Slam's Creativity Thread

Mr. Danya
Mr. Danya
Joined: 7:39 PM - Aug 11, 2009

8:34 PM - Feb 15, 2011 #1

So, believe it or not for a member of this site, I actually occasionally write stuff that isn't SOTF related.

I'll give you a moment for that to sink in.

Now that you're over that shock, have my first piece that I'll share with you all. It's a little poem for a writing contest those of you in chat may have heard me bitching about and how it's creatively confining with its limited titles. Normally I'm not one for poems, but hey this came out quicker than a story so it'll go here first. I've had to use an image because zetaboards are jerks and won't let the text go the way that I want it to so nuts to them.


Constructive criticism or comments of non-criticism nature on anything I do is always loved. Unless you put me down, in which case I will cry in a corner after accepting it. But will still love it.

masochist me.

Opinions on any single item in here are welcome.

First page item's gone forever thanks Photobucket

Frozen Smoke
Joined: 4:25 PM - Nov 30, 2010

4:20 PM - Feb 16, 2011 #2

I've got no critisism here, I love the way you've used formatting to emphasise the fading of the voice, and just how well you captured and portrayed the emotion.

I'm loving it here, cant wait for the next lot!
[+] Spoiler
Relationship Thread!

Faith Clementine Marshal-Mackenzie
[+] Spoiler
Memories: Making old enemies
Present Day: Making new friends - Playing childish games
Oneshots: Tidying up - Coming home
Parker Green
[+] Spoiler
Memories: Cheaters never prosper - Except when they do
Present Day: Getting informed - Playing nice - Keeping up appearances
Oneshots: Preparing for battle
Criticism or thoughts on my writing are welcome and appreciated - always looking to improve! Feel free to poke me on Discord or via PM.

Mr. Danya
Mr. Danya
Joined: 7:39 PM - Aug 11, 2009

1:01 AM - Feb 28, 2011 #3

So here's another thing I just came up with, I suppose it might qualify as another poem but frankly I think of it more as Flash Fiction.
[+] Spoiler
Sat By A Sparkling Lake

Three little girls sat by a sparkling lake
One named Judith, one named Meredith, and one named Tiny Tammy Take
These little girls looked at the fish, jumping up and down
Splish splash splish splash in an otherwise empty sound
The one named Meredith started to cry
For the bright sunshine had caught in her eye
Judith tried her very best to comfort her dear friend
Tiny Tammy went around the bend
Then there were two little girls
Sat by a sparkling lake.

Little Judith and little Meredith sat all alone
The distant sun in the distant horizon had started to slowly crone
Where had their dear friend gone, they quietly started to fear
And once again Meredith was calling on many tears
Judith knew she alone couldn't help
But at the same time she knew she definitly couldn't yelp
Because she knew that if she did
What had found Tammy would come and bid
So she sat there still, immobible and quiet
In a tiny whimper she begged for Meredith to be quiet too
A howl rang audiously through the trees
And Meredith became quiet too.
Then there were was one little girl
Sat by a sparkling lake.

One little girl left alive
Sat with another girl by her side
A pumping heart
A growing sweat
She stroked her head to relieve her stress
But a cold head offers no peace
And blood on your hands makes no ease
So she sat there silently,
Wishing Meredith wasn't silent too
But somewhere out there in the trees
Lurked a beast with eyes for three
Tammy was still gone
And Meredith was still here
But only Judith remained alive, terrified and dear.

The beast in trees
Had eyes for three

And then there were no little girls
Sat by a sparkling lake.
One of these days I'd love to write something upbeat.

Mr. Danya
Mr. Danya
Joined: 7:39 PM - Aug 11, 2009

2:46 PM - Oct 22, 2011 #4

So since it doesn't look like I won this totallyobviouslyriggedandfavouriteplayingstupidcontestomglamos I can post up this story I wrote ages ago for all to see~
[+] Spoiler
It is an often overlooked fact that all it takes in this universe to unsettle the grounds on which homes have been built and to create chaos within order is the minutest of changes. Even something so subtle that it is only noticed by a single soul can swell into a maelstrom in an instant, one that engulfs all who touch it without mercy.

The weather outside on that day was a typical October overcast, grey skies drifting lazily above with the faint signs of rain on the ground below. The street sweeper hummed loudly as it squeezed its way down the road between rows of cars on either side whilst Tony Horgan and his son trailed behind it in their own shoddy vehicle, enduring their best attempt to salvage yet another late morning on a Tuesday of work and school. Mrs Bishop peered out of her window at the persistent ruckus of the man honking his horn impatiently, wrinkling her pruned nose in disgust from behind thin curtains whilst Mr Bishop flicked through the sports channels on the television behind her, bars of volume increasing in sync. Sam Page was up on his roof in an effort to repair the unsightly missing tiles from his mess of a home, his droning hammer only adding to the noise. The neighbourhood was awake and alive.

