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Young Writers Society


Event 5: Dialogue Prompt



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Tue Feb 13, 2018 5:13 am
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TheSilverFox says...



Summary: Write a 300-700 words short story about murder.

How to enter: Post your story in this thread. It should preferably be in spoilers, so as to keep things clean.

Description: At this point, if you're like me, it's Tuesday. If you're also like me, you're busy with school/work on Tuesdays. So, why not keep things simple? Write a short story between 300 and 700 words based on the following dialogue prompt (which, because it's the day before Valentine's Day, I thought was going to be romantic. Then I realized I'm not a romantic person, and this seemed funnier):

"Never heard of that being used as a murder weapon before."

Write! You can be as funny or as serious as you want to be, as long as it includes this line of dialogue. I don't approve of a lot of violence or gore, especially not in the YWS Olympics, so keep things 16+ at most (and, if the story is 16+, you may want to state as such for the sake of our younger members).

Ends: (auto-adjusted to your local time) (I did not steal this from Elinor, shhhhh)
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse
a persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma per ciò che giammai di questo fondo
non tornò vivo alcun, s'i' odo il vero,
senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.

Inferno, Canto 27, l 61-66.





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Tue Feb 13, 2018 9:09 pm
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RaidenCheese says...



I'm not entirely sure what I've done, but I've done it, and I'm proud of this mess, so here you go, here's my entry:

Spoiler! :
Standing in a corridor, sipping on a bottle of water, I was somewhat bored. Shortly after taking another sip of water and contemplating why the grass isn't purple, a good friend of mine came running toward me, panting. He took a few seconds to catch his breath, before looking up at me, his expression fearful.

"Someone was murdered by a banana!" he shouted at me, and I almost spat out my drink. A banana?! How did they even manage that?

"How the hell did they do that?" I asked, after getting over the initial shock.

"I don't know," he replied

"Why do you have this information?"

"Because I was given it." I blinked.

"...I've never heard of that being used as a murder weapon before," I mumbled, after a moment of contemplation.

"I don't think it has been used as a murder weapon before," Felix, the informant of the banana murder spoke.

"Welp," I welped welpishly.

"What do we do now?"

"We uh, find out how they actually banana killed a person," I said, walking off in the direction Felix had come running from. I had barely walked five steps when I was stopped by a hand on my shoulder.

"We're going to talk, me and you," a practically pubescent voice said. My eyes widened, but as I was about to turn around to face the person who's hand was on my shoulder, a unicorn bust through the wall, beating a banana.

“WHY'D YOU KILL HIM!?” the unicorn shouted, slapping the banana with it's hooves. The banana was unable to speak, because, well, it was a banana. A talking banana would be terrifying. A unicorn beating up a giant banana seemed pretty normal to me, though.

“WHYYYYY!!??” Mr. Unicorn continued yelling, although the vicious slaps from his hooves had slowed. On the other hand, a note had been left on my shoulder where that hand was. I looked behind me, finding Felix eating jelly beans as he watched the brawl - if you can even call it that - between the unicorn and the banana. I blinked, before holding out my hand for a jelly bean. Sharing is caring. I read the note that was on my shoulder while I waited for my jelly bean. Which, sadly, never arrived. I blame capitalism.

It wasn't a banana peel
It was some toilet roll
A unicorn died by toilet roll strangling
And that's the story


I blinked.
Interesting...
I'm cool as a cucumber
Even if I'm in a pickle


Two possibilities exist: Either we are alone in the universe, or we are not. Both are equally terrifying.





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Tue Feb 13, 2018 10:33 pm
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alliyah says...



Well... here we go! Romance, Murder, Drama, Humor, Dialogue -- This story has it all.

Spoiler! :

Something About Broken Hearts and Dramatic Teenagers

“Tears flowed down my face like rivers meeting more steady rivers becoming wet oceans.”

Charlene wrote down in her journal, with some pride at finally capturing the poetic rendering of her exact emotional state. She drew a few stray hearts in margins, and crossed them off in sharpie for good measure. Nothing is more therapeutic than a poetry session, she thought, excited about the prospects of sharing her new line at “Break-Up Brunch” the following day. Charlene and two of her best friends had started a tradition their seventh grade year of making their parents drive them to each other’s houses for yogurt whenever one of the three girls went through a heart-break. And this time the session would be focused on her!

