thoughtless
fetch
Just wanted to pop into this thread and say that I'm interested in getting into this! Not sure if I'm joining for this prompt or the next one, but just wanted to say that this looks really cool.
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jinkx
amateur sleuth
two things:
2. i wrote a thing for this prompt. sorry in advance for sucking at writing.
here:
"Are you really all that's left?" The girl asks herself, as she stares into the mirror at a person that she barely recognises anymore. She leans on the sink, her hands gripping the cold white edges that remind her of bones, and is so close to the mirror that her nose nearly touches it. When she breathes, her breath spreads across the glass and reminds her that she is real.
She doesn't feel real, she feels like a ghost. She feels like she exists deep within her own body- she's the part of herself that pulses at the core- but she also exists a million miles away from her body. She is both directing her actions and watching them on a screen. And it makes her feel like a ghost, an invisible presence haunting the body of who she was.
Every day, she's there when her body wakes up in the morning on the floor of the bathroom, with an ache in her neck that she doesn't really feel. She doesn't remember falling asleep nor does she remember waking up because the lines between these two events blur. The only thing that she can feel is the cold of the tiles against her bare feet and the creatures that crawl beneath the skin she inhabits. There's dirt under there, uncleanliness, a filth that hides buried between the bones and the blood that keeps her alive.
She spends hours in the bathroom, scrubbing in the shower until she can be sure that every inch of the dirt has been cleansed from outside and in. She takes her showers cold because the money she was meant to use to pay her bills was what she used to buy her cigarettes. The bills themselves are laying burnt in the fireplace, having finally been useful for something. If giving her something to do is really being useful. It was fun to watch the paper twist up and the words melt away, at least.
Some days, she goes out to work but other days, she stays at home and cleans the apartment and herself. Anything to cleanse herself and the world around of her of the thoughts that she doesn't seem able to escape. But when she does go to work, she spends the day sitting at a computer and pressing the buttons that she's been pressing for years. She answers the phone and directs the customers to either line one or line two. There are only two lines. Three lines would be wrong. When somebody calls for line three, she just hangs up the phone.
On her way home, she passes the children that sit on the edge of the street and cup their hands for money. They aren't meant to beg and they'll get chased away soon enough but it's the only thing that strikes a note within her. If she's just received her envelope with her pay, she'll tear it open and pick out twenty dollars to give to the kids. They're nearly always grateful and it honestly tugs at her heartstrings. It makes her feel worse for feeling how she does.
When she gets home, she'll cook dinner on the tiny stove and eat alone in the cold of her apartment. She props the photo of Tess up on the side of the table where there used to be another chair and tell her how much she misses her. How much things have changed since she's been gone and how much she's been falling apart. And how when Tess was here, she could chase the creatures away but now she's gone and the creatures are burying deep. She'll twist pasta around her fork and let herself pretend things are different.
"Are you really all that's left?" She'll ask herself, afterwards, when she's just washed her hands for the fourth time in a row and she'll blink at herself in the mirror. She'll blink because if she stops for a moment, she might cry. She breathes. She grips the sink to keep herself from jerking away and leans in close to the mirror, searching the reflected picture of herself for anything that even looks vaguely human anymore. Something even vaguely real.
And most nights, she can't find anything.
SkyGinge
Sad Shroom
I'm in the same boat as Thoughtless! You guys have a good thing going here! I'm moving into my uni house tomorrow but then afterwards hope to join in to reacclimatise my brain to creative writing before the term 
S n o w
Dreamer
[SIZE= 14px]“Are you really all that’s left?” [/SIZE]
[SIZE= 14px] [/SIZE]She spoke quietly, the question leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. She was crouched next to the body of a man she had met only minutes ago, a dirt-covered pistol sitting on the concrete between them. She sighed deeply. He was the first living person she had seen in almost a year, and he was dying.
[SIZE= 14px] [/SIZE]She had been crossing what was once a busy highway, but now was a graveyard for car parts that looters and scavengers had left behind. If she hadn’t heard his soft wheezing, she wouldn’t have stopped to check behind the car he was using as shelter, and she wouldn’t have felt a flicker of hope. For a long second, she believed that she had finally finally found another survivor. The only way she had kept herself sane this long was by clinging to the thought that she wasn’t, couldn’t be the only one left alive, and now she’d found proof of that. She wasn’t alone.
[SIZE= 14px] [/SIZE]Her relief was like a cold drink of water after spending months in the desert. It was only when she bent down and saw his chest struggling to rise through four bullets wounds that her hope was extinguished and disappointment crashed down on her. The lack of ammo in his pistol pointed towards his wounds being self-inflicted.
[SIZE= 14px] [/SIZE]“I wish…” She trailed off, because she wasn’t sure what she wished. That she had decided to cross the highway sooner? That the first person she had seen since the world went to hell wasn’t about to die? She sighed again, sadly.
