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Graveyard Motel



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Thu Jun 18, 2020 2:16 pm
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Elinor says...



Jay stared at the decrepit old corpse in the coffin.

Shortly after his granddaughter Lacey, the one who looked so much like Sarah, had come to visit him in prison and told him that she forgave him, Jay had starting coughing up blood. The next day, he started having trouble breathing.

In the past twenty thirty years he'd had brushes with his health, and each time he'd always gotten better. In the past fifty, ever since he'd been put behind bars for the third and final time, he was regularly targeted by other inmates. People who wanted to kill him. And each time, he survived. He was a survivor. He was going to live to a hundred if he could.

When he coughed up blood for the second day in a row and couldn't stop, he was taken to the prison hospital.

"We found a tumor in your brain. It's in your lungs. It's all over your body," the Doctors told him. "Three months at the most, Mr. Whitman."

It ended up being nine.

Nine months being treated by prison doctors who didn't know what they were doing. As the months passed, the crowds of press fighting their way into his hospital room. One reporter who managed to snap a picture.

In the end, he'd thought first of his mother. Then of Sarah. And then of his girls. Alexandra, Helen, Claire, living in the mountains. He'd been happy, and the world had tried to take that away from him.

After he'd died, there were newspaper headlines all over the world. "CULT LEADER AND CONVICTED KILLER JAY WHITMAN DEAD AT 87."

Cult leader? He'd often heard that used to describe his family, but that was a close minded way of looking at what they'd actually been.

There was a post on some kind of website -- he wasn't sure, he didn't use the internet much in prison -- where a user named Jennifer Wade uploaded an image of Margaret and her parents, Charlotte and David. All smiling and happy.

"Thinking of them today," she wrote. "Be kind to each other." A hundred thousand "likes."

Another girl called Caroline Goodwin posted a photo of Helen and Simon. "My pretty mama her first husband, Simon." A similar amount of likes.

The posts went on and on. They talked about him on the news, too. They couldn't forget him. They never would.

He was fucking immortal.

Jay took a deep breath.

All our dreams can come true — if we have the courage to pursue them.

-- Walt Disney





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Fri Jun 19, 2020 12:55 am
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Teddybear says...



The boy squeezed his eyes shut. He remembered. He remembered how he died, and oh, how he wished he didn't.

He'd called out to her. It was a day most would describe as 'dreary'. Dark clouds hanging heavily above the rolling hills, the wind roaming the hills in gusts that pulled his tunic this way and that. He'd seen the world, all of it, and he was tired.

No stone had gone unturned by his hands, no piece of artwork unenjoyed by his eyes, and no song unheard. He'd seen all that nature and people had to offer, it seemed, and now all anyone seemed to create was more of the same. The world was moving in its endless loop, and he wasn't interested in going anouther time round.

So he stood on that hilltop and held tightly to his fiddle case, which the wind endeavored to tear from his grasp with every strengthened gust. With a resolute sigh, he said the name of the god who wanted him his long life.

And she was there.

Her crow-like mask, not unlike those used during times of plague so many centuries ago - or maybe it was mere decades - her staff that seemed to have grown around the skull that sat atop it, and the hem of her blackened skirts swirling like disturbed sand underwater. Bones were seen onto the top of her dress like beads. Those distracted him as she said her first words to him since the war.

"I'm sorry," he said, unable to find the energy to so much as sound embarrassed, "could you please repeat that?"

Even with the mask, he could practically sense her pitying look. "Are you ready to go with my sister, dear Rezran."

His name. Just like that, it was his again.

He closed his eyes, trying to search for the memories he'd given up so, so long ago.

He found only a single one. He was a small child, digging around in a garden for earthworms. He could hear two women arguing in the background, and he knew they were related to him, though he couldn't recall how.

His focus was entirely on the dirt, the little squirming creatures he pulled from it. He watched them wriggle in his hand, giggling with glee as he added this new one to the little pile beside him.

His smile turned to a childish scowl as he saw his little friends trying to dig back into the garden soil.