She smiled to herself, selecting which pictures on her phone would cause the biggest reaction amongst the other two girls. Maybe she could burst into tears while showing them the picture that she and Lenny had taken on their 2-weekaversary last month. A pang of sadness lingered as Charlene worked on putting the most attractive filter on the pic, but mostly she was excited about the prospects of soaking in the attention the following day.

“Knock, knock, potato” Charlene’s dad’s voice called from behind her room’s door.

“Whhaaaattt, leave me alone, I’m never leaving my room again!” Charlene said with as much vile and wrath as she could muster.

“Okay, sounds good. Dinner will be ready in about 15 if you do decide to leave. If not, more for me!” her dad said, with no sign of remorse registering in his voice.

Charlene let out a shriek that was a cross between a wolf-howl and whale-call. She threw her notebook at the door, carefully placed her phone in her pocket, and sulked to the dining room table.

At the table Charlene tried her best to seem disengaged, hoping that her parents would ask for details about the latest break-up.

Charlene sniffed loudly, to try to draw in some attention, to no avail. “Um did you get my message earlier?” Charlene asked.

“Huh?” Charlene's mother gave her a blank stare, then followed, “oh yeah, too bad about Lenny, sweet guy. I mean not for dumping you, but he was sweet.”

I broke up with him. Ugh.” Charlene interrupted.

“Oh, got it. Well sweet guy anyways. Hey, sweetie I don’t think I can drive you over to Fiona’s house tomorrow, I need to get into work early so maybe you can meet another time?”

“Mom! I’m dying here. I don’t know how I’ll go on if I can’t see Fiona and Ericka!” Charlene half-yelled back.

Charlene's parents stared. Then Connor, Charlene’s brother, started laughing.
“Oh be quiet, you! You have no idea what it’s like to go through a break-up like this. Lenny was everything, and now I’m completely alone in the world again.”

“How exactly did you two “break-up”” Charlene's dad asked, putting air-quotes around break-up in usual insensitive joking manner.

“I passed him a note in History, I saw him talking to Ericka’s ex-best friend so I did what I had to. But it’s not like it was easy. My entire heart is dead inside now” Charlene answered back making a mental note to keep some of those last lines for her poetry journal.

Charlene's dad stared for a moment, then returned "Never heard of that being used as a murder weapon before."

Charlene shoved her dinner plate to the center of the table, standing up, no longer would she stand for this teasing.

You gave some poor boy a note in history, and now you think your life’s over? Come on potato, don’t you think you’re being a tad dramatic”

Charlene burst into tears, the combination of her parents not taking her seriously and the prospects of not being able to scrutinize the relationship at Break-Up Brunch the following day sent her over the edge.

Mom and Dad exchanged uncomfortable looks.

Just as Charlene was about to turn to go to her room, Charlene's dad apologized “Um, I’m sorry sweet potato. I can see you’re still a bit upset about the whole boy-thing. Why don’t I drive you to Fiona’s, and maybe one of her parents could give you a lift home?”

Charlene beamed, tears still in wet on her cheeks. “Yes! Thanks!”

Just then Charlene’s phone buzzed, she checked – a text from Lenny!

Lenny: hey - can we date again??

Unsure if saying “yes” would jeopardize the Break-up Brunch, she decided to wait for another time to answer.
you should know i am a time traveler &
there is no season as achingly temporary as now
but i have promised to return





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Tue Feb 13, 2018 11:01 pm
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Que says...



This is sort of a little bit darker than I was anticipating, but okay.

Spoiler! :

“Gross!” Lauren pulled back from the TV screen, covering her face with her hands. Paula, wielder of the remote control, skipped past the scene and paused the movie so that they could have a snack and conversation break. These were frequent, but only added to the movie.

“That is not the way I would kill someone,” Lauren said firmly. She didn’t care for movies like this, and had been surprised to see such a violent death in a movie that didn’t seem to fit the type. “Not a good murder weapon choice. I would’ve gone with something cleaner.”