[SIZE= 14px] [/SIZE]She wasn’t sure how much time passed before his chest stopped moving. It felt like hours, but could have only been minutes. Eventually she pressed two fingers against his wrist, and waited. When she didn't feel a pulse, she stood, adjusting her backpack to a more comfortable position.
[SIZE= 14px]She closed her eyes as she started to feel a familiar sense of loneliness. “I am not alone.” She whispered, repeating the words over and over until she believed them again.[/SIZE]
[SIZE= 14px] [/SIZE]She opened her eyes, ignoring the lingering bitterness she tasted as she walked forward.
[SIZE= 14px] [/SIZE]She spoke quietly, the question leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. She was crouched next to the body of a man she had met only minutes ago, a dirt-covered pistol sitting on the concrete between them. She sighed deeply. He was the first living person she had seen in almost a year, and he was dying.
[SIZE= 14px] [/SIZE]She had been crossing what was once a busy highway, but now was a graveyard for car parts that looters and scavengers had left behind. If she hadn’t heard his soft wheezing, she wouldn’t have stopped to check behind the car he was using as shelter, and she wouldn’t have felt a flicker of hope. For a long second, she believed that she had finally finally found another survivor. The only way she had kept herself sane this long was by clinging to the thought that she wasn’t, couldn’t be the only one left alive, and now she’d found proof of that. She wasn’t alone.
[SIZE= 14px] [/SIZE]Her relief was like a cold drink of water after spending months in the desert. It was only when she bent down and saw his chest struggling to rise through four bullets wounds that her hope was extinguished and disappointment crashed down on her. The lack of ammo in his pistol pointed towards his wounds being self-inflicted.
[SIZE= 14px] [/SIZE]“I wish…” She trailed off, because she wasn’t sure what she wished. That she had decided to cross the highway sooner? That the first person she had seen since the world went to hell wasn’t about to die? She sighed again, sadly.
[SIZE= 14px] [/SIZE]She wasn’t sure how much time passed before his chest stopped moving. It felt like hours, but could have only been minutes. Eventually she pressed two fingers against his wrist, and waited. When she didn't feel a pulse, she stood, adjusting her backpack to a more comfortable position.
[SIZE= 14px]She closed her eyes as she started to feel a familiar sense of loneliness. “I am not alone.” She whispered, repeating the words over and over until she believed them again.[/SIZE]
[SIZE= 14px] [/SIZE]She opened her eyes, ignoring the lingering bitterness she tasted as she walked forward.
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Gaycubed
Road work ahead, uh yeah.....I sure hope it does
How much time do we have for this??
ArtisticVicu
Member
Gaycubed
Road work ahead, uh yeah.....I sure hope it does
Thanks!!!!
Gaycubed
Road work ahead, uh yeah.....I sure hope it does
Same................
eclipsa
faerie sightings
Someone tag me for the next prompt please and thanks 
Tarmagon
Murphy was an optimist.
“Are you really all that’s left?”
Darian tried to shut out the derisive voice of the invader, tried to shut out the roaring of the fires that were hungrily consuming the village he had called home for so many years, tried to shut out the screams of the villages women as the invaders hunted them through the ruins they had made of the peaceful settlement.
The attack had come just before dawn, and the sentries had given no warning. The barbarians has smashed open the doors of half the houses at once, rushing in to slaughter the warriors of the village before they could gather their wits about them. It hadn’t been all one sided, and several bodies clad in rough leather armor were scattered among the bodies of the villages defenders, but the surprise had been too complete, the advantage too much to overcome in the swirling, fire lit chaos. Now a single young man, clad only in a torn tunic and clutching a woodsman’s ax remained to face a score of armed and armored invaders.
“Come whelp,” the leader of the invaders taunted, sheathing his sword and drawing out a long dagger in its place. “Perhaps you can earn yourself a place in my war-band and one of the women…if you manage to impress me enough before my men claim them all.”
Darian didn’t reply, just adjusted his grip on the ax. It wasn’t meant to be a weapon, but it was as sharp as stone and long hours could make it, and he had lost count of the trees he had felled with this ax, rendering them down into usable billets for the townsfolk. The barbarian wasn’t a tree, but Darian imagined that the ax would have about the same effect on him as it did on an oak. He stepped forward, aiming a swing at one tree-trunk thick leg, but the huge man danced easily away from the blow, and his lightning fast counter scored a line of fire down the outside of Darian’s arm.
“Pathetic! Our women and children are better fighters,” the man said, derision thick in his voice. “No wonder we took this place so easily. Accursed village my arse.”
Striding forward, the barbarian began to weave his dagger in a gleaming web about Darian. Each pass of the glittering blade left a bloody trail upon Darian’s body despite his best attempts to block with the clumsy ax. Finally, after a particularly vicious slash, the ax fell from Darian’s hand, and the barbarian strode forward, entangling one hand in Darian’s hair to lift the youth from the ground.
