cord that fell down her back. A face he recognized.
He looked into her and felt that determination, smoldering, knew it, knew it was precipitated by a mixture of confusion and desire, and had become fuel for the evil she forced herself to do. The man's life came to rest in him, like a drop falling from miles above into a vast still pool. Ripples propagated outwards, merging with billions of others.
She blinked. Nothing. For a moment, she allowed herself to think back to *the* memory. Her father, in the seat next to her, face a rictus of irrepressible agony. Torso stretched and torn by the steel bar that had punched through his ribcage at twice the speed of sound in that instant of explosive violence. His head swung on a hinge to face her and she saw his terror.
Behind him appeared a wavering shadow, as tall as the sky to her thirteen year-old self, and the air around it seemed to swallow the sounds of the accident. In that moment outside of time the shadow had gathered her father and his fear and his pain and gently, lovingly, taken each piece into himself. She saw it, she saw *him*, and could not ever forget.
The blood was dry when she came back to her senses. Nothing. Still nothing. He eluded her, again. But she would find him.
Death looked back at her, sorrowful, and stepped back into the void. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She waited, nameless, and breathless. Her hands jagged with the dirt of struggle, though her fingers and thumbs clean where they came in deep contact with the homeless mans throat. She never thought they would have been so clean.
From the day she watched Deaths beautiful figure glide in the smoke of her fathers last cigarette, she knew what no living person on earth must know. Death was a woman. She danced, curvaceous. When blood spilled, it spilled so elegantly, and when bodies dried, they curved as if to dance with their new God.
Though the bodies twisted and contorted, and called for their Valkyrie, Death had never come. The boys, the men, the girls, the women, and those in between must never have been worthy for the one who chooses. But tonight, she was certain her kill was the only for her only.
He was a vagabond, bearded from travel, only in town to leave again. He was a traveler of the earth, close to nature unlike all those she'd taken before. It had been years, many years since her first kill and she could imagine that the only thing she hadn't weeded out was this. The ones she had taken were taken before, by this new world they had created. Why should Death take those whom have shunned the world she was born into? So it must have been the vagabond. He wriggled under her hands as she pressed his windpipe down. The moon glinted from his eyes, then disappeared. She had taken one deep breathe for the vagabond who couldn't, and held the rest. Death wouldn't come if a single breathing creature was around, right?
And she was. The wind picked up and left, the ground seemed to fall asleep, and the scenery faded as if into a dream. She had come.
She picked herself up, ripping her body from the numb, dull ground. The air around Death danced, curvaceous. The woman walked towards Death. The vagabond had been raptured into Deaths cloak of smoke and mirrors. Gone. She pressed one hand on Deaths waist, hard and strong, and drew the cloak down over the Valkyries head. There was no woman underneath. Only the face of her father, only the face of each boy, only the face of each man she had killed.
"I know what you want child."
She couldn't help but stare at the image of Death, nothing of what she had imagined.
"Death does not court those who court death."
**Edit** **Glad to see at least two people found the land where comments go to die.** | "Urngh.. wh..what?" The man twisted his neck to look at the face of his killer. His hands reached weakly for the knife tip protruding from his chest as he collapsed on the floor.
She gazed downward silently, emotionless. Long ago she stopped apologizing, asking for forgiveness, because to ask for forgiveness means you wouldn't do it again.
The man's eyes clouded as he felt himself succumb to blackness. He seized and slumped to the floor as the blackness surged over his being and became him, and from it emerged Death.
Death drew himself to his full height and looked at the figure before him. A woman, in her thirties, with strong hands and shoulders and long hair bound behind her in a thick cord that fell down her back. A face he recognized.
He looked into her and felt that determination, smoldering, knew it, knew it was precipitated by a mixture of confusion and desire, and had become fuel for the evil she forced herself to do. The man's life came to rest in him, like a drop falling from miles above into a vast still pool. Ripples propagated outwards, merging with billions of others.
She blinked. Nothing. For a moment, she allowed herself to think back to *the* memory. Her father, in the seat next to her, face a rictus of irrepressible agony. Torso stretched and torn by the steel bar that had punched through his ribcage at twice the speed of sound in that instant of explosive violence. His head swung on a hinge to face her and she saw his terror.
Behind him appeared a wavering shadow, as tall as the sky to her thirteen year-old self, and the air around it seemed to swallow the sounds of the accident. In that moment outside of time the shadow had gathered her father and his fear and his pain and gently, lovingly, taken each piece into himself. She saw it, she saw *him*, and could not ever forget.
The blood was dry when she came back to her senses. Nothing. Still nothing. He eluded her, again. But she would find him.
Death looked back at her, sorrowful, and stepped back into the void. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | At first I lived in wedded bliss,
No other did I crave.
Until my husband felt Death's kiss,
And took an early grave.
I saw him fade in by his side,
Upon that chilling bed.
His face the sweeping cloak did hide,
The Master of the Dead.
A feeling swept upon my heart,
A love novel and strong.
Was Death my soul mate from the start?
How could this rush be wrong?
I craved the void, the empty gaze,
Beneath the tattered cloak.
Must I wait til end of days,
When my soul he'd revoke?
It started with a single man,
A pill slipped into a drink.
That I'd have a sinister plan,
Was naught the men would think.
From one to five, and to a score,
The times I saw his scythe.
Yet still I craved him ever more,
And murdered for his tithe.
I can no longer wait and kill,
'Til my love will I see.
I swallow now this final pill,
So Death can come for me.
| "Urngh.. wh..what?" The man twisted his neck to look at the face of his killer. His hands reached weakly for the knife tip protruding from his chest as he collapsed on the floor.
She gazed downward silently, emotionless. Long ago she stopped apologizing, asking for forgiveness, because to ask for forgiveness means you wouldn't do it again.
The man's eyes clouded as he felt himself succumb to blackness. He seized and slumped to the floor as the blackness surged over his being and became him, and from it emerged Death.
Death drew himself to his full height and looked at the figure before him. A woman, in her thirties, with strong hands and shoulders and long hair bound behind her in a thick cord that fell down her back. A face he recognized.
He looked into her and felt that determination, smoldering, knew it, knew it was precipitated by a mixture of confusion and desire, and had become fuel for the evil she forced herself to do. The man's life came to rest in him, like a drop falling from miles above into a vast still pool. Ripples propagated outwards, merging with billions of others.
She blinked. Nothing. For a moment, she allowed herself to think back to *the* memory. Her father, in the seat next to her, face a rictus of irrepressible agony. Torso stretched and torn by the steel bar that had punched through his ribcage at twice the speed of sound in that instant of explosive violence. His head swung on a hinge to face her and she saw his terror.
Behind him appeared a wavering shadow, as tall as the sky to her thirteen year-old self, and the air around it seemed to swallow the sounds of the accident. In that moment outside of time the shadow had gathered her father and his fear and his pain and gently, lovingly, taken each piece into himself. She saw it, she saw *him*, and could not ever forget.
The blood was dry when she came back to her senses. Nothing. Still nothing. He eluded her, again. But she would find him.
Death looked back at her, sorrowful, and stepped back into the void. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She held the dying woman's hand. The woman, old, sick, in pain, and lonely looked up at the pretty red head. "Thank you," she whispered. Her voice was weak, but happy - hopeful.
The young lady smiled and held the older woman's hand tighter. "My pleasure," she responded.
The sick woman, the tired woman, closed her eyes and rested.
The young lady checked the woman's pulse. She was gone.
As she put away the bottle of serum and needle she had used Inez felt the room shift slightly.
Death had come.
Inez didn't turn to look at him. She was young, but she had learned from a hard early life that staring death in the face was asking for trouble. Instead she busied herself with cleaning the area. Done with her task Inez stood awkwardly in the hospice room. Death had not left.
She smoothed her nurses outfit over her hips and fixed her collar. Still Death was there.
"You need to slow down," a voice said behind her. It was as she remembered it: dark, smooth, comforting. "You'll get caught."
"They ask me," Inez replied. "They ask me to help them. It's hard to deny their pleas to save them in a way that they don't damn themselves."
"And so you damn yourself," Death was just behind her. His voice was close, but there was no breath on her ear. She shrugged.
"There are..." she hesitated, "Perks." Warmth, smooth and silk like, had began to pool in her abdomen and seep between her thighs. It did every time Death came near. This was the closet he had been. The warmth leaped up into her heart.
"You do a good thing," Death said. "You should not get caught."
Inez smiled and was glad she wasn't facing him. Her blush would be too obvious.
"I can see the headlines now," she joked. "'Hospice Nurse is Angel of ...'" She trailed off embarrassed.
She felt a hand, not bony or cold, but soothing and possibly...affectionate, touch her shoulder. "Do not get caught," Death said. "No one will understand the peace you bring."
Inez felt the room shift again. Her warmth was replaced with longing.
"No one but you," she said, but she was alone.
| "Urngh.. wh..what?" The man twisted his neck to look at the face of his killer. His hands reached weakly for the knife tip protruding from his chest as he collapsed on the floor.