“What would you have gone with?” Paula asked suddenly, though she wasn’t looking at Lauren. She had abandoned the popcorn she had been working on and was now digging into a bag of mini Kit Kats.

Lauren raised a pale blonde eyebrow. “What? A murder weapon?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Huh. Never thought about that before.” A lie. But no one wants to know how morbid others can be when they can’t see that same morbidity in themselves. “Well... maybe a Kit Kat,” Lauren answered, seeing inspiration in Paula’s hands. She grabbed one for herself and popped it in her mouth.

“Never heard of that being used as a murder weapon before.” Paula was grinning though, teeth stained with chocolate. Lauren decided not to point it out to her.

“Well, not the one. I’d use the whole bag,” she clarified. “Poison, you know. Much less messy.”

“Then we’d both be dead!” the dark haired girl giggled.

“Hm,” Lauren thought. “No, we can’t have that.” She ate another one anyway, still thinking. “Maybe I am immune to the poison. Maybe I’ve been taking it in small doses for a while, Count of Monte Cristo style. That way you don’t suspect anything.”

Paula laughed again and Lauren smiled in spite of herself. The first girl stretched out on the couch, while Lauren remained curled up in her armchair. “But who would you kill?” Paula persisted, and Lauren was surprised at how open her friend was. About death. As if it was far, far from her.

“Everyone loves you, see. What would you stand to gain? You’re the smartest person in the school — everyone knows that. Plus you’re beautiful.” Her cheeks were puffed up like a chipmunk’s, chewing her Kit Kats thoughtfully. Lauren just stared at her.

“Maybe I am,” she said slowly. “But maybe someone else has been working her way up the ranks. Has been throwing parties to cover up the extra studying to beat me out. Maybe I’d kill that person, to make sure that my position as champion of the school was secure. To make sure that I remain the best.”

Instead of going pale at the words, Paula’s face went purple. Like she was choking. Lauren watched her dispassionately and ate another Kit Kat — neatly, thoughtfully. “You need a better cover to get close to me,” she commented. “I’m only the best for a reason.”

When Paula hit the floor, Lauren conjured up false tears and called 9-1-1 with her frantic story. She knew what the police would find. Neat, clean. She’d eaten the last of the Kit Kats and all traces of the poison were gone.
Est-ce que vous parlez français?





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Wed Feb 14, 2018 12:05 am
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SnowGhost says...



Side note: Prepare yourself, for the story below was written by a sleep deprived snowmonkey so expect a high degree of ridiculousness and about 100 grammar mistakes


Spoiler! :
I received a phone call.
"Another murder!" I exclaimed after hanging up the phone.

"I'm sick and tired of all these bloody murders, can't someone be the victim of a theft once in a while, murders make me yawn."

Being a detective was really quite a boring profession, especially when the cases took less than 10 minutes to solve. But despite all this, I accepted the case.

I arrived at Boddy mansion just as my watch struck 7.
I was greeted at the door by the maid, Mrs. White, suspect number one. She led me to the lounge without saying a word.

In the lounge I found 5 people, talking amongst themselves in hushed whispers, like the whole town would hear them if they spoke any louder.
A white haired man with a mustache, quickly became aware of my presence.
He approached me and offered a hand.

"I am Colonel Micheal Mustard, and you must be the detective the maid sent for."

"The name's Sherlock."

Soon I was introduced to everyone else in the room. There was Miss Scarlett, Mr. Green, Mrs. Peacock and Professor Plum. Not much of a party but maybe the Boddy fellow was an unpopular short.

Finally Watson arrived.
"What took you so long Watson?"
"Sorry Sherlock but dying people come before dead ones."

The witnesses began to inform me of what had occurred durring Mr. Boddy's unfortunate death. Apparently, Boddy had left the room without calling anyone's attention, and next thing you know, killed.

"So as you can see sir," Began Colonel Mustard "We must know who killed him and why."

"Well I will first need to be led to the room of his murder."

He turned to the others "Do you remember what room it was our poor host was murdered?" They all shook their heads.

"Well, one of you must have tripped over the body or something," I remarked.