He picked them back up one by one and put them in a new pile on the other side of him.

The arguing stopped, and someone walked up behind him whom he didn't bother to so much as look at. A pair of strong arms lifted him up, and he whined, reaching for the little pile of worms. Some of them were already crawling away.

And then he was back on that hill. Back in front of Lady Grave. Back on the site of what would be his eternal resting place.

No, not eternal. No grave ever went undisturbed forever.

He nodded, "Thank you."

And that was that. A sensation like an unyielding numbness overtook him, and his vision was flooded with a color he couldn't begin to describe as her Lady Death claimed him from wherever she attended to more important matters elsewhere.

In the present, a tear slid down his cheek. This was supposed to be the next adventure. The next unknown. And here is where he was.

He couldn't hear the others over the ringing in his ears, and he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes.
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Fri Jun 19, 2020 11:25 am
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Mageheart says...



It was strange seeing his own corpse.

It was strange being faced with the face he had always hated, and strange being faced with a body he knew he should have felt more about. It was what it symbolized that made something grow heavy in his chest - the realization that the life of Charlie really was at an end. That he should have taken the risk. That he should have tried to turn his life around, even when it kept ending horribly. He had known he couldn't give himself powers that didn't exist in his reality, but-

That was when the memory came back.

He had waited until the perfect stormy day, with just the right concoction of ingredients set up in his basement. He knew the steps perfectly. He might not have done them in this timeline, but, somewhere, another version of him had. And just as the storm was about to strike, Charlie realized how terrified he was. How maybe this wasn't the smartest idea.

But then the Speed Force had called to him in a way he couldn't ignore. It had felt so comforting and close - like he could touch if he reach his hand out just far enough. So Charlie had. He had let the storm run its course. And it was obvious it had, going off of how terrible his body looked in the casket.

He didn't know what came next. If this was the afterlife, it seriously sucked. But Charlie had a feeling that it wasn't the end for him - that his story was only just beginning. So if he just could ignore what could have been, and instead focus on what might happen, he could get through this.

He wasn't going to let the shadow take that away.

He couldn't let the shadow take that away.

He blinked away the tears in the corner of his eyes and glanced at the others. Jay seemed strangely satisfied. Kazimir seemed heartbroken. And Apollo seemed to be going through the same kind of thing Charlie was right now - he just couldn't tell if his conviction was the same as his own.
mage

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roleplaying is my platonic love language.

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Fri Jun 19, 2020 12:54 pm
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soundofmind says...



Were Kazimir a different person like the fiddler, or even Charlie, he would've asked himself what he did to deserve this. But Kazimir knew what he'd done. He'd killed more people than he could even try to remember, and those he didn't kill he left close enough to death to count.

He watched as the lid of the casket closed, and the lights flickered again. When they came back on, the caskets were gone, and that was it. He remembered everything, then. There was nothing else to remember. He was dead, and this was his punishment for tearing Trey to pieces, limb from limb. This was his punishment for being vengeful and angry and never stopping to think once in his short, stupid life. The only good thing he'd ever helped make was Bo, and even Bo had been hurt because of him.

Jay was right. His life, apart from his son, of which he didn't even think he could take the credit for, was a colossal failure.

The shadow reappeared, but this time he was bigger. He wasn't shaped like a human, or a shadow of a human any longer. His dark, billowing form stretched across the whole room in front of them, and his red eyes now looked beady being swallowed up in darkness.

"Hm," he hummed deeply. It was unclear where the shadow was looking, but it felt like his eyes were looking in every direction. Kazimir thought that, if he were to move, no matter what angle he looked at the shadow it would feel like he was being stared at to the depths of his soul.

"That wasn't nearly as satisfying as I thought it would be," the shadow said, his dark form inching towards them slowly. The blood beneath them started to bubble and rise, and Kazimir could feel it come up to his knees. This was the end, wasn't it? The end of all things? Or was this just the beginning?

He supposed he had been right.