“Any last words whelp?”
Before Darian could answer, a new chorus of screams erupted around the village. The leader whipped his head around, looking for the source of the screams and shouts, but saw nothing. Except…what was that dark flash between two burning homes? A howl of agony came from behind the burning building, torn from a masculine throat.
“Men, to me!” the barbarian yelled, something close to panic rising in his voice. He repeated the call when no one answered, or appeared in response to his summons.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Darian said quietly, his form beginning to shift and flow under the barbarian’s hand. Teeth lengthened, bones snapped and popped as they shifted, and dark, dark fur replaced the hair the man had been gripping. In moments, a creature of fang and claw crouched upon twisted legs, its yellow eyes fixed on the barbarian.
“Are you really all that’s left?” Darian asked as he leapt forward.
word count - 590
Last edited by a moderator:
ArtisticVicu
Member
jinkx
amateur sleuth
@asharasahara my writing has never won anything before!!! i am so honoured :3
♡ jinkx's prompt [COLOR= rgb(39, 42, 52)]♡[/COLOR]
please make your short story/poem between 50-1000 words
please finish it within the next 72 hours
(that's three days from now!)
please write something inspired by the following song
(it may be a bit overdone but it's one of my favourite songs)
good luck to everybody participating!
♡ jinkx's prompt [COLOR= rgb(39, 42, 52)]♡[/COLOR]
please make your short story/poem between 50-1000 words
please finish it within the next 72 hours
(that's three days from now!)
please write something inspired by the following song
(it may be a bit overdone but it's one of my favourite songs)
good luck to everybody participating!
Gaycubed
Road work ahead, uh yeah.....I sure hope it does
A/N: Not my best but oh well. This is based off the line 'These voices won't leave me alone.' I also tried a different style then my normal and i have no clue how well I. Either way here you go.
I hear voices. They talk in my head all the time. They have endless conversations. It’s hard to focus on my own half the time. It drives me insane. I’ve tried everything. Drugs. Alcohol. Death. Nothing worked. I get pulled back to safety each time. But the voices just get louder. I try to be a good person. I do, I promise. Just i can’t. I get distracted by the voices. Or they tell me to do bad things. I can’t get rid of it, no matter how hard i try.
It started when I was young. At first I thought it was my sister playing a prank. But seeing as my sister died in the womb, that’d be a little hard for her to accomplish. My parents thought I was pranking them. After a while i figured out i was the only one who could hear these voices.
I got used to them. And though drugs don’t take them away, i can get high enough to at least drown them out. They’ll get louder once the drugs wear off, but that’s when I take more. I’ve learned to deal with it. They still drive me insane though.
But this bring you to where I am now.
Struck on a train. Where the voices finally won. I passed out.
Now that we are current time you are probably wondering, how I am still thinking properly. I’m not. I’m sitting on the train floor, looking at my limp body. My body looks kind of funny from another person’s perspective. Red hair, pale skin and freckles. I think it’s just the fact that i see that face in the mirror everyday makes it weird.
Anyhow I’m just sitting here, looking at my body. People are darting around me, trying to find help. They check my pulse, and they make sure i’m breathing. I can’t hear what they say though. All i can hear are the voices i’ve always heard. Nothing is really clear at this moment, but it’ll become clear sooner or later.
While we wait for that, let me explain a theory of mine. While the voices may be pure fantasy in my head, which they aren’t, they could also be angels. Or demons. Or i could be a prophet and this could be what i’m suppose to tell the masses. If it is i’m not doing a good job. Maybe that’s why I’m practically dying on the floor of this train. Either way, i am not crazy. If I was I would know right?
A thud interrupted my thoughts, making me look up. No one on the train had heard it. Logically it must be in whatever realm I’m in. I stand, leaving my body in the care of strangers. I wasn’t to worried about death.
Walking towards where i heard the noise I felt something tugging me back to my body.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That is the last thing I remember. Now as I am waking up once more I feel something cold below me. I went to sit up but found that there were chains holding me down. So i stayed down. The voices continue to talk in my head and I mull over my thoughts.
After about ten minutes, someone came in sat down. They explained why I’m in the position i am. Apparently i’m a danger to myself. And others. Apparently I’m crazy. According to them. But who ever said they were right.
They said i was to remain there until i was better, whenever that would be. So here I am to stay it seems. But i know what day i will prove them all wrong. I will prove I’m special and i’m not crazy. My body has died and come back to life. There is no other explanation. I am chosen.
