58 replies to this topic

[stüart]

oh

[Devil's Advocate]

I know this isnt a piece of writing, but it is something I made as a "snapshot" of one of the scenes in my short story, The Carousel.

Its a single bullet, in the African sand of a meatchack where a child soldier is tortured for information.

[Devil's Advocate]

I don't know where I am going with this, but I thought I'd post it. If people like it I'll continue


The burrowing had become worse of late, a filth that was unrecognisably me. It was an underhanded grating at the brain that could not be reached, no matter how hard I clawed. The voice offered its assistance. After all, he was a bastard, but at least he knew it. �You could split your head open on a rock � or something, the specifics aren�t important. But if you did, then you could get to me. Isn�t that what you�ve wanted for so long now?�

I actually considered it. That would teach the slippery fuck. He never thought I�d do it, take my own life I mean. To proud and haughty for that. The worst of the urges left me. He�d want to take me down with him � always a sucker for irony. �Go fuck yourself.� I replied. His predictability was astounding � a dense silence, a thin deflective laugh, and finally his vitriolic hate. He always despised my independence. The apple doesn�t fall far from the tree, as the saying goes. It drove him insane that the reverse applied to us. The single apple, heavy with idealism and ambition, felling the tree, uprooted and defeated.

That was a lifetime away though. Now my head is heavy for other reasons. Idealism slowly retreated and was filled with freeze-dried cynicism and malevolence. The ambition replaced with drive � a similar feeling, yet not as pure. Drive to expel him from my rotting brain. I wake up in the morning to enfuriate.

[Wretch]

A man dazed and dead
Sleeping beneath the moonlight
Night has not fallen.

videogames - a haiku

bang bang bang bang bang
bang bang bang bang bang click click
i need to reload

[Sclera]

Wretch.

[Wretch]

mass effect 1 - a haiku

bang bang bang bang bang
bang bang bang bang bang hiss click
my gun is too hot

Edited by Wretch, 24 March 2011 - 06:41 PM.

[Ace]

ahahahah oh fuck

Edited by Ace, 24 March 2011 - 06:51 PM.

[ZDnexus]

My cat was sleeping on its favourite chair with a frown. It was the funniest thing I have ever seen

[Alien]

The tangled cables of convulsing razor thorns, protruted end
Of cancerous irradiation, in a scorched hand life is shattered
Fragments of flawed errors sired by the fallacies of God
Deconstructed in the fields of toxic smoke and foul waters
Through decayed skycrapers the beams of searchlights are cast
Into a blackened cityscape, a panorama of urban putrefaction
Post-human buildings, abandoned by the vermin who now inhabit
The vile sewers, inbreeding and procreating abominations...

The blackened skies chain the unsullied constellations
By relics of rotten aeons the subsonic star-choir whispers
The chaotic contortion of the noise of a black hole
Coldest spheres engulf the stellar beauty of misanthropy
An axis of perdition, charted purgatory and dissertated
Anathema of the astral impurity earth has become
Cast the pulsating life-forms that drip their filth into soil
And burning scars are taught by the skin-grafting talons

Alleys of sky-thorns house the churning entrails of children
Deformed, emaciated children born and bred by the pests
Abhorrence spawning an infinity of underdark reflections
That weave their miasmic sounds with the limbs of mutants
Mannequins eagerly shriek and devour the bastard sires
Of those force fed with broken glass of another reality
Invocation of God, trapped in his own creation
Intelligent deformity, you have no one to blame but yourself

...No one can help us...
...Emaciated into liquids...
...Urban decay...
...City walls rot...
...Hospitals infested...
...Mankind is slowly dying...

Stupid faggotry I wrote.

Edited by Juggernaut, 15 April 2011 - 04:11 PM.

[Sclera]

a combined effort:

It was cold; Basil Fuckwood had never been so uncomfortable in his shitty life.

Whenever his friends would ask him to hang out, he�d decline using constipation as an excuse.

Therefore, they concluded, that the pink phallus-shaped objects of the previous night were merely mirages, and so they ate their soup quietly.

�You don�t know me!� he laughed, coughing up mucus.

It was a thick, yellowy green, and bubbled as though it were being boiled. Basil took the fire poker and prodded the puddle; the poker was consumed instantly.

The dogs sniffed around his feet - they had caught on to the steak in his right breast pocket.

Inside the pocket was a small mouse, which Basil suspected could be used to clean up the mucus, and so holding it by its tail, he swung it around and threw it with such great force that it missed the puddle, hit the wall and exploded.

Leslie used the fraying sleeve of her sweater to wipe the remains of breakfast from around her mouth.

She was used to swallowing, and so she showed no remorse when she picked up the mouse's kidneys and ate them and then ate its penis the end

Edited by Sclera, 16 May 2011 - 09:14 PM.

[Phillyphries]

a combined effort:

It was cold; Basil Fuckwood had never been so uncomfortable in his shitty life.

Whenever his friends would ask him to hang out, he�d decline using constipation as an excuse.

Therefore, they concluded, that the pink phallus-shaped objects of the previous night were merely mirages, and so they ate their soup quietly.

�You don�t know me!� he laughed, coughing up mucus.

It was a thick, yellowy green, and bubbled as though it were being boiled. Basil took the fire poker and prodded the puddle; the poker was consumed instantly.

The dogs sniffed around his feet - they had caught on to the steak in his right breast pocket.

Inside the pocket was a small mouse, which Basil suspected could be used to clean up the mucus, and so holding it by its tail, he swung it around and threw it with such great force that it missed the puddle, hit the wall and exploded.

Leslie used the fraying sleeve of her sweater to wipe the remains of breakfast from around her mouth.

She was used to swallowing, and so she showed no remorse when she picked up the mouse's kidneys and ate them and then ate its penis the end

[Sclera]

I was walking along the snow capped footpath, in the morning of November 8 when the I saw the gentleman walk so briskly around the corner ahead of me as to arouse the attention of everyone with whom I shared the street. His top hat was of magnificent stature, and was matched by a black suit with tails no shorter than three meters, which dragged along the ground behind him, moistening from the snow on which they travelled. We were facing each other then, with a distance of eight meters between us, a distance which was devoured in an instant by his unparalleled speed, and when I swerved to avoid the man's path he stopped and looked down upon me from the glorious six foot structure upon which his head sat.

�A billion merry mornings to you chap.� He said with a curved brow and a remarkable, wide grin.

�Good morning.� I replied, no longer walking.

�My name is Cornelius Cunthouse. It is my sole duty to inform you that you have been selected as the primary winner of the village lottery, and that a prize of six million, four hundred and fifty seven thousand, nine hundred twenty pounds awaits your collection at the nearest collection depot, and if your collection duty is not fulfilled that your prize be equally distributed among the townspeople of New Botherswickshire. Good day.�

With that he turned and took off with such unfathomable speed that he was out of sight within seconds, leaving me no chance to inquire as to the nature of the alleged lottery which I was supposed to have won.

[7H3R0F1C0P73R]

8==D ~~ ~ ~~

Edited by 7H3R0F1C0P73R, 04 November 2011 - 12:19 PM.

[Sclera]

On the thirty first of June I witnessed a remarkable event. The people of Basilwood, myself among them, had gathered in the local pub for a typical night of beer, tobacco, darts and music. The bartender was a tremendously attractive young woman with long pigtails, whose majestic spirit seemed to elevate the mood of the entire room as she poured pint after pint of beer. A bashful old drunk had taken a seat across the table from me and apparently found immense delight in dictating to me his total and utter fascination with the size of the bartender's breasts. I listened and agreed politely, laughing at him as well as with him as his highly animated gestures demonstrated his passion for the woman. Looking beyond his theatrical movements I noticed something which I at first discarded as insignificant, but after continued inspection I determined that something odd was present.

What I saw was a man in a shirt, on the surface of whose left arm was a small black spot. At first the man was joyous and loquacious, but then I saw him look down at his arm, and upon seeing the black spot, he put his beer on the table and used the hand of his other arm to cover it. His disposition gradually devolved from bombastic to cautious, and his feigned smiles were apparently still seen as genuine by his company. His focus constantly shifted between his friends and his arm, which he covered militantly. On two occasions he excused himself and visited the restroom, returning each time with an increasing air of distress. Finally it seemed that someone noticed his anxiety; a large, middle-aged woman ceased her laughter and leaned in towards him, and spoke to him directly. He shook his head and waved his hands as though to dismiss her worries, but he made a mistake in doing so as the spot was immediately noticed by the same woman, who pointed at it with her mouth open.

At that moment, everyone in his company was looking at him with curious concern, and he got up, hastily spoke to them all with a polite smile and rushed rapidly into the restroom once more. The drunk had left me for another table by then, apparently sensing my distraction. The company of the man spoke amongst themselves with baffled faces. At one point, a man had stood as though to go and check on him, but the large woman grabbed his arm lightly and shook her head. Before he could sit back down, a frightfully loud noise exploded from the direction of the restroom. The sound resembled the simultaneous blowing of a million horns, all with the same deep, horrific note. Many present in the bar screamed, most jumped, some even fell to the ground, and within seconds everyone's head was turned to the restroom. For at least twenty seconds the sound sustained, and when it ended a sinister reverberation seemed to echo from space. The room was silent in the astonishment of everyone, and after thirty seconds of scattered murmurs and startled weeping, one man decided to enter the restroom.

What he found provoked a most startled exclamation. He called out, to no one in particular, that we must see for ourselves what he saw. I stood, and joined the crowd of people that funnelled into the restroom. What I saw was beyond explanation. The man with the spotted arm stood there, but his appearance was of a singularly dark, glossy grey. He was completely stationary, and an unidentifiable black puddle had formed on the ground around his feet. Some were disgusted at the sight, and either rushed away to vomit or did it where they stood. I was fascinated, and stared at the statue while some others arranged to call for the police. An explanation was never found for this event, and today it survives as the most chilling legend of the town of Basilwood.

[Id]

.

Edited by Id, 20 August 2011 - 06:49 AM.

[Sclera]

danny heard a knock @ the door.
“what is it” said he
“it's me frank” said the door, so danny opened it
“wat”
“wana go skate”
“yea”
at the sk8park daniel did 8 flips
“mad”
“thx”
wen dey got home danny had to do a poo, so he said:
“brb frank i need to poo haha”
“ok”
when he finished doing a poo he invented a way to make dinosaurs cum bak. frank was very impressd
“brava” he said clapping
“thx”
they went to the skatep8rk again and did massive big flips in the air and didn't hurt themself

[Charm & Strange]

Opening paragraphs and shit;

There has, for a long time now, been a deep unease in my heart and a terrible fear in my veins. They are the lingering remnants of some long forgotten horror. You see, I have no recollection of what wrought this wretched terror upon my person and I find myself oddly inclined to leave this particular stone unturned. What, I ask myself, could cause unseat a man’s usual harmonious spirit, not just unseat it but forever banish it in to the recesses of his mind, fling it to that now forgotten corner of the consciousness where once lay thoughts that were the very picture of stability and rationality. Within my mind’s eye I have conjoured scenes of unpalatable horror. I confess that, in my desperation, I have considered even that which cannot be; demons and foul creatures from other worlds, acting out violence and depravity on a titanic scale. Yet it would seem to my own mind a near certainty that whatever the dreadful manifestation of evil has rendered me thus is beyond the scope of human imagination.

[Suspicious Bald Man]

Mechanisms set in place through painstaking repetition rapidly flung into motion. Adrenaline spiked through his veins, providing swiftness and accuracy to a man absorbed in notions of anger and vengeance. There were ten of them, buzzing around the pugilist with a misplaced sense of comfort in the advantage of numbers. Three assailants advanced forward, attempting to overwhelm. In response, he pre-emptively struck first towards the middle of the three, the whizzing sound of a fist strangled by the collision of bone on bone, flesh on flesh. He threw his forearm up against the sloppy hook of the second attacker, applying two inverse forces which snapped the attacker's elbow. The third assailant rushed forwards, and was flung in the same direction as the man avoided and redirected his enemy's momentum.

