My name is Detective John Goldman. I take the cases everyone fears.
So there I was, in the thick of it. A real shit storm. This had "Crime of The Century" written all over it. It was a Tuesday, when the chief called me in. Some sick little fuck walked up and, in broad daylight, stole the juice box of a one, Jaime Torres. Gave her cooties too. I couldn't say she didn't deserve it, she and I had history, but cooties? That seemed a bit over the top. Not two days ago I had poured my heart out to her. What a sap I was. She played me for my heart and my damn cookies. Dames, huh? But enough about that, I need a changing.
My investigation was heating up. With a fresh diaper, I made my way to the local strip club, The Milk Bar. This is where all the scum came to blow off steam. I was here for other purposes. I made my way to Tommy Two-chin, the bouncer. "I'm here to see Suzie Q." He stood up, giving me a view of how massive he truly was. This wasn't going to end very well. "Can't do that, little guy. I have orders." "What are they? Don't eat the customers?" I'll admit, that may have been a bad idea on my part. I'd missed my workout, though. Who knows? This could be fun. He had a look of anger and constipation on his face. It was as red as an apple and twice as big. I stood there, calmly. Waiting for him to make his move. His fist came out of nowhere. Next thing I know I'm looking at the ceiling. Yep, this was going to be fun. I made my way to my feet, pulling out my gun. A warning shot should do. I aimed for his head and fired. "They all fall down."
What? I said it would do, not that he'd get one. I found Suzie Q in the restrooms snorting formula off his teddy bear's ass. You see, Suzie was a boy in love with his teddy and hated girls with a passion. Some may say enough to give them cooties. "What's the word on the street, Suzie? Who gave Jamie the cooties?" He grinned as he sat up. "I don't know what you are going on about, Detective. These things don't concern me." He made his way to the big boy stall. Probably to get a gun. "I will say this, though. Little bitch got what she deserved. I doubt she'll be taking any more cookies. Speaking of,I have your's riiiiight here!" He drew and fired. Damn, he was faster than I thought. This was my best trenchcoat. The chief is going to be pissed. I had ducked behind one of the trash cans. Fuck, couldn't get a clear shot of him. I could see the bear, though. You can't see it, but I'm grinning devilishly. I aimed for the teddy. Suzie reacted just as I hoped he would. He flung himself in front of his great love. I put one in his hand to disarm him and one in his knee for the coat. "Fine, I'll tell you! It was Jaime!" "What the hell are you talking about?" I put the gun to the teddy's head. "Start talking sense!" "She fixed the whole thing, I swear." He had started crying. It was a nasty. Had a snot bubble and everything. "She has a cure for the cooties. She knew this was the only way to get you here." "Why did she want me here?!" I couldn't process this. "To take you out. Your cookies had fruit in them." Dames. Can't live with them, can't set them on fire. "You are going to let me go, aren't you? I've told you everything I know." "Sure, Champ. You are free to go….to hell." Was that a bit much? Nah, it was cool.
I knew the score now. I was a marked man. All on account of a few pieces of fruit. What can I say? The chief wants me to eat healthy. After roughing some contacts up, I found out where Jaime would be waiting. Seems she wanted to give up. Has trap written all over it. She was at Pickup Point, a dangerous place to be. The cars go five miles an hour. Real speed demons. I spotted her near a sign. She looked like an angel. If an angel was satan… haha get it? Damn, I'm funny.
She spotted me in no time and beckoned me forward. I walked to her slowly. "Why, Jaime? Is this really over fruit laced sweets?" She gave me a smile. God, what a smile. "Are you really that slow, John? You've made a lot of enemies here. They all offered me a fortune to take you out." "And breaking my heart?" She began laughing. "Hey, a girl has to have her fun." She reached in her pocket and pulled a gun. "Goodbye, John. I'm going to kill you now. Then, I'm catching the first car out. I just have to be cute and throw some gagas and googoos." She had planned this, I'll give her that. "You forget something, my dear." I chuckled. "What's that?" BANG! "I have no problems shooting first." At that moment, by pure luck, the chief pulled up. I stood over Jaimes' lifeless body, as the chief walked up. "Gaga googoo deady." The chief picked me up. "Honey, he just said 'Daddy'!" "What happened to his coat?" I let out a sigh. I wish they would just put me in the goddamn car.