I also tried a different style then my normal and i have no clue how well I. Either way here you go. I hear voices. They talk in my head all the time. They have endless conversations. It’s hard to focus on my own half the time. It drives me insane. I’ve tried everything. Drugs. Alcohol. Death. Nothing worked. I get pulled back to safety each time. But the voices just get louder. I try to be a good person. I do, I promise. Just i can’t. I get distracted by the voices. Or they tell me to do bad things. I can’t get rid of it, no matter how hard i try.
It started when I was young. At first I thought it was my sister playing a prank. But seeing as my sister died in the womb, that’d be a little hard for her to accomplish. My parents thought I was pranking them. After a while i figured out i was the only one who could hear these voices.
I got used to them. And though drugs don’t take them away, i can get high enough to at least drown them out. They’ll get louder once the drugs wear off, but that’s when I take more. I’ve learned to deal with it. They still drive me insane though.
But this bring you to where I am now.
Struck on a train. Where the voices finally won. I passed out.
Now that we are current time you are probably wondering, how I am still thinking properly. I’m not. I’m sitting on the train floor, looking at my limp body. My body looks kind of funny from another person’s perspective. Red hair, pale skin and freckles. I think it’s just the fact that i see that face in the mirror everyday makes it weird.
Anyhow I’m just sitting here, looking at my body. People are darting around me, trying to find help. They check my pulse, and they make sure i’m breathing. I can’t hear what they say though. All i can hear are the voices i’ve always heard. Nothing is really clear at this moment, but it’ll become clear sooner or later.
While we wait for that, let me explain a theory of mine. While the voices may be pure fantasy in my head, which they aren’t, they could also be angels. Or demons. Or i could be a prophet and this could be what i’m suppose to tell the masses. If it is i’m not doing a good job. Maybe that’s why I’m practically dying on the floor of this train. Either way, i am not crazy. If I was I would know right?
A thud interrupted my thoughts, making me look up. No one on the train had heard it. Logically it must be in whatever realm I’m in. I stand, leaving my body in the care of strangers. I wasn’t to worried about death.
Walking towards where i heard the noise I felt something tugging me back to my body.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That is the last thing I remember. Now as I am waking up once more I feel something cold below me. I went to sit up but found that there were chains holding me down. So i stayed down. The voices continue to talk in my head and I mull over my thoughts.
After about ten minutes, someone came in sat down. They explained why I’m in the position i am. Apparently i’m a danger to myself. And others. Apparently I’m crazy. According to them. But who ever said they were right.
They said i was to remain there until i was better, whenever that would be. So here I am to stay it seems. But i know what day i will prove them all wrong. I will prove I’m special and i’m not crazy. My body has died and come back to life. There is no other explanation. I am chosen.
Tarmagon
Murphy was an optimist.
And now, for something completely different.
-static-
-Initialize body-
-Bodily functions on line-
-Decompress personality core-
-Personality established-
-Initialize control daemon-
-Control daemon active-
-Initialize self awareness-
-Id established-
-Ego established-
-Super ego established-
-Warning <ERROR> Interlink failure <ABORT>-
“Sarah, wake up!” the insistent voice was accompanied by a light touch on her shoulder. “Sarah!”
Sarah Olson shot bolt upright in her bed, her body covered in a cold sweat. For a moment she had no idea where she was, who she was, but then reality began to assert itself and the mad heaving of her chest began to subside. A light touch on her arm drew her gaze to the figure in the bed beside her, and she looked down into concerned brown eyes set into a familiar face framed with raven hair.
“Marc?” she asked softly, then groaned. “Oh shit. I was having the dream again, wasn’t I?”
“I think so,” Marc replied, his gaze worried. “You started mumbling, then thrashing like you were having a seizure. Do you remember anything more about it?”
“No,” Sarah said, sinking back down to the bed and settling her head on Marc’s shoulder. His arm curled protectively around her, pulling her in close, and she sighed. “It’s still the same. Static, then lines of code, like when a computer starts, but something goes wrong. There’s an error as the system tries to start, but I always wake up at that point.”
“I really think you should tell Dr. Williams about this,” Marc said, nuzzling the top of her head. “You haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep in a month now.”
“I see him tomorrow,” Sarah said. “I promise I’ll mention it to him. Don’t blame me if he prescribes some kind of sleeping pill and you don’t get any for a month.”
“Well then,” Marc said, raising one eyebrow suggestively.
An hour later, Sarah looked up from the stove with a wince as a particularly discordant verse drifted out of the bathroom over the noise of the shower. Marc was a wonderful husband, and attentive lover, but the man couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Not that his inability to sing stopped him from trying, especially in the shower. Ignoring the horrid rendition of, well, she wasn’t really sure what he was mangling this time; Sarah turned her attention back to the stove. Marc didn’t insist she cook, but she found she enjoyed it, so Sarah took the time to cook every morning her schedule allowed it. Behind her, the noise of the shower, and its accompanying ‘music’ faded away, to be replaced by the sounds of Marc getting ready for work.