She gazed downward silently, emotionless. Long ago she stopped apologizing, asking for forgiveness, because to ask for forgiveness means you wouldn't do it again.
The man's eyes clouded as he felt himself succumb to blackness. He seized and slumped to the floor as the blackness surged over his being and became him, and from it emerged Death.
Death drew himself to his full height and looked at the figure before him. A woman, in her thirties, with strong hands and shoulders and long hair bound behind her in a thick cord that fell down her back. A face he recognized.
He looked into her and felt that determination, smoldering, knew it, knew it was precipitated by a mixture of confusion and desire, and had become fuel for the evil she forced herself to do. The man's life came to rest in him, like a drop falling from miles above into a vast still pool. Ripples propagated outwards, merging with billions of others.
She blinked. Nothing. For a moment, she allowed herself to think back to *the* memory. Her father, in the seat next to her, face a rictus of irrepressible agony. Torso stretched and torn by the steel bar that had punched through his ribcage at twice the speed of sound in that instant of explosive violence. His head swung on a hinge to face her and she saw his terror.
Behind him appeared a wavering shadow, as tall as the sky to her thirteen year-old self, and the air around it seemed to swallow the sounds of the accident. In that moment outside of time the shadow had gathered her father and his fear and his pain and gently, lovingly, taken each piece into himself. She saw it, she saw *him*, and could not ever forget.
The blood was dry when she came back to her senses. Nothing. Still nothing. He eluded her, again. But she would find him.
Death looked back at her, sorrowful, and stepped back into the void. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She stood alone on the roof. The wind blew faintly, whistling through the bulletholes in a final protest. A smile threatened to leap forth, but she kept it in check. This was the best part.
The temperature dropped, and the surrounding light seemed to dim. There he was. He strode confidently among the bodies, leading the souls to the afterlife with macabre grace. The smile burst forth now full and unencumbered. She swept her jet black hair back into a messy bun.
"Long time, no see." He said casually.
"It has been a while... what have you been up to?"
"Oh you know, ushering souls to the underworld, the usual."
Something was off. All of the dead had a string leading to their cause of death, and most of them pointed to her. Actually, she was somewhat restless herself. And, was that lipstick?
"Why are you doing this?" He asked in a measured tone.
"Doing what?" Innocence. Nice try.
"Killing. Murdering. You're a good girl Aya." Her smile was contagious.
"But only in death can I see you."
"And? Seriously I'm old enough to have started your bloodline--"
"Age doesn't apply in this sort of thing."
He sighed. She was right. He remebered sparing her like it was yesterday. The fire that had killed her parents after their meth experiment went wrong. All their drug use had taken it's toll on her when she was born. It had taken all he had to give her a chance.
Then he felt it. Slim fingers entwining with his own. That wasn't possible. He looked at her and she was still alive. Still there.
"Just like you have to bear the burdens of the dead, I'll be there to bear yours."
"....Promise?" | The air slowly became dense and cold, and darkness began to creep forward, the shadows on the walls spilling out and consuming the room. She was unsure if this was due 'his' return or the heavy burden she felt from what she had done. She sat there crumpled, her head lowered and her soul sombre. The light seemed to slowly seep out of the room, pulling every tone and hue with it as the light slowly withered and died, all colour fading to a simple dank grey, which then was taken over by a sudden intense piercing white. She raised her head up slowly facing the sky and her body followed, raising herself slowly into a slightly hunched upright stance, her shoulders still heavy and her breathing becoming increasing deeper yet slow and steady. Her breath turning into misty fog from the piercing cold which crept up an enveloped her.
A fog like shadow appeared. It stood tall and menacing, seemingly stretched over her. It was elongated and distorted, not something of this world. The fog began to clear and presence underneath this shadow began to come forth, like reeds through muddy water. Now, A long tattered black cloak that ran down and spewed out over the floor, reaching and stretching over and into all space like a virus, a tall but drooped hood adorned by a thick crown of twisted and charred black thorns, some caught in the fabric of the hood. Long bone fingers emerged from under the sea of fabric and reached out from under the cloth and pointed towards the floor, the cloth hung long and weighted from the ivory bones. She knew what 'he' was referring too.
Her eyes rolled slowly down following the creases and crevices of the fabric and down onto the floor beside 'him,' her gaze glided over the horror she had committed, but she quickly turned away in shame. She looked back up to him searching in the void of shadows under the hood for a face. Her eyes were wide and pleading. She knew 'he' would leave, she would be alone again. She did not want him to take the 'other' in his arms, and hold them close in his embrace. She wanted his caress, his touch, his kiss. Her eyes tightened, holding the tears back, not allowing them to break. Once her eyes opened, she was back in reality. No white, no dense cold, just her and the 'other'. He was gone. She prepared herself to leave and go out into the night, what would she do to see him again? Who would suffer for her? Insanity and devotion has made her make the wrong choices, choices she was prepared to make again, despite it tore her soul apart and killed her slowly each time. But, you can't help who you love.
*My first post here...lurking for a while. Hope you all enjoy. x* |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | At first I lived in wedded bliss,
No other did I crave.
Until my husband felt Death's kiss,
And took an early grave.
I saw him fade in by his side,
Upon that chilling bed.
His face the sweeping cloak did hide,
The Master of the Dead.
A feeling swept upon my heart,
A love novel and strong.
Was Death my soul mate from the start?
How could this rush be wrong?
I craved the void, the empty gaze,
Beneath the tattered cloak.
Must I wait til end of days,
When my soul he'd revoke?
It started with a single man,
A pill slipped into a drink.
That I'd have a sinister plan,
Was naught the men would think.
From one to five, and to a score,
The times I saw his scythe.
Yet still I craved him ever more,
And murdered for his tithe.
I can no longer wait and kill,
'Til my love will I see.
I swallow now this final pill,
So Death can come for me.
| The air slowly became dense and cold, and darkness began to creep forward, the shadows on the walls spilling out and consuming the room. She was unsure if this was due 'his' return or the heavy burden she felt from what she had done. She sat there crumpled, her head lowered and her soul sombre. The light seemed to slowly seep out of the room, pulling every tone and hue with it as the light slowly withered and died, all colour fading to a simple dank grey, which then was taken over by a sudden intense piercing white. She raised her head up slowly facing the sky and her body followed, raising herself slowly into a slightly hunched upright stance, her shoulders still heavy and her breathing becoming increasing deeper yet slow and steady. Her breath turning into misty fog from the piercing cold which crept up an enveloped her.
A fog like shadow appeared. It stood tall and menacing, seemingly stretched over her. It was elongated and distorted, not something of this world. The fog began to clear and presence underneath this shadow began to come forth, like reeds through muddy water. Now, A long tattered black cloak that ran down and spewed out over the floor, reaching and stretching over and into all space like a virus, a tall but drooped hood adorned by a thick crown of twisted and charred black thorns, some caught in the fabric of the hood. Long bone fingers emerged from under the sea of fabric and reached out from under the cloth and pointed towards the floor, the cloth hung long and weighted from the ivory bones. She knew what 'he' was referring too.
Her eyes rolled slowly down following the creases and crevices of the fabric and down onto the floor beside 'him,' her gaze glided over the horror she had committed, but she quickly turned away in shame. She looked back up to him searching in the void of shadows under the hood for a face. Her eyes were wide and pleading. She knew 'he' would leave, she would be alone again. She did not want him to take the 'other' in his arms, and hold them close in his embrace. She wanted his caress, his touch, his kiss. Her eyes tightened, holding the tears back, not allowing them to break. Once her eyes opened, she was back in reality. No white, no dense cold, just her and the 'other'. He was gone. She prepared herself to leave and go out into the night, what would she do to see him again? Who would suffer for her? Insanity and devotion has made her make the wrong choices, choices she was prepared to make again, despite it tore her soul apart and killed her slowly each time. But, you can't help who you love.
*My first post here...lurking for a while. Hope you all enjoy. x* |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | * *I'll preface this by saying that I never write for fun. But something about this prompt made me want to jump in. Apologies for the amateur nature of the following.*
I never should have let her in. Two hundred years of being careful, of being guarded. All that time and work, lost because I was lonely. Sandra and her husband: that was the deal. It couldn’t have been easier. A car accident is a walk in the park. No second thoughts, no planning. No thinking. Nothing.
Why did she have to look, sound, even smell like Abby? I was promised that I would never have to go through it again. One time was enough. It was supposed to be so simple. Close my eyes, conjure the event, and see it through. But I was told, no, promised Goddamnit! How does he expect me to follow through when he breaches his own contract?
Fuck it. I wisped her out of the event. She’d be sad to lose her husband, but maybe she’d feel something. Maybe she’d know it was me who “saved” her. I just couldn’t bear seeing her essence pass through my world again. I made it as much of a freak accident as I could. Kids are always throwing things off highway overpasses, Right?
I should have seen it after her coworker died. Death in bunches or spread out, that’s how it works for those who I have to visit often. I guess my infatuation made me forget that Don from accounting died on the anniversary of Sandra’s husband dying. I went to check on her at her house. She’d just recently taken down all the pictures of her and Adam. She was facing her bathroom mirror.