"Mrs. White would know," Mrs. Peacock informed me, "she was the one who found the deceased Mr. Boddy, God rest his soul." But where was Mrs. White, she had disappeared from the room and the whole house it would seem, suspicious.

"Looks like I shall have to find the victim without Mrs. White's assistance," I concluded as I headed from the from the kitchen where I had looked for her.

"May I inquire how you would do that sir?" Asked Mr. Green, as he entered the hall from the lounge.

"Well, a body or even some blood might serve as a clue as to where Mr. Boddy was killed," I said with dry humor.

"Oh yes, finding a body would very much help in our investigation." He said quite seriously.
"Our investigation?" The idiot was worse than Watson, and that's putting him pretty low.

"Sir..." I began turning to face him
"I am a detective, you are a suspe-witness, therefore it is not 'our investigation' but my investigation, so if you please, go back to the lounge, you've already made me nauseous enough." Mr. Green's round face tinted red from embarrassment but he did go back to the lounge, poor Watson has got his hands full with that bunch.

At last, I came upon the room of the murder, the study. There Mr. Boddy lay on the ground, face down, and next to him sat one bloody candlestick holder.

I gathered all the suspects into the study, Mrs. White now with them. I believe Miss Scarlett almost vomited at the sight of the body.

"Do you know what was used to kill the man?" Asked Watson

"Watson, try being more observant." I suggested, gesturing to the weapon beside Mr. Boddy.

"Never heard of that being used as a murder weapon before." Professor Plum noted.

"Well, there's a first for everything," I said as I took my magnifying glass out of my coat pocket.

"Now I will ask you all to cooperate for I will need to study your fingers."

"Our fingers? Why for whatever for?" Asked Colonel Mustard.

"To compare your fingerprints to those on the candlestick."

"What an extraordinary idea!" The professor exclaimed.

I started with Miss Scarlett. Her fingerprints had more of an arch then the ones on the candlestick holder, her fingers were also to small. Professor Plum's were too loopy, Colonel Mustard's seemed to be double looped, not even similar to the murderer's, Mrs. Peacock's had a tiny whirl inside a loop, which was quite uncommon. Last I came to Mr. Green.

"Sir, may I ask why you have dried blood on your hands?" He stuttered in response but after checking his fingerprints to those on the murder weapon, all the evidence was supplied.

All of them praised me for solving the mystery, but any idiot could have solved it. Why if Mr. Green wasn't the murderer, I bet even he could've solved it, sooner or later.

Haha this is the worst thing I've ever written
Just killing time until time kills me.





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Wed Feb 14, 2018 12:50 am
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Brigadier says...



I think this is about as wacky as I can get for tonight. Might edit later but this is what I've got for now.

Spoiler! :
The Stardust Cafe

It was yet another boring day in space and Reo sat behind the counter flipping through a magazine. A real magazine, made of paper and ink, not a digital screen that changed the wording every five minutes. Someone had left it at the cafe ages ago and Reo hid the hot commodity away, reading it over and over again till they had memorized it.

And here they were reading it once more, even though they could recall how each word and image looked. That was besides the point. To just have something to read made the shift go by easier.

Outside the window, diners could see things fly by. From basic coupes to tankers or actual tanks for the intergalactic military. It was fun to watch for awhile, learning all of the names of all of the vehicles, and getting to know the regulars who drove along this route.

Reo liked to focus on one thing, learn as much as possible about the singular subject, and then move along to the next thing on their list. Part of their difference from their surroundings, was the want to make the half human more prevalent, be more human in some aspects. The list making, including a bucket list, was one of those tactics.

On this particular day, as has been mentioned before, nothing was happening in the cafe. Well not nothing in the sense of absolutely nothing, but just enough nothing to let Reo relax and possibly sleep behind the counter. No one was watching anyways and it didn’t really matter until he fell of his chair, and onto the broomstick below. This probably would have been alright if Reo was not the fragile alien species (with easily puncturable skin, I might add) that he was and if the broom handle had not been a pointy aluminum spike.

None of those things helped him out much and he fell so far back on the cleaning tool, that no one noticed him behind the bar.