The Dream
He opened his eyes and felt the tears stream down. He had dreamt of her. Of days long past and what could have been. He lay there, overcome by the dream. He allowed himself a small smile as he went over memories. He turned his head to the right, and as always, there was just empty space. His hand running over the place where she could have been. “How many years?” He thought to himself. How many had passed since his heart went cold?
Life had all but robbed him of his optimism and carelessness. It had been replaced with a calm, collected demeanor and a distance in his eyes. Many a night had he sat and thought of her. Even after so long, no one compared. This was all futile, he knew. For the woman he loved was gone. She was someone else now. Someone new. Most importantly, he wasn’t the man she had loved. That version of himself had gone, never to return.
But still he found himself thinking of her. To indulge in the aching. The one thing that kept him tethered to who he had been and to better days. He returned his gaze to the ceiling and let out a sigh. Wondering if he would ever find a love like that again. Wondering if his heart could even be brought back. If he was worthy of a savior. He closed his eyes and drifted off. Walking up the driveway to that knowing smile.
My name is Dante and soon I'll be dead. I'm writing this to let anyone who finds this know who and, more importantly what, I was. There was an outbreak. A virus. That was ten years ago. Scientists took to calling it "W01F", because of the effects of exposure. The infected grew in strength and speed. Taking on wolf-like attributes. Mainly fangs, claws, and a heightened sense of smell. In the first few weeks of the outbreak no one gave it much thought. They figured it was just another scare tactic. How wrong they were.
The infected began looking at the world as a playground and humans as sheep. They had power that, up until that point, had only been the stuff of myth and legend. It took the deaths of a school bus to snap the humans out of their own little worlds. That was when they started paying attention. They feared the power of the infected and set out to do something about it. Some joined the infected, others took up arms, and a few just hid, waiting for both sides to kill each other.
My family chose to hide. It was my father, mother, and myself. We had lost everyone else. We created a new world in that little storm shelter. We were lulled to sleep by gunfire and inhuman growls. We only left the shelter when we were running low on food and always made sure the fighting wasn't nearby. We lived that way for nine years. Nine long years. I was seventeen when that world, the world we forged from ashes, was destroyed. My father went for supplies and never came back. We were sure he had died. Like the humans at the beginning, how wrong we were.
It had been two weeks since he vanished. Two weeks of tears and guilt. That was when the knock came. It was him. It was my father. He called to us and asked to be let in. In her excitement, my mother didn't notice that his voice had changed. It was the voice of an infected. It took on an overlapping quality. Like two people speaking as one. Before I could react, she had opened the door. Hell had come to our shelter. Five of them entered, looking more like starved animals than the men they once were. My father was at the forefront. They killed my mother before I could even blink. Her neck snapped. Such speed they possessed. Looking back on it, I'm glad she didn't feel any pain. Then they were on me. I don't remember much of what happened. Just biting, tearing, and pain.
When I woke up I knew something was wrong with me. They had turned me. Turned me to be a slave and entertainment. They took great pleasure in beating me for hours on end. After a month of pain and misery I gained there trust. The beatings became seldom and they let me move freely in their camp. I learned that my father had rounded up a "pack" of sorts. He was rarely even there. He spent his time looking for recruits. Another month passed and the beatings stopped all together. On a cold, moonless night I used it to my advantage. I moved quickly and quietly through the camp, slitting the throats of all I could find. I killed everyone of them apart from my father. He ran when he heard the death gurgles. Ran with his tail between his legs. No pun intended.
That's all I can think to write, at this point. If I had more time I'd like to go into more detail, but I can hear my fathers new pack getting closer. Seems he finally tracked me down. They are at the stairs now. Best not to keep them waiting. I'm many things, but rude is not one of them.
Walmart. Hick Ground Zero. I was surrounded by strange creatures clad in neon and camouflage. The females had hair as big as a bus and were communicating in ungodly shrieks. I believe this was a display was a mating ritual designed to attract a male of the species. The males wore hats to hide their waning plumage. They spoke only in short grunts and an unintelligible language. As if answering the female. If only I could understand them!
There wasn't time for that. I was on a mission. It wasn't a "Save the world" type deal. That wasn't until Tuesday. This was more pressing. I was here for one purpose. Hot pockets. I kept my head low and descended into the imminent orgy. This would be the fight of my life.