Always a sound sleeper, Robert Ledger was only now at 10:24 am beginning to stir from his long sleep. Half of the bed remained unmade from his wife who had awoken four hours prior, the pile of duvet disturbed even further by Robert's turning, whilst the curtains had been left wide open without a care in the world, sunlight intruding mercilessly. His head slowly began to swim to consciousness as his dreams were replaced by his returning reality, eyes gaining their focus on the damp spot on the ceiling that had formed around last Christmas. With groggy effort and stretching arms he climbed out of bed, mumbling quietly all the way.

The dishes from breakfast soaked in the sink as Robert went to find his mail, heading through the living room towards his front door. His sight passed over the relics of his marriage atop the mantle and passed over the obscurities of the room. It was so easy to look past the one thing in the otherwise organised home that was so wrong, so very out of place, that he did exactly that, right until his second pass through the room on his way back to clean the plates. He only needed to see it once before he'd never risk missing it again.

It didn't have a precise position in the room: it wasn't in the very centre, nor did it exist near any particular wall. It stayed perfectly still in the air but close to neither the floor or the ceiling. It was absolutely minuscule, the size of a tiny drop, but it was there. A tiny drop of red.

Robert stared at the minute circle staying in the air of his home, existing away from the backdrop of the wall behind it, a tiny speck of red right in front of the grey backdrop as if the sight of it was a separate image all together. It did not move, neither rising nor falling, approaching or retreating, simply remaining perfectly still in the space above the ground. It was simply there.

He was willing to dismiss it as a mere slip of his mind, a blink in the sky caused by his half awake status, but it continued to exist right in front of his face, without a trace of change. A small tension grew in Robert's hand.

He stepped around it, wanting to be absolutely sure that he wasn't just seeing things. If it had been a blink on the wall then it would have vanished from his perspective the moment he moved, but it did not. It followed as everything else in the room did, staying in the same place whilst everything else, the lamp that he'd bought with George at Ikea, the chair he'd been given as a house warming present, the ugly painting on the wall, all spun around with the room as Robert span along with it. Yet the orb never moved.

No, not an orb Robert realised as he stared with intrigue. It was more like a bubble. Not a speck of light shone through it, like it would have the bubbles from the soap from the washing he should have been doing, but he knew that it was hollow. Orbs came with sustenance, with filling, with a core. This was a hollow, unnatural red bubble.

Blood red.

Their security alarm let off its BLEEP BLEEP as the front door swung open. “Hello!” called a shrill voice, the voice of his wife Georgina Ledger, as the clatter of house keys followed suit. Yet why he would be hearing this so early on, Robert realised, did not make any sense at all: she didn't finish working until the evening.

His eye caught sight of the clock reflected in the mirror propped on the mantle next to his wedding photo. The hour hand rested almost just at the bottom of the clock whilst the minute hand fell off to the side of the top. 7:12 pm.

He had been staring at the bubble for eight hours.

“You couldn't have cleaned up could you!” came an angry yell from the kitchen as she stumbled upon the dishes Robert had eaten off that morning, still soaking, waiting to be cleaned in the ice cold water of the sink. Light from the streets flooded in through the window as Tom Horgan drove by once again in his shoddy car on the way to buy chips for dinner. October rain was starting to fall from the clouds above.

“What are you doing?” came a question from the kitchen doorway as George finally saw her husband standing in the middle of the room in his dressing gown with five o'clock shadow now grown to seven pm. Robert looked back at her.
“This bubble.” he replied, pointing it out despite its obvious presence. He opened his mouth to speak again, but closed it almost instantly and looked back to it again.
“What bubble?” she asked in return as she approached, looking around his finger to the wall behind it. She shifted to looking at him with concern. She couldn't see it.

The light rain outside had grown to a steady torrent, the sound of its pellets rapping against the window pane interrupted only by a sudden distant echo of thunder. The clocks hands had moved again, the hour hand now sat on three whilst the minute hand waited on eight.

Robert hadn't left the room. George had argued with him at first as her husband insisted on an imagined existence, only to finally lose her patience and leave to make her own dinner, calling back the whole time “Has it moved then, Robert?! Is it still there?!”. Robert had been completely silent in response, something that had only served to make her angrier and send her to sleep in fury whilst Robert continued staring at the tiny red bubble.

It had grown. When he first saw it it had barely been larger than a speck of dust; now it was the size of a blot of ink, as if the wall behind it had been stained red. It drew focus.

He was no closer to an explanation for it. Tiny red bubbles that wives couldn't see didn't appear in people's homes; he wasn't even sure if he'd ever heard of a red bubble before either. Yet here was the single thing that broke both those laws at once, staying before his very eyes no matter how many times he blinked and now he knew it was getting bigger.