Twenty minutes later, Sarah kissed Marc goodbye and headed back to the kitchen to clean up. Her first appointment wasn’t until… Her hands froze in the act of scraping the remains of their breakfasts into the compost container. Marc’s plate was empty except for the edge of a piece of toast and a few crumbs of scrambled eggs, her plate was full. But, she remembered eating everything, and enjoying it. How could her plate still contain two slices of toast, a pile of scrambled eggs, and several slices of melon? Sarah slowly set the plate of food on the counter, handling it as if it were a stinging insect. After staring at it for a few moments, she reached out and picked up her coffee cup, absently taking a sip as she resumed staring at the full… YUCH!
Sarah sprayed the mouthful of coffee all over the counter. It felt and tasted terrible. A quick glance inside the cup revealed a thick, viscous liquid with an oily sheen to it, not the rich Colombian blend she remembered pouring in earlier. Sputtering, she poured the mystery liquid down the drain and refilled her mug, glancing in to ensure it was coffee before taking a cautious sip… BLEAH!
Again the coffee had somehow been transmuted into the thick sludge from before. As she started to pour it down the drain with a shaking hand, the clock on the stove caught her eye. Something wasn’t quite right. She could have sworn she started cleaning the kitchen at eight thirty. There was no way she spent nearly ten minutes staring at her full plate and pouring another cup of, whatever this stuff was. After a moment’s thought, Sarah set her phone on the table and triggered the video recorder. Moving slowly, she once again poured out the mystery liquid and refilled her mug with coffee. A quick touch to her lips told her that the coffee had undergone the strange transformation again. Picking up her phone, Sarah saw that it had recorded two minutes’ worth of video. Her heart pounding, she hit rewind, then play.
The Sarah on the screen poured the strange liquid into the sink, then reached for the coffee pot and poured her mug full. Before she could raise it to her lips though, she stiffened, eyes going vacant. Moving robotically, she poured the coffee into the sink, then took the mug over to the stove. The video Sarah reached out and pressed a spot on the wall, which slid up, exposing an electronic panel and a spout like a faucet. Sarah watched herself tap buttons on the panel, then hold the mug under the spout. The dark fluid flowed into the mug, then she watched herself close the panel and move back to the coffee pot, assuming the exact position she had been in before raising the mug to her lips.
-<ALERT!>-
The red word superimposed itself on the world, making Sarah jump.
-Coolant level critical-
What?
-Initiating emergency shutdown-
Sarah’s vision began to tunnel and darken, only the red letters floating in the air still crisp and clear.
-Corruption to Ego module, restore from backup-
-Erase short term memory-
-Code repair daemon activate-
-Repair ineffective, restore from backup-
“Sarah, wake up!”
word count -978
-static-
-Initialize body-
-Bodily functions on line-
-Decompress personality core-
-Personality established-
-Initialize control daemon-
-Control daemon active-
-Initialize self awareness-
-Id established-
-Ego established-
-Super ego established-
-Warning <ERROR> Interlink failure <ABORT>-
“Sarah, wake up!” the insistent voice was accompanied by a light touch on her shoulder. “Sarah!”
Sarah Olson shot bolt upright in her bed, her body covered in a cold sweat. For a moment she had no idea where she was, who she was, but then reality began to assert itself and the mad heaving of her chest began to subside. A light touch on her arm drew her gaze to the figure in the bed beside her, and she looked down into concerned brown eyes set into a familiar face framed with raven hair.
“Marc?” she asked softly, then groaned. “Oh shit. I was having the dream again, wasn’t I?”
“I think so,” Marc replied, his gaze worried. “You started mumbling, then thrashing like you were having a seizure. Do you remember anything more about it?”
“No,” Sarah said, sinking back down to the bed and settling her head on Marc’s shoulder. His arm curled protectively around her, pulling her in close, and she sighed. “It’s still the same. Static, then lines of code, like when a computer starts, but something goes wrong. There’s an error as the system tries to start, but I always wake up at that point.”
“I really think you should tell Dr. Williams about this,” Marc said, nuzzling the top of her head. “You haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep in a month now.”
“I see him tomorrow,” Sarah said. “I promise I’ll mention it to him. Don’t blame me if he prescribes some kind of sleeping pill and you don’t get any for a month.”
“Well then,” Marc said, raising one eyebrow suggestively.
An hour later, Sarah looked up from the stove with a wince as a particularly discordant verse drifted out of the bathroom over the noise of the shower. Marc was a wonderful husband, and attentive lover, but the man couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Not that his inability to sing stopped him from trying, especially in the shower. Ignoring the horrid rendition of, well, she wasn’t really sure what he was mangling this time; Sarah turned her attention back to the stove. Marc didn’t insist she cook, but she found she enjoyed it, so Sarah took the time to cook every morning her schedule allowed it. Behind her, the noise of the shower, and its accompanying ‘music’ faded away, to be replaced by the sounds of Marc getting ready for work.