The shadow was the devil, wasn't he? This was hell.

Kazimir pinched his eyes shut before deciding against it. Whatever was going to happen next, he needed to face it. He needed to see it.

In a moment, everything faded to white.

He was sitting beside Bo's hospital bed. Bo's whole head was bandaged up over his eyes. He didn't have any eyes left to leave holes for, so why bother? Kazimir was holding Bo's hand, and he could feel his body beginning to tremble. The air in the hospital was clean and sterile, and it smelled like the color white. Faint conversations could be heard from behind the curtain that closed off Bo's "room" from the rest of the hospital and the rest of the world. Kazimir could remember Mel walking out with little Maya to give him a moment with Bo alone.

Kazimir's lower lip quivered and he curled over Bo's hand, holding it with both of his like a treasure he never thought he'd see again.

This was right before he would've promised to kill Trey - before he knew it was Trey who'd done this to his son.

His eyes were wet with tears and he held Bo's hand close to his face.

"Dad?" Bo's voice croaked, small and tired. Bo was in so much pain, and Kazimir knew it. "Are you okay?"

Was he okay? What did Kazimir do to deserve Bo? Nothing. Nothing at all.

Kazimir took in a deep breath.

"I'm so glad you're still here, Bo," Kazimir said, blinking away the tears. He sat up. There was no looking Bo in the eye, but he wanted to look at Bo anyway.

"I promise... I'll do everything in my power to stay by your side as you get better and make sure that you stay safe. That Mel and Maya stay safe. All of us, we're in this together now."

Bo's mouth pursed into a pout-like frown and he sniffed. Bo's hand squeezed Kazimir's.

"We always have been, dad."

Spoiler! :
For your last post you can send your guys back to a turning point before their death (if they have one) or a significant memory before their death that would've changed how they'd go forward in life. Try not to go too far back in their life - and yes, they remember everything from this whole experience.
Pants are an illusion. And so is death.






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Fri Jun 19, 2020 1:51 pm
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Mageheart says...



Charlie didn't realize he was holding his breath until he suddenly ended up back in his house - something that should have been impossible. Part of him was convinced that this was still part of the shadow's plan. A final, desperate attempt to get some enjoyment out of their misery.

But then he saw his phone on the counter.

It was a week before he had run the experiment.

He let out the breath in a quiet sigh and sat down on the nearby couch. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now. He knew that he was going to die soon; that part wasn't a question. The question was what he was supposed to do with that knowledge. Was he supposed to try making something out of his miserable life? Was he just supposed to ignore the Speed Force and the memories for the rest of his life?

...Also, had he just time-traveled?

He leaned back against the back of the couch and stared up at the ceiling.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," he said.

You know what you're supposed to do, the Speed Force said, in the familiar voice that was really more of a feeling than audible words. You have to make things right.

He sat up with a start.

"I can feel you again," he said, not quite sure if the Speed Force counted as a "you" or not. He couldn't believe that he had actually missed it. He wished he could hug it; that was the one constant thing in his life, and it was finally back. He felt like a part of him that he hadn't even realized was missing had been returned.

All was right in the world.

...Except for the matter of the experiment.

"Am I supposed to learn something from what just happened?" he asked.

There wasn't a response.

Charlie frowned. That wasn't helpful.

You need to make things right, the Speed Force finally insisted.

"I'm going to die," Charlie said. "Is that how things are supposed to be? Am I some kind of tragic hero? I...I'm not sure I'm ready to die. Not after what I just saw."

He didn't get an answer that felt like words - it was something else. A sensation. A rush of adrenaline, and the urge to run. He was so close to being connected to the Speed Force. Maybe it would just absorb him when he died; he wouldn't mind that. It would feel...whole.

He got up.

"I'm going to do it," he said.

The Speed Force was content.

"But now that I know I'm going to die," he added, "I'm going to try doing a little more preparation for it. That might have been useful to know the first time around."

The Speed Force was silent.

"...Just saying," Charlie said, shrugging. He let out another sigh and grabbed his phone. "Now, how do I write a will...?"
mage

[ she/her, but in a boy kinda way ]

roleplaying is my platonic love language.

queer and here.





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Fri Jun 19, 2020 2:05 pm
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Elinor says...



After a moment, everything went white. Jay was was sitting in his prison cell. They'd moved him out of isolation a month earlier. He was so weak now, he wasn't a threat.

Still, he was surprised when when the guards came to tell him he had a visitor. Jay was surprised. Still, fifty years on, he got letters from fans. People who admired him. People who wanted to know more about him. But never anyone who actually came to visit. Not for a long time.

Jay could still walk, but he was weak. And slow.

The girl on the other side of the glass looked young. And she looked so much like Sarah.

The girl took a deep breath. "Do you know who I am?"

"No," Jay replied.

"I'm Lacey," she said. "Your granddaughter."

Granddaughter? Jay thought. He supposed he wasn't surprised. He knew Adam was married, but he'd never said anything about kids. As for his other children, Esther, of course, had died at eighteen. And he supposed Amy and Tara could have had children of their own by now.

"You have five other grandchildren. My sister Rachel is 33. My brother Ryan is 31. I'm 23. My Aunt Amy has a son, Tyler. He's 21. My Aunt Tara has Ashley, she's 20, and Ezra is 17."

Lacey took her phone and showed him a picture. It was all of them, posing in the snow. "This is from last Christmas," she continued. Jay looked at the picture. Adam's hair was silver now. The other faces all blended together.

"Why are you showing me this?" Jay asked.

"Because," Lacey said. "My...our family doesn't want anything to do with you, and I don't think that's right. They didn't want you to know about any of your grandkids." Lacey took a deep breath. "We learned about you in my sociology class. Do you know how hard it was to keep my mouth shut? At least Whitman's a common enough last name."

Still, Jay said nothing. Lacey clearly had a lot to say, so Jay signaled that he was listening.

"You know, my family wants to act like we're picture perfect, but we're the furthest thing from it. And it's all because of you." Lacey took a deep breath. She was trying not to cry. "My dad pretends he's strong, but really he just wanted a normal dad."

"I could never have given that to him," Jay replied.

Lacey scoffed. "At least he had his mom. My grandma."

Jay swallowed at the thought of Sarah. "You look so much like her, you know," he said.

Lacey smiled. "I get that a lot," she said. "Moreso than my mom." She took another breath. "All I'm saying is that I forgive you. I don't think it's healthy to hold onto negative emotions." She was openly crying now. She lingered, as if she wanted to say something else, but she didn't. Then, she stood up.

"Goodbye, Lacey," Jay said. "Thanks for visiting."

Lacey pursed her lips and walked away.

All our dreams can come true — if we have the courage to pursue them.

-- Walt Disney





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Sat Jun 20, 2020 11:55 pm
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Teddybear says...



The boy opened his eyes, and he was on that cliff again. Made entirely of crystal with water cascading down it with a mighty roar, the whole place seemed to glow like every interpretation of the pleasant afterlife he'd ever appreciated.

But this wasn't the afterlife.

He'd been to the afterlife.

An afterlife.

He tried to remember.

...Gaps. Why were there gaps? Had someone given him a name, considered him family in that...time? But they were already dead. Surely her Lady Grave didn't have possession of the memories he created in the world beyond. That was the realm of Lady Death alone.

He shook his head. It didn't matter, not really. He was here now, and he sat down at the cliff's edge, his feet dangling toward the pool below.

If he was back, could he die?

He pushed off the ledge.
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Sat Jun 20, 2020 11:59 pm
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soundofmind says...



The End


Main Cast



Kazimir Petrov by @soundofmind
Charlie Greene by @Magebird
“The Fiddler” by @TheMulticoloredCyr
Jay Whitman by @Elinor


Honorary Cast


Laney Doss by @clarevelyn13
Pants are an illusion. And so is death.









Reading is one form of escape. Running for your life is another.
— Lemony Snicket