“I see you every day,” she whispered.
It’s always interesting to see how long it takes for some people to get over the death of a loved one. Sandra was taking her sweet time.
“I know you’re watching over me.”
No, my dear, he isn’t. They never are.
“How do we know each other?”
She was staring right through me in the mirror. There was no way she knew. Right?
| The air slowly became dense and cold, and darkness began to creep forward, the shadows on the walls spilling out and consuming the room. She was unsure if this was due 'his' return or the heavy burden she felt from what she had done. She sat there crumpled, her head lowered and her soul sombre. The light seemed to slowly seep out of the room, pulling every tone and hue with it as the light slowly withered and died, all colour fading to a simple dank grey, which then was taken over by a sudden intense piercing white. She raised her head up slowly facing the sky and her body followed, raising herself slowly into a slightly hunched upright stance, her shoulders still heavy and her breathing becoming increasing deeper yet slow and steady. Her breath turning into misty fog from the piercing cold which crept up an enveloped her.
A fog like shadow appeared. It stood tall and menacing, seemingly stretched over her. It was elongated and distorted, not something of this world. The fog began to clear and presence underneath this shadow began to come forth, like reeds through muddy water. Now, A long tattered black cloak that ran down and spewed out over the floor, reaching and stretching over and into all space like a virus, a tall but drooped hood adorned by a thick crown of twisted and charred black thorns, some caught in the fabric of the hood. Long bone fingers emerged from under the sea of fabric and reached out from under the cloth and pointed towards the floor, the cloth hung long and weighted from the ivory bones. She knew what 'he' was referring too.
Her eyes rolled slowly down following the creases and crevices of the fabric and down onto the floor beside 'him,' her gaze glided over the horror she had committed, but she quickly turned away in shame. She looked back up to him searching in the void of shadows under the hood for a face. Her eyes were wide and pleading. She knew 'he' would leave, she would be alone again. She did not want him to take the 'other' in his arms, and hold them close in his embrace. She wanted his caress, his touch, his kiss. Her eyes tightened, holding the tears back, not allowing them to break. Once her eyes opened, she was back in reality. No white, no dense cold, just her and the 'other'. He was gone. She prepared herself to leave and go out into the night, what would she do to see him again? Who would suffer for her? Insanity and devotion has made her make the wrong choices, choices she was prepared to make again, despite it tore her soul apart and killed her slowly each time. But, you can't help who you love.
*My first post here...lurking for a while. Hope you all enjoy. x* |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She held the dying woman's hand. The woman, old, sick, in pain, and lonely looked up at the pretty red head. "Thank you," she whispered. Her voice was weak, but happy - hopeful.
The young lady smiled and held the older woman's hand tighter. "My pleasure," she responded.
The sick woman, the tired woman, closed her eyes and rested.
The young lady checked the woman's pulse. She was gone.
As she put away the bottle of serum and needle she had used Inez felt the room shift slightly.
Death had come.
Inez didn't turn to look at him. She was young, but she had learned from a hard early life that staring death in the face was asking for trouble. Instead she busied herself with cleaning the area. Done with her task Inez stood awkwardly in the hospice room. Death had not left.
She smoothed her nurses outfit over her hips and fixed her collar. Still Death was there.
"You need to slow down," a voice said behind her. It was as she remembered it: dark, smooth, comforting. "You'll get caught."
"They ask me," Inez replied. "They ask me to help them. It's hard to deny their pleas to save them in a way that they don't damn themselves."
"And so you damn yourself," Death was just behind her. His voice was close, but there was no breath on her ear. She shrugged.
"There are..." she hesitated, "Perks." Warmth, smooth and silk like, had began to pool in her abdomen and seep between her thighs. It did every time Death came near. This was the closet he had been. The warmth leaped up into her heart.
"You do a good thing," Death said. "You should not get caught."
Inez smiled and was glad she wasn't facing him. Her blush would be too obvious.
"I can see the headlines now," she joked. "'Hospice Nurse is Angel of ...'" She trailed off embarrassed.
She felt a hand, not bony or cold, but soothing and possibly...affectionate, touch her shoulder. "Do not get caught," Death said. "No one will understand the peace you bring."
Inez felt the room shift again. Her warmth was replaced with longing.
"No one but you," she said, but she was alone.
| The air slowly became dense and cold, and darkness began to creep forward, the shadows on the walls spilling out and consuming the room. She was unsure if this was due 'his' return or the heavy burden she felt from what she had done. She sat there crumpled, her head lowered and her soul sombre. The light seemed to slowly seep out of the room, pulling every tone and hue with it as the light slowly withered and died, all colour fading to a simple dank grey, which then was taken over by a sudden intense piercing white. She raised her head up slowly facing the sky and her body followed, raising herself slowly into a slightly hunched upright stance, her shoulders still heavy and her breathing becoming increasing deeper yet slow and steady. Her breath turning into misty fog from the piercing cold which crept up an enveloped her.
A fog like shadow appeared. It stood tall and menacing, seemingly stretched over her. It was elongated and distorted, not something of this world. The fog began to clear and presence underneath this shadow began to come forth, like reeds through muddy water. Now, A long tattered black cloak that ran down and spewed out over the floor, reaching and stretching over and into all space like a virus, a tall but drooped hood adorned by a thick crown of twisted and charred black thorns, some caught in the fabric of the hood. Long bone fingers emerged from under the sea of fabric and reached out from under the cloth and pointed towards the floor, the cloth hung long and weighted from the ivory bones. She knew what 'he' was referring too.
Her eyes rolled slowly down following the creases and crevices of the fabric and down onto the floor beside 'him,' her gaze glided over the horror she had committed, but she quickly turned away in shame. She looked back up to him searching in the void of shadows under the hood for a face. Her eyes were wide and pleading. She knew 'he' would leave, she would be alone again. She did not want him to take the 'other' in his arms, and hold them close in his embrace. She wanted his caress, his touch, his kiss. Her eyes tightened, holding the tears back, not allowing them to break. Once her eyes opened, she was back in reality. No white, no dense cold, just her and the 'other'. He was gone. She prepared herself to leave and go out into the night, what would she do to see him again? Who would suffer for her? Insanity and devotion has made her make the wrong choices, choices she was prepared to make again, despite it tore her soul apart and killed her slowly each time. But, you can't help who you love.
*My first post here...lurking for a while. Hope you all enjoy. x* |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She stood alone on the roof. The wind blew faintly, whistling through the bulletholes in a final protest. A smile threatened to leap forth, but she kept it in check. This was the best part.
The temperature dropped, and the surrounding light seemed to dim. There he was. He strode confidently among the bodies, leading the souls to the afterlife with macabre grace. The smile burst forth now full and unencumbered. She swept her jet black hair back into a messy bun.
"Long time, no see." He said casually.
"It has been a while... what have you been up to?"
"Oh you know, ushering souls to the underworld, the usual."
Something was off. All of the dead had a string leading to their cause of death, and most of them pointed to her. Actually, she was somewhat restless herself. And, was that lipstick?
"Why are you doing this?" He asked in a measured tone.
"Doing what?" Innocence. Nice try.
"Killing. Murdering. You're a good girl Aya." Her smile was contagious.
"But only in death can I see you."
"And? Seriously I'm old enough to have started your bloodline--"
"Age doesn't apply in this sort of thing."
He sighed. She was right. He remebered sparing her like it was yesterday. The fire that had killed her parents after their meth experiment went wrong. All their drug use had taken it's toll on her when she was born. It had taken all he had to give her a chance.
Then he felt it. Slim fingers entwining with his own. That wasn't possible. He looked at her and she was still alive. Still there.
"Just like you have to bear the burdens of the dead, I'll be there to bear yours."
"....Promise?" | In a darkened bedroom, a woman is panting from exertion, sweat beading on her forehead and mixed with her light brown hair. Anxiously, she wipes the perspiration from her forehead and does an impromptu styling of her hair. Her light green eyes scan the room, waiting for her lover to return, finally taking in the bedroom that is not her own.
On the nightstand is a photo of a happy family, a twinge of regret hits her as she realizes what she's done. This quickly passes as another wave of emotion hits her: desire. But not just desire for that perfect family, the kind she has never been able to find, a desire that is mixed with jealousy. A deadly mixture of emotions, coupled with her near obsessive compulsive nature has lead her here to this room and soon, she will have that family.
The room grows cold, although still fully lit and with a beautiful view of the city from the ceiling-length windows, she feels alone and in darkness. She straightens up, looking around. Normally her small stature does not concern her, always confident in any situation, but now, in this room, in this moment, she is aware of how small she truly is. This is the moment, she knows it well. The butterflies in her stomach fluttering away, her breath quickens, desire washes over her, then she sees him.
"I knew you would come, you always do," she says. A knowing smile as she looks at her lover.
Tall, dark and handsome, every girl's dream she thinks. He's self-employed, of course, but always on call. Well, one can't have everything she realizes. She's been in love with him since she first met him, it had to be when she 15 and she saw him at the hospital with her parents after their accident. It had been a sad day but oh how sweet, to meet the man you were going to marry! Now, after 15 years of waiting, 15 painful years of longing, of struggle and darkness, here he was!