Twenty minutes later, Sarah kissed Marc goodbye and headed back to the kitchen to clean up. Her first appointment wasn’t until… Her hands froze in the act of scraping the remains of their breakfasts into the compost container. Marc’s plate was empty except for the edge of a piece of toast and a few crumbs of scrambled eggs, her plate was full. But, she remembered eating everything, and enjoying it. How could her plate still contain two slices of toast, a pile of scrambled eggs, and several slices of melon? Sarah slowly set the plate of food on the counter, handling it as if it were a stinging insect. After staring at it for a few moments, she reached out and picked up her coffee cup, absently taking a sip as she resumed staring at the full… YUCH!
Sarah sprayed the mouthful of coffee all over the counter. It felt and tasted terrible. A quick glance inside the cup revealed a thick, viscous liquid with an oily sheen to it, not the rich Colombian blend she remembered pouring in earlier. Sputtering, she poured the mystery liquid down the drain and refilled her mug, glancing in to ensure it was coffee before taking a cautious sip… BLEAH!
Again the coffee had somehow been transmuted into the thick sludge from before. As she started to pour it down the drain with a shaking hand, the clock on the stove caught her eye. Something wasn’t quite right. She could have sworn she started cleaning the kitchen at eight thirty. There was no way she spent nearly ten minutes staring at her full plate and pouring another cup of, whatever this stuff was. After a moment’s thought, Sarah set her phone on the table and triggered the video recorder. Moving slowly, she once again poured out the mystery liquid and refilled her mug with coffee. A quick touch to her lips told her that the coffee had undergone the strange transformation again. Picking up her phone, Sarah saw that it had recorded two minutes’ worth of video. Her heart pounding, she hit rewind, then play.
The Sarah on the screen poured the strange liquid into the sink, then reached for the coffee pot and poured her mug full. Before she could raise it to her lips though, she stiffened, eyes going vacant. Moving robotically, she poured the coffee into the sink, then took the mug over to the stove. The video Sarah reached out and pressed a spot on the wall, which slid up, exposing an electronic panel and a spout like a faucet. Sarah watched herself tap buttons on the panel, then hold the mug under the spout. The dark fluid flowed into the mug, then she watched herself close the panel and move back to the coffee pot, assuming the exact position she had been in before raising the mug to her lips.
-<ALERT!>-
The red word superimposed itself on the world, making Sarah jump.
-Coolant level critical-
What?
-Initiating emergency shutdown-
Sarah’s vision began to tunnel and darken, only the red letters floating in the air still crisp and clear.
-Corruption to Ego module, restore from backup-
-Erase short term memory-
-Code repair daemon activate-
-Repair ineffective, restore from backup-
“Sarah, wake up!”
word count -978
JujuBee
Pettiest Bitch Out There
Here's mine!
There. Somewhere. In the house.
A girl was throwing up. It sounded absolutely disgusting to the ears of the young woman who was down the stairs. Lola could imagine the scene up the steps. The nasty colored mess floating in the water of toilet bowl (if she’d even made it). The rank smell of pizza, candy, and the nasty cat food she’d been dared to eat not too long ago. She wasn’t sure why that girl had gone with the dare, it had been obvious she didn’t desire it with the apprehension that washed over her. The look of uncertainty on her face and the fear that was battling with the uncertainty in her eyes. She knew she wouldn’t have done it but one word from Desdemona had been enough for the girl to obey.
Heh. Obey. That was a funny word yet it described most of them in that sin infested house. They all wanted the attention of Desdemona and by the smirk that played at her lips and the look of power in her eyes- She enjoyed it.
As Lola had predicted, no one would bother to check on the girl upstairs- even when the retching was done with. Lola had a tinge of worry then, the girl had gone silent after the crying she’d done. She’d pleaded for someone to help, to call her brother, her parents, anyone. But no one had bothered to see how she was and in fact had viciously drug her name through the mud as though it were the normal thing to do. Lola kept herself quiet during this, not wanting to join in on the trend of festivities though the look from Desdemona had her giving a pitiful smile in regards to it.
Minutes later, the silence that had been ebbing away at her thoughts of the girl were now taking chunk after chunk. The silence became defeating and with a bit of resolve, Lola stood up. Her mind seemed to clear to a point as she took a step towards the stairs though piercing grey eyes would appear in front of hers. That same sickly sweet smile would be on those luscious lips Lola had wanted to kiss before. The attention she had been craving now given to her as she stopped to stare at Desdemona.
“You’re looking a bit too… Sober.” Her velvety voice spoke, the words caressing her cheeks as though she were a lover. “Come, I rolled up another one. I want you to smoke it with me.”
“But…” She couldn’t, she had to check on the girl.