As I fought of the advances of the shrieking female hickians with my trusty wit and battle axe, I somehow found myself caught up in a tent demonstration. The leader of this particular pack roped my help by sheer flattery. Phrases like "Strapping young man" were used in abundance. Being the kind and gentle soul that I am, I didn't hit him with the axe and agreed to help.
The first words out of his mouth were about my tent pitching skills. Did I know how to pitch a tent? What kind of question was that?! I studied the leader. He was old and, seemingly, frail. No plumage and his communication was in coughs, rather than the grunts of his more youthful pack. He had lived long enough to learn the language of people. I'm surprised. Usually when a male gets too old he gets replaced by a more vibrant leader. Seconds passed and an almost inaudible gasp escaped my lips as it dawned on me. He saw me as a threat to his leadership! He was testing my manhood. I must respond to the challenge like a gentleman of my caliber. I answered by stating his mother always helps my tent pitching process.
I awoke several minutes later in a daze. My nose was bloody, but I was no worse for wear. Axe in hand, I continued on my divine quest. I reached my prize after an hour of battling. They were in my grasp. The last box of Garlic Buttery Pepperoni Pizza Hot Pockets. A true gift from the gods.
I made my way to the front. Beaten, but not broken. I had gone through hell and back. Fought many a hickian. A strange species. But I was victorious. I paid the robot, took my prize, and began the journey home. Until next time.
This story made me wet in all the right places.
(06-19-2013, 03:12 PM)Raiden Blackwood Wrote: [ -> ]Walmart. Hick Ground Zero. I was surrounded by strange creatures clad in neon and camouflage. The females had hair as big as a bus and were communicating in ungodly shrieks. I believe this was a display was a mating ritual designed to attract a male of the species. The males wore hats to hide their waning plumage. They spoke only in short grunts and an unintelligible language. As if answering the female. If only I could understand them!
There wasn't time for that. I was on a mission. It wasn't a "Save the world" type deal. That wasn't until Tuesday. This was more pressing. I was here for one purpose. Hot pockets. I kept my head low and descended into the imminent orgy. This would be the fight of my life.
As I fought of the advances of the shrieking female hickians with my trusty wit and battle axe, I somehow found myself caught up in a tent demonstration. The leader of this particular pack roped my help by sheer flattery. Phrases like "Strapping young man" were used in abundance. Being the kind and gentle soul that I am, I didn't hit him with the axe and agreed to help.
The first words out of his mouth were about my tent pitching skills. Did I know how to pitch a tent? What kind of question was that?! I studied the leader. He was old and, seemingly, frail. No plumage and his communication was in coughs, rather than the grunts of his more youthful pack. He had lived long enough to learn the language of people. I'm surprised. Usually when a male gets too old he gets replaced by a more vibrant leader. Seconds passed and an almost inaudible gasp escaped my lips as it dawned on me. He saw me as a threat to his leadership! He was testing my manhood. I must respond to the challenge like a gentleman of my caliber. I answered by stating his mother always helps my tent pitching process.
I awoke several minutes later in a daze. My nose was bloody, but I was no worse for wear. Axe in hand, I continued on my divine quest. I reached my prize after an hour of battling. They were in my grasp. The last box of Garlic Buttery Pepperoni Pizza Hot Pockets. A true gift from the gods.
I made my way to the front. Beaten, but not broken. I had gone through hell and back. Fought many a hickian. A strange species. But I was victorious. I paid the robot, took my prize, and began the journey home. Until next time.
What your protagonist looks like in my mind.
![[Image: Sweet-Brown.jpg]](http://cdn.hiphopwired.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/Sweet-Brown.jpg)
I would love to see her fight off rednecks with a battle axe.
(06-20-2013, 09:11 PM)Raiden Blackwood Wrote: [ -> ]I would love to see her fight off rednecks with a battle axe.
Sir, Christ you're bleeding out!
AIN'T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR DAT!
Then she dies and loses Iraqistan.
Just a little something I wrote last year. I've been dubbed "King of Cliffhangers".
The corrupt mage stood in victory over Vikkael. He sneered to himself. "I do not see how you defeated my followers. You are nothing more than a man, a mere mortal. I smell your weakness, it pollutes the air." He used his powers to repair Vikkael's blade. "Again, fierce warrior. Come and slay me." He chuckled.
Vikkael slowly grabbed the blade. He was near the breaking point. Utterly spent. He felt the pain rush through him as he rose. He had to end this. For everyone counting on him. For every man, woman, and child of the three races. But most importantly, for himself. He had not yet earned his rest. "Mercy is not a weakness. It is a gift for those who have strayed from the path of good. A chance to return. You, mage, will get no such kindness from me." Vikkael tossed the blade aside. "You forget. I am no ordinary man." He said as he shed his armor. "And I am no mortal." He felt his skin ripping as he unleashed his true fury. The beast within. The end was at hand.
A small excerpt for an idea.
He was in a tight spot this time. Surrounded by battle hungry demons, His goddess, Genevieve, dead at his feet, and his divine power boost was fading fast. If he was going to continue his mission, he'd have to make it out of this alive. He knelt by Genevieve's corpse, closing his eyes. "Never did understand why you chose me as your champion. I was just a mediocre mage in the right place at the right time. The only thing I was ever good at was running my mouth." He said softly, tears forming in his eyes. He'd failed her. Plain and simple. "I'm sorry, Gen. I should've been by your side." He said as he felt something shift in the air. He opened his eyes in shock as he realized what caused the shift. A lavender colored staff sat where her body had been. As if that didn't throw him for a loop, Genevieve's spirit flowed out of it. She gave him a smile that could have melted an ice cap. "This was no fault of yours, Cecil. It was my destiny to fall in this battle. Just as it is your destiny to fight like the champion you've become. Win, Cecil." She murmured, stroking his cheek. He sat, dumbfounded, as her spirit began to disappear. "And Cecil," She motioned to the staff, "don't waste my gift." With that, she was gone. He considered her words. She conveniently left out his ultimate fate in the battle. Looking around he counted, at least, 400 demons just waiting. Waiting for him to make his move. 400 demons wanting to rip out his soul and have it for lunch. He chuckled as he figured the odds. They weren't even close to being in his favor, but this is what he lived for. A fair fight was too boring, but this, this, was exciting. He would have to mourn the lose of Gen later. He'd have to put everything but the coming fight out of his head. He picked the staff up with a wry grin, feeling it's power. "Your gonna have to work for your supper, you evil fuckheads." He exclaimed, raising up as the words left his mouth. The demons took this as a challenge and began their advance. Cecil's smile turned into a snarl of defiance and delight, as he brought the staff crashing into the first demons chest. With a roar he saw one last vision of Gen and, with every fiber of his being, let out a single word, "FULGUR!!"
Here's another idea I had. I'm going to expand on it at some point. I apologize for any errors.
At the age of thirty-five I seemed to have the perfect life. A loving wife and two beautiful children greeted me each morning and would bid me pleasant dreams each night. The only obstacle to my continued bliss was my recent unemployment, but I was determined not to let this hiccup bring me down. After all, it gave me something that was severely lacking in my life. It gave me time. So, naturally, I perceived this as a blessing. Along with their greetings, I was free to spend my days with my children, going on daring adventures using only the power of imagination. Seeing their laughter and innocence warmed me to my core. It also made what I did necessary. It was a few weeks into our daily adventures when I first noticed the marks on their hands. At first, I dismissed them as bug bites, trying not to let my unburdened mind jump to insane conclusions. As time went on, the marks grew and morphed, Soon their hands weren't their hands, but rather green, scaly imitations. We stopped going outside after that. I had to protect them. I had to save them. The worse it became, the less they were themselves. Whatever had hold of them was replacing childish laughter with hushed tones and horror-filled looks. They wouldn't even let me near them. Then their eyes turned black as night. I was terrified to look into those dark globes of oblivion. It was in that moment knew how to save them. The only way to save who they were. In the dead of night I crept to their room. I couldn't save them both, not at once. I made my way to the closest bed. My son's bed. The pillow I placed over his face was an instrument of salvation, it was peace. I pressed down until the demonic feet stopped kicking and made my way to the next bed, salvation in hand.
Ummmm..... bravo. Wow. Daggum. Keep it up.
This is really good. Look forward to see what else happens.
![[+]](images/collapse_collapsed.png "[+]")
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