"Naturally I would be here, you've made things quite busy for me and I have a busy schedule already," he says, chuckling.
"I know, but I had to see you, I had to tell you that I have loved you since we first met."
A heavy sigh from the newly arrived guest.
"What? Don't you feel our connection?"
He shakes his head, his face invisible under his hood, an emotionless void, blacker than night, impenetrable to human eyes and yet, sadness now fills it.
"Sabrina, this can't continue, we've seen each other every Friday for the last 15 years and it won't work with us." A twinge of sadness.
"You feel it!"
"I do, but how many people have you killed? How many families have you destroyed? This cannot continue, you need to move on."
"NO!" She screams, her heart racing, breath quickening, her muscles flexing and readying for a strike. Her years of killing have conditioned her to become cold, emotionless and focused. She won't be denied her love. She's worked too hard for this, for him, the sacrifices she's made, friends, families, coworkers, constantly on the move, just for him.
She lunges for him.
He steps to the side, avoiding her, after all, he's been at this game since the first murder so long ago and has seen every human's attempt to harm him.
Falling to the floor, a guttural growl emanating from deep within her chest, Sabrina stands up and looks at Death, seeing for the first time the impossibility of her quest.
"I know we can never be together this way and I'm tired, so tired of hiding and running, just for glimpses of what could be between us."
"What are you doing?" Panic, for the first time in centuries, Death feels uncertain.
"There is only one way we could be together, a loophole."
Walking to the nightstand, she picks up the family portrait, the smiling husband and wife, the baby in his arms. Glancing to the husband's body on the bed, realizing now it is an empty husk, the spark gone and now back to his smiling eyes in the photo. She throws it down, breaking the frame.
"What are you doing?"
"The only thing I can do, making you come for me at last." Picking up a piece of the glass, she calmly pulls it along her throat. A calm, peaceful smile on her face as she stares at her lover. She sits on the bed, straightens her blouse and pants as the blood flows from her neck, soaking her top. She lies down, looking at Death one last time and closes her eyes.
Death, alone in this room, alone in this world, walks to the bed slowly. The weight of the years heavy on his shoulders and ignoring the husband, picks up Sabrina's lifeless body and vanishes. |
|
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | At first I lived in wedded bliss,
No other did I crave.
Until my husband felt Death's kiss,
And took an early grave.
I saw him fade in by his side,
Upon that chilling bed.
His face the sweeping cloak did hide,
The Master of the Dead.
A feeling swept upon my heart,
A love novel and strong.
Was Death my soul mate from the start?
How could this rush be wrong?
I craved the void, the empty gaze,
Beneath the tattered cloak.
Must I wait til end of days,
When my soul he'd revoke?
It started with a single man,
A pill slipped into a drink.
That I'd have a sinister plan,
Was naught the men would think.
From one to five, and to a score,
The times I saw his scythe.
Yet still I craved him ever more,
And murdered for his tithe.
I can no longer wait and kill,
'Til my love will I see.
I swallow now this final pill,
So Death can come for me.
| In a darkened bedroom, a woman is panting from exertion, sweat beading on her forehead and mixed with her light brown hair. Anxiously, she wipes the perspiration from her forehead and does an impromptu styling of her hair. Her light green eyes scan the room, waiting for her lover to return, finally taking in the bedroom that is not her own.
On the nightstand is a photo of a happy family, a twinge of regret hits her as she realizes what she's done. This quickly passes as another wave of emotion hits her: desire. But not just desire for that perfect family, the kind she has never been able to find, a desire that is mixed with jealousy. A deadly mixture of emotions, coupled with her near obsessive compulsive nature has lead her here to this room and soon, she will have that family.
The room grows cold, although still fully lit and with a beautiful view of the city from the ceiling-length windows, she feels alone and in darkness. She straightens up, looking around. Normally her small stature does not concern her, always confident in any situation, but now, in this room, in this moment, she is aware of how small she truly is. This is the moment, she knows it well. The butterflies in her stomach fluttering away, her breath quickens, desire washes over her, then she sees him.
"I knew you would come, you always do," she says. A knowing smile as she looks at her lover.
Tall, dark and handsome, every girl's dream she thinks. He's self-employed, of course, but always on call. Well, one can't have everything she realizes. She's been in love with him since she first met him, it had to be when she 15 and she saw him at the hospital with her parents after their accident. It had been a sad day but oh how sweet, to meet the man you were going to marry! Now, after 15 years of waiting, 15 painful years of longing, of struggle and darkness, here he was!
"Naturally I would be here, you've made things quite busy for me and I have a busy schedule already," he says, chuckling.
"I know, but I had to see you, I had to tell you that I have loved you since we first met."
A heavy sigh from the newly arrived guest.
"What? Don't you feel our connection?"
He shakes his head, his face invisible under his hood, an emotionless void, blacker than night, impenetrable to human eyes and yet, sadness now fills it.
"Sabrina, this can't continue, we've seen each other every Friday for the last 15 years and it won't work with us." A twinge of sadness.
"You feel it!"
"I do, but how many people have you killed? How many families have you destroyed? This cannot continue, you need to move on."
"NO!" She screams, her heart racing, breath quickening, her muscles flexing and readying for a strike. Her years of killing have conditioned her to become cold, emotionless and focused. She won't be denied her love. She's worked too hard for this, for him, the sacrifices she's made, friends, families, coworkers, constantly on the move, just for him.
She lunges for him.
He steps to the side, avoiding her, after all, he's been at this game since the first murder so long ago and has seen every human's attempt to harm him.
Falling to the floor, a guttural growl emanating from deep within her chest, Sabrina stands up and looks at Death, seeing for the first time the impossibility of her quest.
"I know we can never be together this way and I'm tired, so tired of hiding and running, just for glimpses of what could be between us."
"What are you doing?" Panic, for the first time in centuries, Death feels uncertain.
"There is only one way we could be together, a loophole."
Walking to the nightstand, she picks up the family portrait, the smiling husband and wife, the baby in his arms. Glancing to the husband's body on the bed, realizing now it is an empty husk, the spark gone and now back to his smiling eyes in the photo. She throws it down, breaking the frame.
"What are you doing?"
"The only thing I can do, making you come for me at last." Picking up a piece of the glass, she calmly pulls it along her throat. A calm, peaceful smile on her face as she stares at her lover. She sits on the bed, straightens her blouse and pants as the blood flows from her neck, soaking her top. She lies down, looking at Death one last time and closes her eyes.
Death, alone in this room, alone in this world, walks to the bed slowly. The weight of the years heavy on his shoulders and ignoring the husband, picks up Sabrina's lifeless body and vanishes. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | * *I'll preface this by saying that I never write for fun. But something about this prompt made me want to jump in. Apologies for the amateur nature of the following.*
I never should have let her in. Two hundred years of being careful, of being guarded. All that time and work, lost because I was lonely. Sandra and her husband: that was the deal. It couldn’t have been easier. A car accident is a walk in the park. No second thoughts, no planning. No thinking. Nothing.
Why did she have to look, sound, even smell like Abby? I was promised that I would never have to go through it again. One time was enough. It was supposed to be so simple. Close my eyes, conjure the event, and see it through. But I was told, no, promised Goddamnit! How does he expect me to follow through when he breaches his own contract?
Fuck it. I wisped her out of the event. She’d be sad to lose her husband, but maybe she’d feel something. Maybe she’d know it was me who “saved” her. I just couldn’t bear seeing her essence pass through my world again. I made it as much of a freak accident as I could. Kids are always throwing things off highway overpasses, Right?
I should have seen it after her coworker died. Death in bunches or spread out, that’s how it works for those who I have to visit often. I guess my infatuation made me forget that Don from accounting died on the anniversary of Sandra’s husband dying. I went to check on her at her house. She’d just recently taken down all the pictures of her and Adam. She was facing her bathroom mirror.
“I see you every day,” she whispered.
It’s always interesting to see how long it takes for some people to get over the death of a loved one. Sandra was taking her sweet time.
“I know you’re watching over me.”
No, my dear, he isn’t. They never are.
“How do we know each other?”
She was staring right through me in the mirror. There was no way she knew. Right?
| In a darkened bedroom, a woman is panting from exertion, sweat beading on her forehead and mixed with her light brown hair. Anxiously, she wipes the perspiration from her forehead and does an impromptu styling of her hair. Her light green eyes scan the room, waiting for her lover to return, finally taking in the bedroom that is not her own.
On the nightstand is a photo of a happy family, a twinge of regret hits her as she realizes what she's done. This quickly passes as another wave of emotion hits her: desire. But not just desire for that perfect family, the kind she has never been able to find, a desire that is mixed with jealousy. A deadly mixture of emotions, coupled with her near obsessive compulsive nature has lead her here to this room and soon, she will have that family.
The room grows cold, although still fully lit and with a beautiful view of the city from the ceiling-length windows, she feels alone and in darkness. She straightens up, looking around. Normally her small stature does not concern her, always confident in any situation, but now, in this room, in this moment, she is aware of how small she truly is. This is the moment, she knows it well. The butterflies in her stomach fluttering away, her breath quickens, desire washes over her, then she sees him.
"I knew you would come, you always do," she says. A knowing smile as she looks at her lover.
Tall, dark and handsome, every girl's dream she thinks. He's self-employed, of course, but always on call. Well, one can't have everything she realizes. She's been in love with him since she first met him, it had to be when she 15 and she saw him at the hospital with her parents after their accident. It had been a sad day but oh how sweet, to meet the man you were going to marry! Now, after 15 years of waiting, 15 painful years of longing, of struggle and darkness, here he was!
"Naturally I would be here, you've made things quite busy for me and I have a busy schedule already," he says, chuckling.
"I know, but I had to see you, I had to tell you that I have loved you since we first met."
A heavy sigh from the newly arrived guest.
"What? Don't you feel our connection?"
He shakes his head, his face invisible under his hood, an emotionless void, blacker than night, impenetrable to human eyes and yet, sadness now fills it.
"Sabrina, this can't continue, we've seen each other every Friday for the last 15 years and it won't work with us." A twinge of sadness.
"You feel it!"
"I do, but how many people have you killed? How many families have you destroyed? This cannot continue, you need to move on."
"NO!" She screams, her heart racing, breath quickening, her muscles flexing and readying for a strike. Her years of killing have conditioned her to become cold, emotionless and focused. She won't be denied her love. She's worked too hard for this, for him, the sacrifices she's made, friends, families, coworkers, constantly on the move, just for him.
She lunges for him.
He steps to the side, avoiding her, after all, he's been at this game since the first murder so long ago and has seen every human's attempt to harm him.
Falling to the floor, a guttural growl emanating from deep within her chest, Sabrina stands up and looks at Death, seeing for the first time the impossibility of her quest.
"I know we can never be together this way and I'm tired, so tired of hiding and running, just for glimpses of what could be between us."
"What are you doing?" Panic, for the first time in centuries, Death feels uncertain.
"There is only one way we could be together, a loophole."
Walking to the nightstand, she picks up the family portrait, the smiling husband and wife, the baby in his arms. Glancing to the husband's body on the bed, realizing now it is an empty husk, the spark gone and now back to his smiling eyes in the photo. She throws it down, breaking the frame.
"What are you doing?"
"The only thing I can do, making you come for me at last." Picking up a piece of the glass, she calmly pulls it along her throat. A calm, peaceful smile on her face as she stares at her lover. She sits on the bed, straightens her blouse and pants as the blood flows from her neck, soaking her top. She lies down, looking at Death one last time and closes her eyes.
Death, alone in this room, alone in this world, walks to the bed slowly. The weight of the years heavy on his shoulders and ignoring the husband, picks up Sabrina's lifeless body and vanishes. |
|
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She held the dying woman's hand. The woman, old, sick, in pain, and lonely looked up at the pretty red head. "Thank you," she whispered. Her voice was weak, but happy - hopeful.
The young lady smiled and held the older woman's hand tighter. "My pleasure," she responded.
The sick woman, the tired woman, closed her eyes and rested.
The young lady checked the woman's pulse. She was gone.
As she put away the bottle of serum and needle she had used Inez felt the room shift slightly.
Death had come.
Inez didn't turn to look at him. She was young, but she had learned from a hard early life that staring death in the face was asking for trouble. Instead she busied herself with cleaning the area. Done with her task Inez stood awkwardly in the hospice room. Death had not left.
She smoothed her nurses outfit over her hips and fixed her collar. Still Death was there.
"You need to slow down," a voice said behind her. It was as she remembered it: dark, smooth, comforting. "You'll get caught."
"They ask me," Inez replied. "They ask me to help them. It's hard to deny their pleas to save them in a way that they don't damn themselves."
"And so you damn yourself," Death was just behind her. His voice was close, but there was no breath on her ear. She shrugged.
"There are..." she hesitated, "Perks." Warmth, smooth and silk like, had began to pool in her abdomen and seep between her thighs. It did every time Death came near. This was the closet he had been. The warmth leaped up into her heart.
"You do a good thing," Death said. "You should not get caught."
Inez smiled and was glad she wasn't facing him. Her blush would be too obvious.
"I can see the headlines now," she joked. "'Hospice Nurse is Angel of ...'" She trailed off embarrassed.
She felt a hand, not bony or cold, but soothing and possibly...affectionate, touch her shoulder. "Do not get caught," Death said. "No one will understand the peace you bring."
Inez felt the room shift again. Her warmth was replaced with longing.
"No one but you," she said, but she was alone.
| In a darkened bedroom, a woman is panting from exertion, sweat beading on her forehead and mixed with her light brown hair. Anxiously, she wipes the perspiration from her forehead and does an impromptu styling of her hair. Her light green eyes scan the room, waiting for her lover to return, finally taking in the bedroom that is not her own.
On the nightstand is a photo of a happy family, a twinge of regret hits her as she realizes what she's done. This quickly passes as another wave of emotion hits her: desire. But not just desire for that perfect family, the kind she has never been able to find, a desire that is mixed with jealousy. A deadly mixture of emotions, coupled with her near obsessive compulsive nature has lead her here to this room and soon, she will have that family.
The room grows cold, although still fully lit and with a beautiful view of the city from the ceiling-length windows, she feels alone and in darkness. She straightens up, looking around. Normally her small stature does not concern her, always confident in any situation, but now, in this room, in this moment, she is aware of how small she truly is. This is the moment, she knows it well. The butterflies in her stomach fluttering away, her breath quickens, desire washes over her, then she sees him.
"I knew you would come, you always do," she says. A knowing smile as she looks at her lover.
Tall, dark and handsome, every girl's dream she thinks. He's self-employed, of course, but always on call. Well, one can't have everything she realizes. She's been in love with him since she first met him, it had to be when she 15 and she saw him at the hospital with her parents after their accident. It had been a sad day but oh how sweet, to meet the man you were going to marry! Now, after 15 years of waiting, 15 painful years of longing, of struggle and darkness, here he was!
"Naturally I would be here, you've made things quite busy for me and I have a busy schedule already," he says, chuckling.
"I know, but I had to see you, I had to tell you that I have loved you since we first met."
A heavy sigh from the newly arrived guest.
"What? Don't you feel our connection?"
He shakes his head, his face invisible under his hood, an emotionless void, blacker than night, impenetrable to human eyes and yet, sadness now fills it.
"Sabrina, this can't continue, we've seen each other every Friday for the last 15 years and it won't work with us." A twinge of sadness.
"You feel it!"
"I do, but how many people have you killed? How many families have you destroyed? This cannot continue, you need to move on."
"NO!" She screams, her heart racing, breath quickening, her muscles flexing and readying for a strike. Her years of killing have conditioned her to become cold, emotionless and focused. She won't be denied her love. She's worked too hard for this, for him, the sacrifices she's made, friends, families, coworkers, constantly on the move, just for him.
She lunges for him.
He steps to the side, avoiding her, after all, he's been at this game since the first murder so long ago and has seen every human's attempt to harm him.
Falling to the floor, a guttural growl emanating from deep within her chest, Sabrina stands up and looks at Death, seeing for the first time the impossibility of her quest.
"I know we can never be together this way and I'm tired, so tired of hiding and running, just for glimpses of what could be between us."
"What are you doing?" Panic, for the first time in centuries, Death feels uncertain.
"There is only one way we could be together, a loophole."
Walking to the nightstand, she picks up the family portrait, the smiling husband and wife, the baby in his arms. Glancing to the husband's body on the bed, realizing now it is an empty husk, the spark gone and now back to his smiling eyes in the photo. She throws it down, breaking the frame.
"What are you doing?"
"The only thing I can do, making you come for me at last." Picking up a piece of the glass, she calmly pulls it along her throat. A calm, peaceful smile on her face as she stares at her lover. She sits on the bed, straightens her blouse and pants as the blood flows from her neck, soaking her top. She lies down, looking at Death one last time and closes her eyes.
Death, alone in this room, alone in this world, walks to the bed slowly. The weight of the years heavy on his shoulders and ignoring the husband, picks up Sabrina's lifeless body and vanishes. |
|
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | At first I lived in wedded bliss,
No other did I crave.
Until my husband felt Death's kiss,
And took an early grave.
I saw him fade in by his side,
Upon that chilling bed.
His face the sweeping cloak did hide,
The Master of the Dead.
A feeling swept upon my heart,
A love novel and strong.
Was Death my soul mate from the start?
How could this rush be wrong?
I craved the void, the empty gaze,
Beneath the tattered cloak.
Must I wait til end of days,
When my soul he'd revoke?
It started with a single man,
A pill slipped into a drink.
That I'd have a sinister plan,
Was naught the men would think.
From one to five, and to a score,
The times I saw his scythe.
Yet still I craved him ever more,
And murdered for his tithe.
I can no longer wait and kill,
'Til my love will I see.
I swallow now this final pill,
So Death can come for me.
| Another night, another bloodstained knife. The daylight gave way to darkness as the candlelight flickered and the streets outside quickly became deserted.