A shadow streaked across the room, cast by the soaking wet street light that glowed continuously. The source flew around Robert in the shape of a tiny moth exploring his living room. The insect probed the dark space aimlessly, settling on the mirror that reflected the clock which Robert had grown accustomed to checking intermittently, before eventually taking back to the air. Its blind movement came closer and closer to the statue still Robert who was unperturbed by something as minute as a bug and so it came closer and closer to the tiny red bubble that had his attention caught instead. At high speeds it darted around in front of his vision, almost taunting him to stop looking at that bubble. It darted around the air in erratic patterns, growing faster and faster by the second, less and less ordered and more and more seeming to exist purely to distract him.

The unplanned motions of the bug, whatever its reasons had been, filled the air around Robert's head, as if he was a lamp that was hypnotising the moth. It had gone beyond being something that Robert was dismissing when he realised what was in the air it was flying in. He almost wanted to call out a warning, or to take his fist and smash it out of the sky to stop it being so careless, but what he wanted to do was too little too late as the moth flew straight in to the tiny red bubble.

Just like that the constantly darting little moth was gone.

It didn't fly out of the bubble like it had flown in the air carelessly before, even as Robert kept expecting it to pass straight on out. The tiny red bubble was impossible to see through, even as Robert moved around to every angle, praying desperately for some sign of life, some hope that the bug was still alive but trapped in the blood red prison. He could see nothing.

In desperation he did something he had not done in the eighteen hours he had been staring at the red bubble: for the first time he reached out to touch it, to pull that moth out and give it some chance of escape. A voice told him that it could not be worth it, that the moth was already lost and gone forever, but he reached out to give it hope regardless.

The very tip of his middle finger reached out to touch the tiny red bubble, the edge of his skin pressing into its unnatural shell. It didn't feel of anything, as if he was pressing through a projection, but Robert got no further than the finest reach of his finger nail.

Everything around him was blurred, like a mist had swam over his eyes, a cloud of red mist. The shimmering sight of his living room was swimming around him, nothing staying still for one moment, nothing keeping in its rightful place. Was the world falling away around him? No, not that.

It was him: he was the one that was moving. He moved around the room as the mist, that same shade of blood red, tainted his vision and coloured everything around him. Something was breathing heavily.

CrashSomething else wasCRASHin the roomSMASHwith him, something terribleCRASHCRASHCRASHthat was destroyingSMASHSMASHthe place!

“What the fuck is going on!?” screamed a hysterical voice from the doorway, that of Georgina Ledger who stared at her husband as ornaments on the mantle lay in pieces on the brick below and their lamp protruded halfway through their window, letting in an icy chill from the storm outside. He turned back at her and glared with wild eyes.

They were on the floor, though how they had gotten their Robert did not know. Something was under his hands, something that seemed warm and soft, but only for now. He could feel the heat slipping away under his fingers whilst George stared in to her husbands eyes with wild betrayal, staring with what little energy wasn't being taken from her by her husband, the little energy that was dwindling rapidly by the second. Then it was gone.

Robert pulled his hands away from his spouse's neck as George lay motionless on the ground below, her body eternally still. The red mist was gone from Robert's eyes now, allowing him to see the corpse of his wife who would never walk through that doorway again. He could still feel the last ounce of life lingering on the palm of his hands, the ones that matched the bruises around her strangled neck.

Thunder cracked loudly outside, casting a shadow against the wall. It illuminated her face completely for an instant, etching an image into his mind forever: she was still staring at him.

He turned around; he had to know whether it was still there, still an unnatural thing existing inexplicably in his home. Just as he expected, it still stayed perfectly motionless, perfectly defiant of him and the rules of the universe in front of the grey wall behind it. Now the appearance of a stain on the wall was spreading, slowly creeping across the wall. It was still growing.

“Why?” he whispered, stepping off of the empty shell underneath towards the small red bubble. “Why?” he repeated, though an answer would never come. It just stayed still before him, the body it had created on the opposite side of the man who questioned it. Nothing moved, save for the edges stretching slowly along the grey wall.

The light of the sun peered in through the broken window as Robert still stared. It was no longer the size of the drop that had first invaded his home, now it mimicked a small fruit in size and shape. Just as it had changed in shape so too had it changed further than it had been before, where it had been growing only minutely for hours at a time. Now it was growing at a rate he could see, one which he could watch every slightest change. It was still slow, but the red bubble crawled continuously across the grey wall behind it.

A scream from outside broke through the broken glass, trying to steal his attention again. He couldn't grant that bubble even a second of freedom, so he didn't look at Mrs Bishop, who on her unsuspecting morning walk had been drawn to the destroyed pane like a fly to honey. However the sight of her dead neighbour and her husband fixated so intently on an empty space was far from the gossip that passed for her interest, the horrendous scene tearing its way through her mind, and in a borderline fit she ran for her home, desperate to call for help. Robert still hadn't seen a thing. His jaw was agonising from clenched teeth.