The pugilist flung himself into the crowd, entering inside the guard of his next victim and performing a vicious combination of elbow strikes to the face, throat, and abdomen. A rattling force followed by a flash of pain radiated through the back of his head, sending the loner staggering sideways. He turned, gritting his teeth as the assailant caught him with another jab to the jaw. The third swing was a miss, providing the opening that followed with a debilitating knee strike to the groin.

Without hesitation, he smashed a face in with his elbow and let the subdued man sail across the floor. The best block is not being there at all; he leaned back, avoiding the striking distance of his next adversary and countering with a knockout three punch combination.

"This guy's fucking insane!"

He kept moving around, an idle target that reacted instead of taking the initiative was guaranteed to lose. The fighter swayed forward, connecting a powerful punch to the jaw that sent his attacker upwards before crashing into the concrete below. Reacting to the two men who came from both sides, he provided one attacker with a swift thrust kick, giving him enough time to break the jaw of the other. He grabbed the second man by the arm and throat, lifting him up into the air and slamming him into the floor in one fluid motion.

The batclaw connected against the shirt and flesh of the final, retreating assailant. He was dragged into such a collision with a cluster of knuckles that blood oozed from his nose and mouth as he lost conciousness.

[Charm & Strange]

The night is cold. Very cold. In itself an unremarkable fact but unlike most nights I find it now accompanied by a strange and unnerving feeling, a feeling that ties my gut and my heart and brings the kind of uneasy sickness one would normally associate with deep trauma. Yet there is none. I am here, alone and long from the point in my childhood where I feared the hypothetical horrors in the shadows. So why then do I find myself here, trapped with these unnerving sensations?
From my position sat in bed I can see the outside world through a tightly shut window. The scene before me is one of utter tranquillity; nature standing in perfect stillness, bathed in a beautiful silver moonlight. And yet I am afraid.
I reassure myself; “there’s nothing to fear.” I am almost surprised to hear myself say the words aloud. I leave my bed and my room and proceed to check the entire house. The kitchen is empty. The study is empty. The bathroom, the guest room, the corridors, the stairs, the cupboards. There is nothing here. The windows and doors are all firmly shut and locked. I am safe. I know I am safe and yet it does nothing to resolve the conflict in my psyche.
Back in my bed and I can do nothing but gaze at my ceiling. My eyelids are heavy and finally the invisible handf of fear loosense it’s grip on my heart.
“Just close your eyes. Fall in to sleep and leave the darkness behind.” The voice in my head urges me back towards rationality. Of course it is right; there is nothing to fear. Nothing. I close my eyes and focus on each breath. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In…

When I awake it is to a scene which far exceeds my worst nightmares. The setting I find myself in now is something only the most malevolent of creators could have conjured. I am still in my bed. Still wrapped in the last sheets of comfort and familiarity I will ever know, but I am not in my room. Not even in my house. As I survey they landscape I see the familiar twisted and distorted, a world where nothing is as it should be; the trees tower high in to the sky, piercing the clouds themselves. Their branches twist and writhe like tentacles, I can hear the flapping of wings and make out the occasional shadow darting through the air. Beneath the trees the grass is growing. Its tips tainted read as if a carpet of blood sat atop. The other features are visible only as shadows against the backdrop of evil. The moon is bright but its light seems to serve only to highlight the terror within the shadows. There is a scurrying under my bed. Eyes dart to the floor. There is a path, it spears to lead from the bed and deep in to the eternal darkness. The void which I am now forced to face.
It would be futile to fight my fate now, for through the terror and complete uncertainty of my situation there is no doubt in my mind that I have been chosen for this place. That is has been carefully crafted and presented to send terror flowing through my veins until it consumes me. A trembling leg slides from the bed and to the floor. The other one follows. I am being carried along, not out of choice but out of my resignation to what must surely be my death. Is it a blessing to see hell before being thrown in to its eternity? Every step I take is punctuated by the heavy beating of my heart. It is with these terrible feelings and dreadful thoughts that I begin to talk my path…