On the other side of that very bar, stuffed in a booth in the corner, sat two space highway patrol offiers. Two people who probably should have noticed the thump of the body or the blood spilling out into the floor drain, but instead kept their faces to their report books. Occasionally they would whisper to each other, glance sideways at the other characters in this rather seedy cafe, but never turned around enough to notice the dead body.

If it weren't for their techical abilities at fudging time reports and times of death, they probably would have been fired for this.

The big one made the discovery when he got frustrated with how long it was taking to get a single "god damn mother bleeping cup of coffee in this bleeping hole", to quote his words more or less. Even the blood pooling out into the middle of the diner floor didn't concern him, but certainly concerned the other patrons of the restaurant. Many of them were on parole and at the sight of blood, they thanked the lord for no security cameras and ran away to their very illegal modes of transportation.

The patrolman just leaned behind the counter slowly, actually considering to steal some donuts since this poor bastard was dead anyways, and probably wouldn't mind. A stare from his partner took away that idea rather quickly.

"You don't steal a dead man's things Bruce, we talked about this during the last serial killer case."
Those words of his past partner rang through his mind, as they had done too many times before.

The only remark this new partner had while standing over Reo's body, impaled by a metal broom handle and half in the nude was a swear and then the comment,
"Never heard of that being used as a murder weapon before."

It would go on in the press and the department under the assumption that someone stabbed Reo, for how could anyone be stupid enough to kill themselves in this fashion?

The answer to this was rather simple.

Reo de Burgough
23
Murder never solved

the brigadier rides again!
LMS VI: Lunch Appointment with Death






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Wed Feb 14, 2018 1:28 am
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Mea says...



I actually really like this. Possibly 16+ for slight maturity, though.

Spoiler! :
"You're dead, Ricky." My brother's dulcet tones echoed down the dark and cluttered hallway, his silhouette a hulking shadow leaning out of the bathroom. I dropped my keys on the cabinet shelf and dumped my bag on the floor, not bothering to turn the light on and aggravate my headache. God, tonight's shift had been long. 

"I'm dead every night, Ty," I said, lethargic. "It's called being a bartender." I eased open the door to the kitchen, going slowly so it wouldn't make those godawful screeching noises. If I could ever find the WD-40 I'd spray those hinges until they were begging for mercy.

I glanced back and nearly jumped out of my skin. Tyler loomed over me, his shadowed face inches from mine, half-dressed and rigid, clutching a bar of soap.

"I mean it this time," he growled. "You're dead. You won't see the morning."

I blinked and stumbled backward. Tyler hadn't pulled something like this since those first couple months after he'd gotten out of jail last year. He'd sworn up and down he was going to do better and here he was in another rage.

“You’re going to kill me? With a bar of soap? Never heard of that being used as a murder weapon before.” I spoke lightly, but my mind raced and my heart pounded. I stepped back into the kitchen, looking for something — anything — I could defend myself with.

“I’m going to ram it down your lying throat!” His eyes popped, his face grotesque with rage.

I couldn't smell alcohol on him. That was a good sign. It meant I could talk him down, if I could figure out what was grinding his gears.

“Now, come on,” I said with an uneasy smile, “if this is about me cheating at cards last night — “

“I’m talking about Lily, you idiot,” he snarled.

Oh. Oh.

“She called me. Got the number from your phone."

Of course she had. That girl was too clever for her own good. I had told her so many times talking to her father would just make it worse, and what had she gone and done?

"You knew! For ten years, you knew she lived ten minutes away. You go and visit her every week and you've never once said -- " He swung a punch at me.

I dodged reflexively. He took a step forward, backing me into a counter. His next swing hit, and his next, in the face and then the gut. Twin cores of pain exploded. I slid down the counter. Got. To get. Away.

Lily. The daughter he'd had with his girlfriend back when they were both seventeen. His ex-girlfriend had given her up for adoption, alone — three months before, my dear brother had caused a wreck while driving drunk, killing two. He'd spent the next twelve years in prison for manslaughter.

I ducked under Tyler and stumbled, smacking into the floor. I couldn't get up fast enough. He was on me again, kicks and wild punches raining down, like when I was ten and he was fourteen --

No. I could fight now. I shot out a leg and hooked his out from under him. Tyler crumpled to the floor.