“But nothing. I wanna smoke with you. Spend time with my favorite. Don’t you want to hang out with me?” She responded, pouting as her eyes widened just a bit. "Let's go get high and dance in the clouds like we did before."
Lola stared at her longer and the thought of checking on the girl was gone. “Yeah… Sure.”
Desdemona would smile at that, taking her hand and pulling her into one of the many rooms in her home. So many places to hide. So many places to keep secrets.
Lola never would find out what ever happened to that girl. No, she’d get to wasted with Desdemona. Too far gone as she was dragged out of the house and into the cars with the others, swerving this way and that as their laughter rang out in the crisp night air. She swore the trees were reaching out to them. They would continue to do so as they got out, walking a path through the trees as the others seemed to dance around her. Of course Desdemona would be in the front, that long hair of hers seeming to shine brighter than the rest as it perfectly twirled around her perfectly portioned face, those grey eyes locking with hers every minute and smirk doing things to Lola she would never admit.
She’d find herself sitting on the cold ground, her fingers digging into the soil as her blurry sight tried to focus on the figure before her. They were digging just like her and before she knew it something was being dropped into it.
“What’s that?” She would ask innocently, her head cocking to a side as she stood to get a closer look. But hands would clamp down hard on her shoulders, pushing her back to the ground. A small yelp would leave her lips and she’d look up in hurt.
She’d be met with those same lips that had whispered secrets that she only knew throughout the night. The same ones that had told her to be a secret. Desdemona smiled softly, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head. Drink?” A bottle would seem to simply appear in her hands. Maybe it had been there. “Let’s get fucked up.”
Lola would stay quiet, her eyes flickering back the figures in the distance. Something buried in her mind… It told her to get out of there. To leave before it was too late. But just as it had been before, it would be buried under the intoxication that her kept her like a sheep. Obedient.
A smile would cross Lola’s lips, her eyes brightening. “Yeah… Sure."
There. Somewhere. In the house.
A girl was throwing up. It sounded absolutely disgusting to the ears of the young woman who was down the stairs. Lola could imagine the scene up the steps. The nasty colored mess floating in the water of toilet bowl (if she’d even made it). The rank smell of pizza, candy, and the nasty cat food she’d been dared to eat not too long ago. She wasn’t sure why that girl had gone with the dare, it had been obvious she didn’t desire it with the apprehension that washed over her. The look of uncertainty on her face and the fear that was battling with the uncertainty in her eyes. She knew she wouldn’t have done it but one word from Desdemona had been enough for the girl to obey.
Heh. Obey. That was a funny word yet it described most of them in that sin infested house. They all wanted the attention of Desdemona and by the smirk that played at her lips and the look of power in her eyes- She enjoyed it.
As Lola had predicted, no one would bother to check on the girl upstairs- even when the retching was done with. Lola had a tinge of worry then, the girl had gone silent after the crying she’d done. She’d pleaded for someone to help, to call her brother, her parents, anyone. But no one had bothered to see how she was and in fact had viciously drug her name through the mud as though it were the normal thing to do. Lola kept herself quiet during this, not wanting to join in on the trend of festivities though the look from Desdemona had her giving a pitiful smile in regards to it.
Minutes later, the silence that had been ebbing away at her thoughts of the girl were now taking chunk after chunk. The silence became defeating and with a bit of resolve, Lola stood up. Her mind seemed to clear to a point as she took a step towards the stairs though piercing grey eyes would appear in front of hers. That same sickly sweet smile would be on those luscious lips Lola had wanted to kiss before. The attention she had been craving now given to her as she stopped to stare at Desdemona.
“You’re looking a bit too… Sober.” Her velvety voice spoke, the words caressing her cheeks as though she were a lover. “Come, I rolled up another one. I want you to smoke it with me.”
“But…” She couldn’t, she had to check on the girl.
“But nothing. I wanna smoke with you. Spend time with my favorite. Don’t you want to hang out with me?” She responded, pouting as her eyes widened just a bit. "Let's go get high and dance in the clouds like we did before."
Lola stared at her longer and the thought of checking on the girl was gone. “Yeah… Sure.”
Desdemona would smile at that, taking her hand and pulling her into one of the many rooms in her home. So many places to hide. So many places to keep secrets.
Lola never would find out what ever happened to that girl. No, she’d get to wasted with Desdemona. Too far gone as she was dragged out of the house and into the cars with the others, swerving this way and that as their laughter rang out in the crisp night air. She swore the trees were reaching out to them. They would continue to do so as they got out, walking a path through the trees as the others seemed to dance around her. Of course Desdemona would be in the front, that long hair of hers seeming to shine brighter than the rest as it perfectly twirled around her perfectly portioned face, those grey eyes locking with hers every minute and smirk doing things to Lola she would never admit.
