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Gravel

by ChurlishLassy


This is the first story I have writen with an ending, I would REALLY appreciate any input. I have never tried horror before either.

She was screaming. It was a claustrophobia inducing noise when surrounded by the horrid silence. Even the suffocating mind numbing silence would be better than this skinny limbed raven haired girl screaming herself past hoarse.

She was in agony. It was clearly the agony that caused the screaming. I wanted nothing more than to stop the screaming. Let the suffering continue. I felt no pity. I hated her. I hated the way she reminded me of an overgrown spider turned into a wretched human creature. I hated her red, twisted, slimy face. Drool ran freely from her eyes and nose. Tears spilt from her gaping mouth.

She sat in a corner in the fetal position. Her head thrashing like the hose we would turn way up and run from shrieking a very different type of scream, as happy children.

Children. I hate them too. So strange to think I once was one. Must have been centuries ago that I told the woman who gave birth to that I couldn’t see how adults could ever hate children because everyone once was one. Even I was ignorant and naïve, like all other children.

If I could travel back in time I would kill Sweet Little Me, out of hatred for him and love for myself in equal parts.

My happy reminiscing didn’t distract me for a moment from the screeching girl, I focused on her now.

“GET HIM OUT! THE ONE LEGGED MAN. He’s walking on the nightmare path in my head! Oh God, Oh Jesus. FUCK. He’s stopping to pick a crab apple. The crunching! The crunching… I hate him! The pulse! It’s such a dark purple!” I morbidly chuckled to myself. Sure purple wasn’t my favorite color, but nothing to get so worked up over.

My chuckling seemed to make her notice me for the first time. She crawled over and pitifully grasped at my canvas pants.

“HELP! HELP, GET HIM OUT!” she sobbed.

“Leggo,” I said, “I don’t want you’re nasty drool on my pants. Leggo, you’re gonna get em’ wet. Shut up!” I realized I was yelling, yet still she would not let go or be quiet.

“Help me, help me!” her words seemed taunting now.

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUTUP SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP! PLEASE! You FUCKIN BITCH!” She had gotten a dime sized spot of drool on my pants.

I composed myself, “Let. Go.” I told her. Nothing.

I kicked her. The crunch delighted me. She skidded across the room.

She was no longer clasping my pants with her sordid claws. Now her sobs were quiet compulsions that racked her frame in spasms as if she were having a seizure.

I approached her slowly careful to sidestep the repulsive mixture of blood, mucus, drool, and tears she had trailed.

She looked up at me in horror, the kick I had planted on her face had demolished her nose. “OH GOD, GETHIM OUT, Please God.” Her screaming escalated again, “GOD PLEASE I LOVE YOU! HELP HELP! THE One Legged Man! Oh FUCK! Kill me! Kill me! KILL M-.”

I complied.

Her last words were a whimper; “He’s still there,” I suppose referring to the ‘one legged man.’ I like to take notes of last words.

I went and sat in a fresh corner twiddling my thumbs for a bit wondering idly if the girl had been religious her entire life or only when it came to the end. If the latter she deserved hell. Not that I had been religious, even then. I just hate hypocrites. I would identify with god if he wasn’t a hypocrite; we have a lot in common, but I am not a prideful unrepentant hypocrite. Sometimes I can’t help but be a hypocrite so I apologize, to myself usually but still… After all I only tell myself the whole truth so I am the only one who actually knows when I am being a hypocrite.

I leisurely got up to examine the corpse. It was facedown so I grabbed a handful of that too long hair and held the corpse up keeping it at arm’s length, so as to not muss up my clothes. Beneath the layer of slime the face was a mask of horror. I smiled grimly, almost all humor comes from a lack of empathy, and I find many things amusing. To get a better look I tore off a leg of its pants to wipe the slime off, I was careful not to get any on me.

For half a split second I thought the face looked like Elli. It was my turn to shudder.

The face must have been comely once, but now the nose was gone and the expression unappealing. The sightless brown eyes were wide open in terror. I held the carcass so the chocolate eyes were facing mine. “I killed you on my own accord, not because you asked, I would have killed you either way,” I told it. I know it was silly but I felt a sense of closure.

I tore off her eyelids and considered eating them until I saw long eyelashes. I let the corpse fall in a heap and tossed the eyelids next to it in disgust.

I looked down and noticed that I had blood on the tip of my right boot, the one I had kicked the girl with. I made a mental note to get it cleaned.


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135 Reviews


Points: 1040
Reviews: 135

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Mon Nov 26, 2007 12:42 am
cat4prowl wrote a review...



for a first attempt at horror, this was truly... horrifying! very nice, it makes me want to read more. if there is more. the way the mc didnt want any of her filth on him was a nice effect, it makes him seem even more cruel if possible. The descriptions were perfect... i cant find anything to critique! very very nice




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602 Reviews


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Sun Nov 25, 2007 11:16 pm
Wolf wrote a review...



ChurlishLassy wrote:This is the first story I have writen with an ending, I would REALLY appreciate any input. I have never tried horror before either.

She was screaming. It was a claustrophobia inducing noise when surrounded by the horrid silence. Even the suffocating mind numbing silence would be better than this skinny limbed raven haired girl screaming herself past hoarse.
She was in agony. It was clearly the agony that caused the screaming. I wanted nothing more than to stop the screaming. Let the suffering continue. I felt no pity. I hated her. I hated the way she reminded me of an overgrown spider turned into a wretched human creature. I hated her red, twisted, slimy face. Drool ran freely from her eyes and nose. Tears spilt from her gaping mouth.
She sat in a corner in the fetal position. Her head thrashing like the hose we would turn way up and run from shrieking a very different type of scream, as happy children.
Children. I hate them too. So strange to think I once was one. Must have been centuries ago that I told the woman who gave birth to that I couldn’t see how adults could ever hate children because everyone once was one. Even I was ignorant and naïve, like all other children.
If I could travel back in time I would kill Sweet Little Me, out of hatred for him and love for myself in equal parts.
My happy reminiscing didn’t distract me for a moment from the screeching girl, I focused on her now.
“GET HIM OUT! THE ONE LEGGED MAN. He’s walking on the nightmare path in my head! Oh God, Oh Jesus. FUCK. He’s stopping to pick a crab apple. The crunching! The crunching… I hate him! The pulse! It’s such a dark purple!” I morbidly chuckled to myself. Sure purple wasn’t my favorite color, but nothing to get so worked up over.
My chuckling seemed to make her notice me for the first time. She crawled over and pitifully grasped at my canvas pants.
“HELP! HELP, GET HIM OUT!” she sobbed.
“Leggo,” I said, “I don’t want you’re nasty drool on my pants. Leggo, you’re gonna get em’ wet. Shut up!” I realized I was yelling, yet still she would not let go or be quiet.
“Help me, help me!” her words seemed taunting now.
“SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUTUP SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP! PLEASE! You FUCKIN BITCH!” She had gotten a dime sized spot of drool on my pants.
I composed myself, “Let. Go.” I told her. Nothing.
I kicked her. The crunch delighted me. She skidded across the room.
She was no longer clasping my pants with her sordid claws. Now her sobs were quiet compulsions that racked her frame in spasms as if she were having a seizure.
I approached her slowly careful to sidestep the repulsive mixture of blood, mucus, drool, and tears she had trailed.
She looked up at me in horror, the kick I had planted on her face had demolished her nose. “OH GOD, GETHIM OUT, Please God.” Her screaming escalated again, “GOD PLEASE I LOVE YOU! HELP HELP! THE One Legged Man! Oh FUCK! Kill me! Kill me! KILL M-.”
I complied.
Her last words were a whimper; “He’s still there,” I suppose referring to the ‘one legged man.’ I like to take notes of last words.
I went and sat in a fresh corner twiddling my thumbs for a bit wondering idly if the girl had been religious her entire life or only when it came to the end. If the latter she deserved hell. Not that I had been religious, even then. I just hate hypocrites. I would identify with god if he wasn’t a hypocrite; we have a lot in common, but I am not a prideful unrepentant hypocrite. Sometimes I can’t help but be a hypocrite so I apologize, to myself usually but still… After all I only tell myself the whole truth so I am the only one who actually knows when I am being a hypocrite.
I leisurely got up to examine the corpse. It was facedown so I grabbed a handful of that too long hair and held the corpse up keeping it at arm’s length, so as to not muss up my clothes. Beneath the layer of slime the face was a mask of horror. I smiled grimly, almost all humor comes from a lack of empathy, and I find many things amusing. To get a better look I tore off a leg of its pants to wipe the slime off, I was careful not to get any on me.
For half a split second I thought the face looked like Elli. It was my turn to shudder.
The face must have been comely once, but now the nose was gone and the expression unappealing. The sightless brown eyes were wide open in terror. I held the carcass so the chocolate eyes were facing mine. “I killed you on my own accord, not because you asked, I would have killed you either way,” I told it. I know it was silly but I felt a sense of closure.
I tore off her eyelids and considered eating them until I saw long eyelashes. I let the corpse fall in a heap and tossed the eyelids next to it in disgust.
I looked down and noticed that I had blood on the tip of my right boot, the one I had kicked the girl with. I made a mental note to get it cleaned.





“Rise like Lions after slumber In unvanquishable number. Shake your chains to earth like dew Which in sleep had fallen on you— Ye are many—they are few.”
— Mary Shelly