"I'm sorry!" I shouted. Tyler froze. "I'm sorry," I repeated in a whisper. "But look at yourself."

He looked. Me, curled up on the floor. Him, fists clenched, still holding that bar of soap, ready to kill the only family member who had given him the time of day in years.

He let out a horrified cry and thrust the soap away from him. It skittered across the floor. Breathing ragged, he sank his head into his hands. I pushed myself into a sitting position, wincing as my head spun.

"You told me she was adopted," Tyler said, voice breaking. "To a loving family, you said. But she's not."

"Lily is in foster care," I admitted. "She started living with that family a few months ago. I didn't lie to you at first, but then her adoption… didn’t work out. There was nothing you could do, no point in saying anything."

"I'm her father. I had a right to know - "

"I said, I'm sorry," I retorted. "But this, this right here, this is exactly why. Do you think she needs this in her life?" I swept my hand out, including the whole sorry scene - the both of us on the floor, the disastrous apartment, the clock on the stove that read two a.m. The perfect environment for a twelve-year-old girl.

"She's my daughter," Tyler said, choked. "She needs me. A girl needs her father."

What was I supposed to say to that? Not this kind of father?

"Every day, I thought about her." It was if all the fight had gone out of him. He sat slumped on the floor, making no move to get up. "Every day in prison, even now. I thought I'd done the right thing, I thought she'd be happy with a real family but she doesn't even have that... "

His voice faded, and his shoulders shook. I drew in a sharp breath. Tyler, my grown brother, the angry beast, was sobbing on the floor of our tiny kitchen. 

After a long moment, I inched closer and put my hand on his shoulder, letting him cry.
We're all stories in the end.

I think of you as a fairy with a green dress and a flower crown and stuff.
-EternalRain

I think you, @Deanie and I are like the Three Book Nerd Musketeers of YWS.
-bluewaterlily





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Wed Feb 14, 2018 3:31 am
SirHenryFisher says...



:!: WARNING :!: : LANGUAGE AND DEATH
Do not read if you are allergic to short stories that tell of the end of the world.

Carter loaded his shotgun with his remaining three slugs. He turned to the door of the cell. It was very warm, much warmer than when he had been around it. The thought of it’s huge eyes tormented him
His eyes began to well up again. Everyone was dead. Everyone. Jack. Anne. Everyone. He had seen the headlines. It had swept though the whole world in less than a day. Everyone was dead. He was the last.
But why? Why had he been spared? Why did it kill everyone? Why wouldn’t it die? And how? How did it murder with such speed? How come nothing could stop it? How come he wasn’t dead? And what? What was that thing? What did humanity do to deserve the erase of their existence? What did he do to deserve life?
He let out a shout. “Why?!? How!? What?!?” He screamed with clenched teeth. He clamped down so hard he cracked a molar. He threw his shotgun to the floor in rage. He pounded his fist on the door of the cell. “You killed them, YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!!!”
He curled up in a ball and dug his fingernails into his skin, screaming, screaming, screaming. He cried himself to sleep.