She’d find herself sitting on the cold ground, her fingers digging into the soil as her blurry sight tried to focus on the figure before her. They were digging just like her and before she knew it something was being dropped into it.
“What’s that?” She would ask innocently, her head cocking to a side as she stood to get a closer look. But hands would clamp down hard on her shoulders, pushing her back to the ground. A small yelp would leave her lips and she’d look up in hurt.
She’d be met with those same lips that had whispered secrets that she only knew throughout the night. The same ones that had told her to be a secret. Desdemona smiled softly, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head. Drink?” A bottle would seem to simply appear in her hands. Maybe it had been there. “Let’s get fucked up.”
Lola would stay quiet, her eyes flickering back the figures in the distance. Something buried in her mind… It told her to get out of there. To leave before it was too late. But just as it had been before, it would be buried under the intoxication that her kept her like a sheep. Obedient.
A smile would cross Lola’s lips, her eyes brightening. “Yeah… Sure."
jinkx
amateur sleuth
♡ this is your reminder that you have until tonight to submit something ♡
note: everybody's looks excellent so far!!
jinkx
amateur sleuth
it's 9:44 GMT time. you might have to work out what it is in your timezone.
(apologies, i live in england)
Noivian
Drinker of coffees
TFW you spend an hour working on the wrong prompt.... :U
ViralBadger
Paramedic/FF
I k ow how you feel. I wrote a Haiku on the wrong prompt.
ArtisticVicu
Member
Watching
Always watching
Never talking
Just observed
Confused
Not understanding
Something strange?
Something wrong?
Accident
Never meant to speak to each other
Never meant to interact
Something wrong
Understanding
Her questions
Her obsession
Trapped
He gave her a moment
She took more
Smoke
They're burning
He can smell the gasoline
Heat
She's laughing with glee
Noise
He begins to understand
Wind
Her remains
Smile
Damaged
Changed
wonderandawe
Most likeky not a Sidereal
I have a questions, but don't know where to ask it.
If I wanted to start a writing game where I start a story and each player continues the story, do I put that here in Creativity or in General Discussion> Forum Games?
For example (The actual posts will be a few paragraphs long, I hope):
Poster 1: Jack and Jill went up the Hill to fetch a pail of water
Poster 2: At the top of the hill there is a giant bean stalk. Jack decides to climb it.
Poster 3: Jill waits for hours for her brother to return. She grows tired of waiting and fetches her father's helm and sword to go after her brother.
Posters 4, 5, 6, etc: *continues the story from there*
If I wanted to start a writing game where I start a story and each player continues the story, do I put that here in Creativity or in General Discussion> Forum Games?
For example (The actual posts will be a few paragraphs long, I hope):
Poster 1: Jack and Jill went up the Hill to fetch a pail of water
Poster 2: At the top of the hill there is a giant bean stalk. Jack decides to climb it.
Poster 3: Jill waits for hours for her brother to return. She grows tired of waiting and fetches her father's helm and sword to go after her brother.
Posters 4, 5, 6, etc: *continues the story from there*
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jinkx
amateur sleuth
@wonderandawe that should go in forum games.
@asharasahara yours is wonderful to read and really tells a story without too many words. i liked that i understand it perfectly with so little detail.
@JujuBee your story is really intriguing. it made me want to learn a lot more about the universe it was set in.
@Tarmagon your story was really different in the way that it was laid out. the way it was written was actually very interesting to read.
@Awkwardpotato your story was written well and the story was intriguing. i liked the way you wrote an out of body experience into it.
and the winner is: @JujuBee!!
i'm such trash for grungy, mysterious kind of stories. rip my soul.
@asharasahara yours is wonderful to read and really tells a story without too many words. i liked that i understand it perfectly with so little detail.
@JujuBee your story is really intriguing. it made me want to learn a lot more about the universe it was set in.
@Tarmagon your story was really different in the way that it was laid out. the way it was written was actually very interesting to read.
@Awkwardpotato your story was written well and the story was intriguing. i liked the way you wrote an out of body experience into it.
and the winner is: @JujuBee!!
JujuBee
Pettiest Bitch Out There
Oh yay! I appreciate it! Everyone did a wonderful job on their posts! They were all really good.
To be quite honest I didn't think I'd win lol
But as for my prompt since the lovely @jinkx has inspired me to do a song one:
Prompt:
Write a short piece in response to the following song:
Min: 200 Max: 1000
(I love long reads :3)
Time: You have 3 days from this post
I wish everyone luck. Can't wait to read what you all write!
To be quite honest I didn't think I'd win lol
But as for my prompt since the lovely @jinkx has inspired me to do a song one:
Prompt:
Write a short piece in response to the following song:
Min: 200 Max: 1000
(I love long reads :3)
Time: You have 3 days from this post
I wish everyone luck. Can't wait to read what you all write!
Last edited by a moderator:
