Since thisnotalt( pretty sure I got the spelling wrong) suggested it, I think I will create a thread just to post my stories. Ok now to find them... *Digs deep into the AMW Section to find his stories*
I've been well. Lots of ups and downs, but still doing fine. Gawd, it's been some time eh? XD Are you coming back?
Well, the thread's for my works (stories/poems) and they're scattered everywhere, though I assure you, finding them is worth it. XD
Well my dad got an aneurysm/stroke thus my long absence. Had some rough patches these past moths but all is good now I know it seems like forever but now I'm back! I'll get straight to it then
Another poem. This one was for the Poetry Contest. Landed a Second place. The theme was 'Things That Don't Impress Me'.
I Don't Impress Myself Come and stay my tears have flown, To collect the dark things I've sown. I'm disgusted by what I've done, Down in the dumps I'm really no fun.
Bit the tasteless endless dust, And collasped every single trust. I'm not dazzled by what I've done, And I can see why you want to run.
I was walking down that dark path. While they tried to drag me in with wrath. I'm not pleased with what I've done, I shot an arrow and took your Sun.
I've lamented at my entire life, And tried to end it all with my knife. I'm not proud of what I've done, Now I see why you'll always shun.
I've rejected all your help and care, And thought my burden I could not share. I'm not ecstatic of what I've done, What a tangled web I have spun.
I don't impress myself, And for that I'll erase thyself. Watch as I wipe this slate white, My smile's the last to fade from sight.
I'll come back with the old self, And all the detested I will shelf. I don't impress myself one bit, And I will change that.
Got pretty morbid and fascinated by death. This isn't really a story, just a scene.
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It hit his nose like a pepper grenade. The sickeningly sweet smell of decay, the salty air of blood, the cheap tobacco scent that hung around the room. And there in the middle of the room, hanging from the chandeliers, was the carcass. The officer's torch issued a faint beam of light, flickering at the gruesome scene.
In all his four decades with the force, never had he seen such a sight. A strained rope dangled the body like a desperate fish on a hook, suspending the thing in midair. The yellowed eyes bulging in the sockets, the blackish-blue swollen tongue sticking out like a grotesque over bloated slug, the blacked fingers caught in the all too familiar post-mortem grip, the joints bent back as though in he's last final moments he was trying to escape. But no, a definite suicide, the steel door was locked from the inside; took the forces' largest pair of shears to cut the locks chained outside.
The dark hair softly covered the corpse's face, eerily hiding his features, casting shadows under the eyes. Those haunted eyes that still seemed to be alive, as if daring him to make a move. They laughed at him, mocked him, screaming at him.
He shook his head, snapping out of the trance, tearing his gaze from that horrible face, examining the bleeding torso. Half a dozen cruel pocket knifes protruded from the abdomen, their shiny glint from the torch's feeble light making the officerâs eyes blink and tear. That guy sure made a good job of himself, he though disgustedly, as he saw the sickly pale pink bowels peeking from the large slit at his stomach, oozing a yellow pus.
As the officer looked to the ground, he was startled. A dark black chalk circle was drawn under the body, Satanic patterns zigzagging the floor. He shuddered. Thirteen half burnt candles surrounded the circle, the wax hardened and grimy. As he stepped backwards, he noticed something even more awful, something that wanted to make him retch. A half decayed goat's skull lay on the floor, the eyes intact, and the grey molting flesh starting to peel as flies buzzed around it. It seemed to grin at him, sending out a warning. Ah foolish man, alone by himself in this dark night? The ugly and bizarre trophy completed the macabre display.
The officer felt his bravery wane. Always a superstitious one, seeing he came from Santa Domingo. Fuku, Devil's rites, monstrous cults. The stories came flooding back.
Without warning, a viscous liquid started to flow slowly from under a nearby closet. It pulsed, damn thing almost seemed alive. Snap! The carcass crashed to the floor, as the rope finally broke, showering the officer with the disgusting gore, covering him with the dark liquid. The sound of crunching bone reverberated across the empty chamber.
He fled. Fled like he never ran before. Ran like a sprinter into the cold midnight moon as a slow cackle trailed out from the crypt, crying at the skies.
The yellowed eyes bulging in the sockets, the blackish-blue swollen tongue sticking out like a grotesque over bloated slug, the blacked fingers caught in the all too familiar post-mortem grip, the joints bent back...
...as he saw the sickly pale pink bowels peeking from the large slit at his stomach, oozing a yellow pus.
Ohh, gag.
*blllaaaaagggrrrhrhrhghghgrghrh*
*wipes chin*
*cleans off computer*
Well, It was a very discriptive story, ummm, non-PG13, Little kids ahouldn't read this.
*ggaaagagg*
*bbbllllllaaaaarrgrgrhrhrgrgr*
*wipes chin, again*
*cleans off computer again*
Other than the qroutesqness of this story it was actually very well writen, quite well described, and It leaves questions, like any excerpt should.