He had put up a fight, this one. It had become routine and she had been careless, even arrogant as she settled back into it. The knife that was missing from the dinner table was small enough to not be missed, but as she approached him the candlelight flickered and her shadow on the wall reaching for him alerted her prey.
This one's name was Calvin, or perhaps Clarke. She tried not to remember their names. There were moments where she wondered how she had ended up here, but she needed it. It mystified her, and she may have been the only living person to know it existed. She felt a certain pride in that fact, though afterwards she always wondered why - at least for a little while.
Spinning around, he had deflected the thrusting knife and managed to take it from her, thrusting it back towards her. She had moved to the side, avoiding it, and they circled. Mori, as she called herself, didn't give him time to do anything else. Growing impatient so close to her prize, she pulled a small gun from the back of her jeans and shot him in the neck.
The body slumped to the ground as the gunshot echoed through the streets. She noted it but quickly brushed it aside, as short-sighted as that may have been. She had done it, and she would see it again.
*It is nice to see you once more.*
She swung around to see its face, its hollow eye sockets somehow glowing in its deep black hood. There had been no sound, no whisper, he could have been there all along. That familiar feeling returned to her, a sense of cold dread that sent goosebumps down her spine and stood her hair on end. She had grown to love it.
"Really?" A hopeful expression was not one that It was often greeted with. It made a noise almost like chuckling, but a little darker. *Oh yes, I knew this day would come soon.*
The man, whatever his name had been, made a gurgling sound behind her. Not quite dead, but getting there. She ignored him. "You'll stay with me then?" She looked into the dark depths of its eyes with a loving expression, her voice quivered with excitement.
*Not exactly.* Its mouth was almost grinning, but a little wrong. Her legs felt weak and she fell to her knees. She wasn't sure why, probably just overwhelmed.
"Why did you do this?" Came a voice from behind her. She turned to see the man standing above his corpse. He was an apparition, translucent, and looked like he didn't belong in this world. "I liked you." The voice sounded hollow, empty of whatever it was that had made it sound alive before.
"I had to see it. I had to!" She snapped, her strength returning as she stood up. "It belongs with me."
*I think, perhaps, that it is you who belongs with me.*
She turned back to it and moved closer, begging it to take her. Sirens echoed through the streets, ever closer. She reached for its cloak, if the shadows that made it up could be called such a thing, and gasped. Her hand was translucent. "...what?" She spun around to see the knife's handle glinting in the candlelight, its blade buried between her ribs in a pool of crimson.
*It pierced a lung.*
"What?" she repeated, dumbfounded, "but I didn't feel anything." She thought for a second as it moved towards the man, almost like walking, but a little worse. She had been too set on her goal, too focused even to notice the knife as it thundered home. "So I'm dead?"
Momentarily, Mori was devastated. She turned to the window, seeing the flashing blue lights of the police cars outside, here to investigate a gun shot. The expression quickly turned to one almost of glee, but just a little different. "So you can take me with you?" she asked, watching through the window as the police moved into the building.
*Yes.* Tears had begun to fall, like glittering pearls in the flashing blue light. *I did not know ghosts could cry.*
"I am not crying" she said, turning to show the smile on her face. It shook its head, almost mournful. *I do not understand you humans. You cower behind locked doors at night to keep the darkness at bay, but really it is your heart that is stained with shadow. Nothing else could have done this.*
The man spoke up again, finally coming to terms with the situation, "I didn't want this."
*Perhaps not, but you knew there was something off. You noticed something different, but you were too busy not thinking to realise you should have left her alone. You have lived a self-destructive life, one woman after another, never stopping even to remember names. You two are not so different, Clarke, you use people up just to move onto someone else. You have broken as many hearts as she has.*
"I didn't find the right person."
*Yes you did. But you did what you always do. You just left in the night, never giving her a chance.* The man looked into its eyes and felt eternity press down on him. He felt himself fade away, "who was she?" he asked. It just chuckled and turned away as the apparition faded until he was gone, leaving just a mangled shell of himself on the floor.
The chastisement had no effect on Mori. *My dear Eve, if you had only listened.* Its voice, if it was such a thing, was almost regretful. *I was not meant to meet you for many years.*
"I needed you," came her response, "I saw you and I had to see you again and again. You must understand."
*I do.* She gazed into its eyes and the abyss stared back as eternity pressed upon her. She felt herself fade but didn't care. She would be with him finally, and she was content.
She faded as the door burst open and armed officers stormed into the room. The police secured the crime scene, eventually linking Mori to 16 other murders. They saw nobody in the room, but one cop swore he saw something in the window from the street. It almost looked like a person, but a bit darker. |
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | I loved him, that walking pain. The kind that would come after
strangulation and let-free blood. He who would warm my heart. Though his: cold.
I loved him as I tore through the spine of an elderly man, I loved him as he kissed me in those few moments between a mother who cried at the way her children died. At first, it seemed, we were in love. He would come and sit by me, after I had stabbed another in a lane way - my third that day. Oh heaven above, your saviour had come. He would embrace me, cloak aside, and flicker warmth through the carpet stained with red.
He would attack the night as I surrendered bodies to him.
For a time we were in love. And I knew this beyond my petty world. For a time, we were happy.
But soon he grew cold, wanting more souls. I would find and abduct and tie-up and kill. I would stalk and kidnap and cage and murder. I would fill the void he left upon fading from the world of the living. But it was not enough. One death, two deaths, three deaths, he would come on the fourth. One death, two deaths, three deaths, four deaths, he would only come on the fifth. I grew desperate, and cold myself. As I felt the blood of others' run dry, scabbing on my foreign hands, so too did I feel my own escape its duty. My heart forsake me, for he wanted more.
100 deaths, a shopping mall bomb. 200 children shot away from their parents. He came, and kissed me, and left without a smile. I became a mouse, doing the cat's sorry bidding. His insatiable, swarming desire became impossible to fulfil. He collected my dead, for he was Death and Pain and Suffering and Hate. And I, madly in love.
| Her heart raced as she waited, her breath warm against the wardrobe door she was pressed behind. Time stood almost still as each footstep echoed from the wooden floor. It had been so long. Too long. She needed to see him, to feel him again.
Unable to wait any longer she put the plan she'd rehearsed countless times into action. The knife glinted as she stepped out into the sunlit room and moments later it was buried in his neck. The hair on her arm began to rise, the room growing colder. Her breath quickened. Her eyes flickered excitedly across the room. He must be close. He had to be.
A familiar rush hit her as she felt him arrive. She stood, blood pooling beneath her feet as he set to work. Such elegance and finesse in what he did, she loved him for that. He stared deep inside the man she'd killed and helped him from the body he'd once captained. She tried to savour each second, for he was busy, so he was brief.
"It's worth it", she said, "each life I take, I take for you and I won't stop. I can't."
He seemed to pause. She was sure of it. His head appeared to turn and stare straight at her, if only for a second.
"Did he?... No, he did, of course he did, he wants me as much I want him."
Her mind raced. This hadn't happened before, of all the times she'd bought a few precious seconds of his time he'd never acknowledged her. Until now. Her next steps were obvious. She needed more time with him, and soon. Sooner than she'd planned. But who? and how? It didn't matter now, all that mattered was being with him. His smell almost lingered as she stared at the body that once held the man. A small price to pay, she thought.
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She stood alone on the roof. The wind blew faintly, whistling through the bulletholes in a final protest. A smile threatened to leap forth, but she kept it in check. This was the best part.
The temperature dropped, and the surrounding light seemed to dim. There he was. He strode confidently among the bodies, leading the souls to the afterlife with macabre grace. The smile burst forth now full and unencumbered. She swept her jet black hair back into a messy bun.
"Long time, no see." He said casually.
"It has been a while... what have you been up to?"
"Oh you know, ushering souls to the underworld, the usual."
Something was off. All of the dead had a string leading to their cause of death, and most of them pointed to her. Actually, she was somewhat restless herself. And, was that lipstick?
"Why are you doing this?" He asked in a measured tone.
"Doing what?" Innocence. Nice try.
"Killing. Murdering. You're a good girl Aya." Her smile was contagious.
"But only in death can I see you."
"And? Seriously I'm old enough to have started your bloodline--"
"Age doesn't apply in this sort of thing."
He sighed. She was right. He remebered sparing her like it was yesterday. The fire that had killed her parents after their meth experiment went wrong. All their drug use had taken it's toll on her when she was born. It had taken all he had to give her a chance.
Then he felt it. Slim fingers entwining with his own. That wasn't possible. He looked at her and she was still alive. Still there.
"Just like you have to bear the burdens of the dead, I'll be there to bear yours."
"....Promise?" | Her heart raced as she waited, her breath warm against the wardrobe door she was pressed behind. Time stood almost still as each footstep echoed from the wooden floor. It had been so long. Too long. She needed to see him, to feel him again.
Unable to wait any longer she put the plan she'd rehearsed countless times into action. The knife glinted as she stepped out into the sunlit room and moments later it was buried in his neck. The hair on her arm began to rise, the room growing colder. Her breath quickened. Her eyes flickered excitedly across the room. He must be close. He had to be.
A familiar rush hit her as she felt him arrive. She stood, blood pooling beneath her feet as he set to work. Such elegance and finesse in what he did, she loved him for that. He stared deep inside the man she'd killed and helped him from the body he'd once captained. She tried to savour each second, for he was busy, so he was brief.
"It's worth it", she said, "each life I take, I take for you and I won't stop. I can't."
He seemed to pause. She was sure of it. His head appeared to turn and stare straight at her, if only for a second.
"Did he?... No, he did, of course he did, he wants me as much I want him."
Her mind raced. This hadn't happened before, of all the times she'd bought a few precious seconds of his time he'd never acknowledged her. Until now. Her next steps were obvious. She needed more time with him, and soon. Sooner than she'd planned. But who? and how? It didn't matter now, all that mattered was being with him. His smell almost lingered as she stared at the body that once held the man. A small price to pay, she thought.
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | At first I lived in wedded bliss,
No other did I crave.
Until my husband felt Death's kiss,
And took an early grave.
I saw him fade in by his side,
Upon that chilling bed.
His face the sweeping cloak did hide,
The Master of the Dead.
A feeling swept upon my heart,
A love novel and strong.
Was Death my soul mate from the start?
How could this rush be wrong?
I craved the void, the empty gaze,
Beneath the tattered cloak.
Must I wait til end of days,
When my soul he'd revoke?
It started with a single man,
A pill slipped into a drink.
That I'd have a sinister plan,
Was naught the men would think.
From one to five, and to a score,
The times I saw his scythe.
Yet still I craved him ever more,
And murdered for his tithe.
I can no longer wait and kill,
'Til my love will I see.
I swallow now this final pill,
So Death can come for me.
| Her heart raced as she waited, her breath warm against the wardrobe door she was pressed behind. Time stood almost still as each footstep echoed from the wooden floor. It had been so long. Too long. She needed to see him, to feel him again.
Unable to wait any longer she put the plan she'd rehearsed countless times into action. The knife glinted as she stepped out into the sunlit room and moments later it was buried in his neck. The hair on her arm began to rise, the room growing colder. Her breath quickened. Her eyes flickered excitedly across the room. He must be close. He had to be.
A familiar rush hit her as she felt him arrive. She stood, blood pooling beneath her feet as he set to work. Such elegance and finesse in what he did, she loved him for that. He stared deep inside the man she'd killed and helped him from the body he'd once captained. She tried to savour each second, for he was busy, so he was brief.
"It's worth it", she said, "each life I take, I take for you and I won't stop. I can't."
He seemed to pause. She was sure of it. His head appeared to turn and stare straight at her, if only for a second.
"Did he?... No, he did, of course he did, he wants me as much I want him."
Her mind raced. This hadn't happened before, of all the times she'd bought a few precious seconds of his time he'd never acknowledged her. Until now. Her next steps were obvious. She needed more time with him, and soon. Sooner than she'd planned. But who? and how? It didn't matter now, all that mattered was being with him. His smell almost lingered as she stared at the body that once held the man. A small price to pay, she thought.
|
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | * *I'll preface this by saying that I never write for fun. But something about this prompt made me want to jump in. Apologies for the amateur nature of the following.*
I never should have let her in. Two hundred years of being careful, of being guarded. All that time and work, lost because I was lonely. Sandra and her husband: that was the deal. It couldn’t have been easier. A car accident is a walk in the park. No second thoughts, no planning. No thinking. Nothing.
Why did she have to look, sound, even smell like Abby? I was promised that I would never have to go through it again. One time was enough. It was supposed to be so simple. Close my eyes, conjure the event, and see it through. But I was told, no, promised Goddamnit! How does he expect me to follow through when he breaches his own contract?
Fuck it. I wisped her out of the event. She’d be sad to lose her husband, but maybe she’d feel something. Maybe she’d know it was me who “saved” her. I just couldn’t bear seeing her essence pass through my world again. I made it as much of a freak accident as I could. Kids are always throwing things off highway overpasses, Right?
I should have seen it after her coworker died. Death in bunches or spread out, that’s how it works for those who I have to visit often. I guess my infatuation made me forget that Don from accounting died on the anniversary of Sandra’s husband dying. I went to check on her at her house. She’d just recently taken down all the pictures of her and Adam. She was facing her bathroom mirror.
“I see you every day,” she whispered.
It’s always interesting to see how long it takes for some people to get over the death of a loved one. Sandra was taking her sweet time.
“I know you’re watching over me.”
No, my dear, he isn’t. They never are.
“How do we know each other?”
She was staring right through me in the mirror. There was no way she knew. Right?
| Her heart raced as she waited, her breath warm against the wardrobe door she was pressed behind. Time stood almost still as each footstep echoed from the wooden floor. It had been so long. Too long. She needed to see him, to feel him again.
Unable to wait any longer she put the plan she'd rehearsed countless times into action. The knife glinted as she stepped out into the sunlit room and moments later it was buried in his neck. The hair on her arm began to rise, the room growing colder. Her breath quickened. Her eyes flickered excitedly across the room. He must be close. He had to be.
A familiar rush hit her as she felt him arrive. She stood, blood pooling beneath her feet as he set to work. Such elegance and finesse in what he did, she loved him for that. He stared deep inside the man she'd killed and helped him from the body he'd once captained. She tried to savour each second, for he was busy, so he was brief.
"It's worth it", she said, "each life I take, I take for you and I won't stop. I can't."
He seemed to pause. She was sure of it. His head appeared to turn and stare straight at her, if only for a second.
"Did he?... No, he did, of course he did, he wants me as much I want him."
Her mind raced. This hadn't happened before, of all the times she'd bought a few precious seconds of his time he'd never acknowledged her. Until now. Her next steps were obvious. She needed more time with him, and soon. Sooner than she'd planned. But who? and how? It didn't matter now, all that mattered was being with him. His smell almost lingered as she stared at the body that once held the man. A small price to pay, she thought.
|
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | "I just didn't figure you'd be... you know... handsome! Has anybody told you you have a very seductive voice? It's like velvet..."
"How do you think I beckon those on the edge to the other side?"
"Oh my... almost poetic!"
"Why do you continue to murder? You're an enemy of your kind now."
"I wanted to see you again. After I heard your voice that first time in the hospital... but as much as I wanted to follow you, the doctors gave me no choice. I survived the accident, but my family died. I was 8. I lost everything, but I found you."
"That's all well and good, but you will see me again. I will take you, as I take everybody. You see... I love you too. I love all life. It's why I take the greatest kings and the smallest insects alike. If you wish to see me for a much longer "date", you need only wait. Accident, sickness, murder, or even suicide."
"Really? I can be with you, forever?"
"You will. Just wait. I will."
Death vanished with a smirk. As he descended into the ether, he smiled and pulled out a list. He wrote next to her name: "*cause of death, suicide*"
"Foolish humans..." | Her heart raced as she waited, her breath warm against the wardrobe door she was pressed behind. Time stood almost still as each footstep echoed from the wooden floor. It had been so long. Too long. She needed to see him, to feel him again.
Unable to wait any longer she put the plan she'd rehearsed countless times into action. The knife glinted as she stepped out into the sunlit room and moments later it was buried in his neck. The hair on her arm began to rise, the room growing colder. Her breath quickened. Her eyes flickered excitedly across the room. He must be close. He had to be.
A familiar rush hit her as she felt him arrive. She stood, blood pooling beneath her feet as he set to work. Such elegance and finesse in what he did, she loved him for that. He stared deep inside the man she'd killed and helped him from the body he'd once captained. She tried to savour each second, for he was busy, so he was brief.
"It's worth it", she said, "each life I take, I take for you and I won't stop. I can't."
He seemed to pause. She was sure of it. His head appeared to turn and stare straight at her, if only for a second.
"Did he?... No, he did, of course he did, he wants me as much I want him."
Her mind raced. This hadn't happened before, of all the times she'd bought a few precious seconds of his time he'd never acknowledged her. Until now. Her next steps were obvious. She needed more time with him, and soon. Sooner than she'd planned. But who? and how? It didn't matter now, all that mattered was being with him. His smell almost lingered as she stared at the body that once held the man. A small price to pay, she thought.
|
|
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | “He is beautiful.
No matter that I never heard his voice, nor saw his face, shrouded in the shadow of his hood as it always was. His beauty lies not in countenance of face, nor sound of tongue. For me, his beauty is beholden to his stride, graceful and purposeful to his grim duty. It is in the gift that he brings, in his reaping of the crop that is life. It is in the faces of those to whom that gift is given; faces which, like a clear pool reflects the moon on a cloudless night, can offer but a sorry mimicry of his noble visage. I first glimpsed Him when I was but a girl, so long ago now that the memory is all but lost to the sands of the great Father who, in seeking to bless me, cursed me to never receive the gift of my beloved. I should explain.
It has become commonplace in your people’s tongue to reference the passage of varying quantities of time with “ages”. Yet for me, literal ages have passed since my childhood. I have watched civilisations wax and wane, rode mountains as they climbed towards the sky, and swam in oceans when they were but lakes. I believe there is a saying now for something which is very old: “Old as the hills”. I am older. Over the millennia I have not aged, I simply evolved. Adapted. But do not be deceived. I was there when the first murder was committed, over who had the right to lead. I was there when the first men started the first war, over some miniscule herd of livestock. I was there for the first plague, and every plague thereafter. Because so was He.
There are no plagues anymore. No wars, either. Death, in both meanings of the word, has become too random, too spontaneous. I had gone many years without seeing Him when I took my first. In order to fully understand the despair I felt, you must first understand my perception of time. What to you might seem an eternity is to me but a fleeting moment. I blink my eyes and cities rise and fall around me. I sleep, and when I awaken a new age has dawned. Such is the Father’s gift to me. Yet, when Death became scarce, ever moment to me was torture. I, who understood what it was to watch the centuries pass like leaves on the wind, felt every biting second of his absence. It gnawed at me like hunger gnaws the belly of a starving street rat. Or, rather, as it would were street rats still present in this hellish future you people have the gall to name “Utopia”.
So I killed.
I wish I could tell you I remember her well. That I see her face whenever I close my eyes, that she haunts my dreams, souring them to nightmares when I sleep. Honestly, I couldn’t recall a thing about her if I tried. I could tell you it was poison that killed her, used to keep from bloodying my dress. I could tell you that when He came for her, it was the closest we had ever been to one another. I could tell you that, as he stood over her, I almost saw beneath his hood. Almost. But none of that matters. You don’t care about that, not really. Already I know I have dwelled too long on her. She is insignificant. Let us continue.
The second was - well, that doesn’t really matter either now, does it? Not this one, nor the one after, nor the thousands that followed, one after another, pills being washed down with the water of life, blessing me with apparitions of unholy perfection.
No. Like the filthy horde that swarms around a travelling magician, you have no time for clever little tricks and jokes. You’re just here to see his assistant be sawed in half. Well, you’ve all paid your fee so I suppose it’s only fair that I uphold my end of the bargain. Into the box, Sharon, and we’ll begin.
The virus. My virus. My last hurrah, the big fix after which I would sleep until the end of the Father’s reign over this verse. It was supposed to end all life on this world. All except mine, of course. As you have probably gathered by now, it did not succeed. People died, of course. The world’s population was decimated, with over a billion killed by the time you managed to stop it. Yet billions more yet remain, a testament to my great failure.
You want me to apologise, I’m sure. To feign guilt and remorse. I won’t. I am guilty only of loving, and regret only that the one I love is forever beyond my reach, and I forever beyond his. Our paths run parallel, destined to walk forever side by side but never meet. That is my tragedy, your honour. I seek no mercy, only understanding. Do you understand?”
The judge remained motionless, staring through me with eyes of cold steel. I felt his disgust and returned it ten times over. He knew nothing of loathing.
“I understand only that you sought to destroy humanity. Your justifications are beyond my faculties of reason, and I see nothing in you but guilt.”
I knew that there was no value in pleading. My captivity was inevitable, but my hatred demanded release.
“Of course you see nothing else. How can you? You are but an insect, blissfully unaware of its inferiority to the superior being in whose presence it is allowed to exist. You intend to lock me up? You have my blessing. Sentence me to life imprisonment and I will watch your metal and stone wither and rot before my eyes. I will outlast any cell in which you throw me, and rest assured that when the walls finally crumble I will see humanity’s last day brought forward. You, I think, will not.”
The courtroom fell silent for a moment. I licked my lips, tasting the fear-laced silence. It was disappointingly bland.
“It is clear to me that the accused is too dangerous to be allowed to live”, the judge began. “Therefore, it is with a heavy heart that I must, for the first time in a thousand years, request that the jury permit a sentence of death.”
A moment of frenzied muttering amongst the jury members preceded a nod from their representative. The judge continued.
“Very well. Let it be known, then, that I hereby sentence the accused to death, by whatever means necessary. If it takes another thousand years of new science to develop, a means of execution will be found successful and **you**” I felt his eyes again at that, “will be put to death. Have you any closing words?”
I thought for a moment. I had anticipated many possible outcomes, but this was not among them. There was only one thing left to say, really.
“Good luck, your honour.”
Many years have passed since my sentencing. The opportunity for escape has presented itself several times since, but the judge’s promise always stayed my hand.
It isn’t that I believe him. I have tried to call Death to me many times in the past, to no avail. What chance then can humanity have to achieve what even I could not? No, I do not believe. But I can hope. And there are worse things than hope to keep one warm at night. Who knows? Maybe one day the humans will succeed, and my beloved and I will be together at last.
Maybe. | Her heart raced as she waited, her breath warm against the wardrobe door she was pressed behind. Time stood almost still as each footstep echoed from the wooden floor. It had been so long. Too long. She needed to see him, to feel him again.
Unable to wait any longer she put the plan she'd rehearsed countless times into action. The knife glinted as she stepped out into the sunlit room and moments later it was buried in his neck. The hair on her arm began to rise, the room growing colder. Her breath quickened. Her eyes flickered excitedly across the room. He must be close. He had to be.
A familiar rush hit her as she felt him arrive. She stood, blood pooling beneath her feet as he set to work. Such elegance and finesse in what he did, she loved him for that. He stared deep inside the man she'd killed and helped him from the body he'd once captained. She tried to savour each second, for he was busy, so he was brief.
"It's worth it", she said, "each life I take, I take for you and I won't stop. I can't."
He seemed to pause. She was sure of it. His head appeared to turn and stare straight at her, if only for a second.
"Did he?... No, he did, of course he did, he wants me as much I want him."
Her mind raced. This hadn't happened before, of all the times she'd bought a few precious seconds of his time he'd never acknowledged her. Until now. Her next steps were obvious. She needed more time with him, and soon. Sooner than she'd planned. But who? and how? It didn't matter now, all that mattered was being with him. His smell almost lingered as she stared at the body that once held the man. A small price to pay, she thought.
|
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[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | She held the dying woman's hand. The woman, old, sick, in pain, and lonely looked up at the pretty red head. "Thank you," she whispered. Her voice was weak, but happy - hopeful.
The young lady smiled and held the older woman's hand tighter. "My pleasure," she responded.
The sick woman, the tired woman, closed her eyes and rested.
The young lady checked the woman's pulse. She was gone.
As she put away the bottle of serum and needle she had used Inez felt the room shift slightly.
Death had come.
Inez didn't turn to look at him. She was young, but she had learned from a hard early life that staring death in the face was asking for trouble. Instead she busied herself with cleaning the area. Done with her task Inez stood awkwardly in the hospice room. Death had not left.
She smoothed her nurses outfit over her hips and fixed her collar. Still Death was there.
"You need to slow down," a voice said behind her. It was as she remembered it: dark, smooth, comforting. "You'll get caught."
"They ask me," Inez replied. "They ask me to help them. It's hard to deny their pleas to save them in a way that they don't damn themselves."
"And so you damn yourself," Death was just behind her. His voice was close, but there was no breath on her ear. She shrugged.
"There are..." she hesitated, "Perks." Warmth, smooth and silk like, had began to pool in her abdomen and seep between her thighs. It did every time Death came near. This was the closet he had been. The warmth leaped up into her heart.
"You do a good thing," Death said. "You should not get caught."
Inez smiled and was glad she wasn't facing him. Her blush would be too obvious.
"I can see the headlines now," she joked. "'Hospice Nurse is Angel of ...'" She trailed off embarrassed.
She felt a hand, not bony or cold, but soothing and possibly...affectionate, touch her shoulder. "Do not get caught," Death said. "No one will understand the peace you bring."
Inez felt the room shift again. Her warmth was replaced with longing.
"No one but you," she said, but she was alone.
| Her heart raced as she waited, her breath warm against the wardrobe door she was pressed behind. Time stood almost still as each footstep echoed from the wooden floor. It had been so long. Too long. She needed to see him, to feel him again.
Unable to wait any longer she put the plan she'd rehearsed countless times into action. The knife glinted as she stepped out into the sunlit room and moments later it was buried in his neck. The hair on her arm began to rise, the room growing colder. Her breath quickened. Her eyes flickered excitedly across the room. He must be close. He had to be.
A familiar rush hit her as she felt him arrive. She stood, blood pooling beneath her feet as he set to work. Such elegance and finesse in what he did, she loved him for that. He stared deep inside the man she'd killed and helped him from the body he'd once captained. She tried to savour each second, for he was busy, so he was brief.
"It's worth it", she said, "each life I take, I take for you and I won't stop. I can't."
He seemed to pause. She was sure of it. His head appeared to turn and stare straight at her, if only for a second.
"Did he?... No, he did, of course he did, he wants me as much I want him."
Her mind raced. This hadn't happened before, of all the times she'd bought a few precious seconds of his time he'd never acknowledged her. Until now. Her next steps were obvious. She needed more time with him, and soon. Sooner than she'd planned. But who? and how? It didn't matter now, all that mattered was being with him. His smell almost lingered as she stared at the body that once held the man. A small price to pay, she thought.
|
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