————————————————

Carter yawned and walked outside. It was a sunny day out, but despite that, the day seemed gloomy at his new house. He looked past the tree line to see Green Rock prison, one of the most secure he had ever seen.
He had just moved into the house a few days ago. Though the house was big, It wasn’t the most fitting for his needs. It was an old mansion yet had thin hallways that were tough to move furniture through. He had to turn his bed sideways to get it to the bedroom. Nevertheless, it was a good place.
As he walked back inside, Carter heard a knock on the door. He opened it up. Outside were a woman and a tall man. The woman held a clipboard in one hand and pen in the other. She wore a tight, purple dress.
“Hi, I’m Anne and this is Jack,” Carter gave the a weird look. “we’re here to give you a tour of town.” Carter looked at his calendar. “Oh shit, it’s Wednesday, isn’t it?” He turned back to them. Sorry, I haven’t really been keeping track of time lately.”
“Any ways, let’s get on with that tour, shall we?” Jack said. He was a tall guy with a smooth smile who wore a loose t-shirt and jeans. He had a safari hat, which hung flimsily on his head. He was completely clean-shaven, reminding Carter of his goatee that had snuck on him without noticing. “Man, I need a shave.” He mumbled to himself.
As the car drove between beautiful hedges and trees, Carter couldn’t help but notice the clouds. They were more elegant and fluffed up than anything he had ever seen.
Suddenly he spotted a figure in the sky. “Hey, what’s that?” He asked, interrupting Anne who was in the middle of explaining something that he hadn’t even been listening too. Anne and Jack turned and looked where he was pointing.
As it came closer, it became more visible that it was a person. The man was all black, dark as night. Two giant orbs that slightly resembled a flies eyes covered it’s face. The man free-fell for a second, then stopped and hovered in midair. It looked up toward the highway, seeming to stare straight at Carter. Suddenly, it’s eyes lit up, nearly blinding Carter and he heard Anne scream.
When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw were the bodies. The car had skidded to a halt at the side of the road. Everyone out on the sidewalk was frozen stiff. If they were all dead, why wasn’t he?
He turned to Anne, he almost screamed when he saw her expression, frozen with a look of terror on her face. Everyone was frozen in different poses, but they all had something in common: their eyes were dark black.

————————————————

Carter awoke with a jolt. He looked around. He was in the prison cell he had hid in to get away from the creature. He stared at shotgun on the floor, which he had grabbed to protect himself.
It had all been a dream, no, a flash back. He scratched his arm. The cell was damp and he felt itchy.
Carter suddenly came to the realization that it was cold. It was the same feeling he had felt when he encountered the creature when he tried to run. This could only mean one thing. A chill went up Carter’s spine. There was a knock on the door.




Sorry, I don’t know how to put it in a spoiler. But... is it good?
Last edited by SirHenryFisher on Wed Feb 14, 2018 3:42 am, edited 1 time in total.





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Virgil says...



Finished!

Spoiler! :

The scene: Inside the house, a bloodied book of poetry rested beside the head of the victim. Caution tape that repeated the words 'Crime Scene - Do Not Cross' over and over dizzied anyone who drove by. As I walked in, I noticed the Blackberry phone that rang the police station scattered across the hardwood floor in pieces.

"Well, this is a first," Colton said after snapping another picture of the victim's body. Slipping on a pair of disposable rubber gloves, he flipped the book laying facedown and read, "Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair by Pablo Neruda."

"Definitely a first. Never heard of that being used as a murder weapon before." I nodded, examining the condition of the room. Near the window, a pair of cyan curtains lay spilled on the floor in the shape of a mound. Mark Anthony Torelli seemed desperate to escape judging by the knuckle marks in the window.

Unfortunately for him, the glass didn't shatter.

"There's been little to no sign of the primary suspect, his wife, Delaney Torelli." Colton continued, crouching down and dropping the Blackberry into a Ziploc bag.

"Did she have a motive for killing him? How sure are we that she's the killer?"

"Officer Mao, one question a time. First, nobody knows about a motive at this point in time. We're hoping to figure that out once we identify the perpetrator of the crime. Personally, I'll tell you--I have no doubts that she's the one, but there's not enough evidence collected for a decisive answer."

"Mrs. Torelli, a killer? I never thought she looked the type."

"Killers don't have to look the type to be killers, Mao."

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a figure dash by into the kitchen. Taking my gun out of its holster, I turned the corner and saw a woman fumbling to unlock the garage door.

Colt's right. I thought. My heart twisted and contorted--this part of the job never did become easier for me.

"Ma'am." I held my pistol with a tighter grip than before, aiming directly at the ground; I didn't want to escalate the situation any further than what needed to be done.

Delaney Torelli turned and stared with eyes swollen from crying. Black and blue bruises covered her arms and legs.

"Listen, I need you to put your hands behind your back. If you're carrying any weapons or sharp objects, I want you to let me know ahead of time. Are you carrying any dangerous objects?" I asked.

She nodded her head no.

I began to approach her until I heard her cry out, "Don't shoot!"

"I'm not going to--" I began to say before I looked behind me to see Colton aiming his gun at her. "Colt, I want you to clean up the scene and head to the car. Do not come in this room unless you hear gunshots. I honestly don't think she's the one."

I watched him weigh the options in his mind before finally he lowered his weapon and left the room.

"I didn't mean to," Delaney said, backing up against the wall. "I didn't have a choice. I--" She got cut off by one of her own sobs.

Her story spilled out over a span of thirty minutes. Mark Anthony Torelli abused her, blackmailed her, and pushed Delaney Torelli to her breaking point. I only hope I did enough to save her from that song of despair that'd been the soundtrack to her life for so long.

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Wed Feb 14, 2018 4:33 am
SirHenryFisher says...



I got bored and decided to count the number of words in my short story. It took me an hour. I have the total of wait what where am I oh wait this is a comment oh crap it’s the Alzheimer’s again isn’t it. Crap oops. I’m bored. Might as well count all the words in my short story.





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Wed Feb 14, 2018 4:58 am
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AliceinBluue says...



With just minutes to spare, I have done it!!!

Spoiler! :
Elinore had never quite had a hit like this.
Oh sure, she had gotten requests to off spouses before for any number of reasons: adultery, greed, abuse, even one person just not wanting to be with the other anymore. Elinore had seen it all, or so she had thought.
She had received her target earlier in the week and had started following her target around. Leaning his schedule, his habits, any odd detail that she could pick up on to ensure that she got the job done and got her her money.
She had thought it was a little weird that her client had come back and insisted on a specific murder weapon. Granted, it was not exactly normal to kill someone with a toothbrush, but she had been offered extra for it and who was she to judge someone on the way they wanted their enemies to be killed, she was a hitwoman. And hey, maybe there was some significance behind a murder by toothbrush.
She had let herself into the house using the key she had been provided and snuck up the stairs, knowing that her target was probably in his study researching his next dissertation. She gripped the toothbrush tightly in her gloved hands. She knew there was probably going to be a struggle as she was planning on shoving the toothbrush down his throat, but she was not sure how strong her target was. She had never seen him workout or visit a gym, but she had only been given a week to tail him, so she figured it was probably best to be safe rather than sorry.
She raised the toothbrush above her head ready to pounce, and that was when it all went wrong.
"Never heard of that being used as a murder weapon before." Her target said, spinning around in his chair to face her. Elinore froze where she was.
“Although I could be wrong, humans are so very ingenious with their murder tactics now a days,” he said, sounding entirely too upbeat for someone who apparently knew that they were about to be murdered.
“What?” Elinore asked, hoping that something would shift her world back into place and she would not be having a conversation with the person she was supposed to be killing.
“The toothbrush,” her target said as way of explanation. “I’ve never heard of someone getting killed with a toothbrush before.”
“I’m supposed to be killing you and you’re discussing my choice of weapon?” Elinore asked, completely baffled by this particular turn of events.
“Yes yes, it’s quite unusual, toilet seats I’ve heard of, dinner spoons I’ve heard of, never a toothbrush.”
“Why aren’t you screaming or fighting me off or something?” Elinore asked, finally dropping her raised fist with the toothbrush in it.
“Oh, I have no need to be afraid of you darling, I’m completely unkillable,” her target said, casual as can be.
“Uhh,” Was all Elinore could manage.
“Oh yes, I’m quite immortal,” He said.
“But, how?” Elinore asked, complete thrown by the idea that there was someone she had been hired to kill, and could not, for some unfathomable reason.
“Oh, you know, life,” Her target said, waving his hands. “Now I assume my wife sent you?”
All Elinore could do was nod her head in confirmation.
“Hmm, I had assumed so. You see, we gout quite tired over the years of giving each other typical anniversary gifts, so we decided to try and plot murders instead, just for a bit of excitement.”
Elinore could not support herself anymore and she sat down heavily on the floor. She had been hired as an anniversary gift?
“I must commend her for this year, she really did pull out all the stops,” He said, musing to herself.
“I’m,” Elinore shakily got to her feet, “I’m just gonna go now.”
“Oh yes, do meet me and my wife tomorrow for your compensation!” He called out to her as she walked down the stairs and back into the street.
Maybe it was time for a new occupation.








"She doesn't even go here!"
— Damian Leigh