“What now?” he asked out for the first time in hours, addressing the red bubble that had never granted him a hint of acknowledgement as it invaded his living room. “How big are you going to get on me? You going to just keep this up forever?” It still didn't reply, though it had spread to a size almost half a meter across, bigger than Robert's head kept so close to it for hours on end.

The clock continued ticking behind him, its small stubby hand resting on ten and its long slender hand lingering just before five.

Robert thought he heard noise coming from behind him again, but that couldn't be possible as George was lying dead. The faint murmur lurked in the back of his mind as he stared at the ever growing bubble whilst the police next to the rigor mortis laden corpse of his wife ordered him to lie on the ground with hateful fury in their eyes. Was there even a wall behind it any more? Robert found himself wondering as a lone cop, scarred by the body on the ground, approached him with fiery determination.

He was wrestled to the ground as the giant red bubble left his vision forever, finding his eyes buried in to the damp carpet beneath it. He raged under the body of the officer who held him firmly against the ground, yelling in insanity to return to his fixture and make sure whether or not the bubble was still growing. The larger man on top glared madly at the murderer below him, truncheon at the ready to subdue the screaming lunatic who raved madly about 'it growing'. A stray lash of his arm caught his face, but it wasn't long before Robert Ledger was restrained by pair of solid steel handcuffs.

They dragged his flailing body out to the squad car as his wild yells flew down the street.

Derrick Mennow surveyed the room as Officer Daniels dragged Robert Ledger away from his wreck of a home whilst the corpse of the victim was zipped up in her bag to be sent away to the coroner. He couldn't help but feel a small sense of guilt for the events that had transpired, even though his hand was far from being responsible. After all, it wasn't the first time they had been called out to that road: a domestic disturbance complaint, a missing pet scandal, each call always leading back to the house of the rabid Robert Ledger and his deranged sister Georgina, though you'd never know from the way he treated her; they were far too close for a brother and sister. Maybe if they had been able to sanction them a little sooner the two of them could have been helped instead of the fate that had fallen upon them and that family photo hanging crooked on the wall would not be the last thing that could suggest they'd ever been happy.

Another tragic end to a tragic case, he sighed to himself as he began the slow process of marking off the room; the boys in forensics would want to go over the place with a fine toothed comb, despite how open and shut it all looked. A loud rapping on the front door drew his attention, however, as he hurried back to the entrance where Chief Bryant Cailum stood waiting impatiently.

“Get back to the station,” he simply said with his gruff tone, authority absolute to the loyal subordinate “I'll take it from here.” With a needless salute from Derrick and a roll of the eyes from his Chief, Bryant was left alone to sift through the wreck and lay down the steps for his force to follow through on. The sight of a ruined house was far from new to him: it wasn't the first time he'd seen a mad man tear his place apart.

It was the first time he'd seen a giant red bubble right in the middle of it though.
Personally I dunno what I was smoking with the ending, but please thoughts, criticisms and opinions share all around.

Mr. Danya
Mr. Danya
Joined: 7:39 PM - Aug 11, 2009

12:45 PM - Jan 25, 2012 #5


Bouncing up and down
The flowing river in my heart abounds
But when I turn around there it is
And I can swim.

Winds in the trees and a gentle breeze
It’s the day I wanted for months and weeks
Now it’s here and I’m out in the clouds
Wind in my hair, wind in my gown

Everything is going perfectly
Life is everything I want it to be
Except I turn around and look behind me
And there’s one thing not there.

A beautiful, clear horizon rolls in front of me
Grassy meadows, grassy hills
Clean, green, completely sheen
This empty landscape is all I need

I look around across the world
Every little detail now unfurled
All to myself, all to me
This barren land is all I see

Peaceful solitude of perfect silence
Mine alone, mine forever

Joined: 11:14 PM - Nov 22, 2009

12:50 PM - Jan 25, 2012 #6

Damn now that is right up my street
I'm not as awesome as this song makes out
I'm angry, underweight and sketching out
I'm building bonfires on my vanities and doubts
To get warm just like everybody else
wrote:Let's show that private threads aren't necessary! I pledge not to start any private threads on island in V5. If I started a thread, you are welcome to join it.

Mr. Danya
Mr. Danya
Joined: 7:39 PM - Aug 11, 2009

3:09 PM - Jan 25, 2012 #8

Two in one day? Good God I must be on drugs.
[+] Spoiler
It was finally within her reach. The office door imposed on her, but she stared it down unflinching, prepared and ready to finally retrieve what she had been chasing after all these weeks.

She stopped to check around again, the long hallway devoid of any life besides herself as the door stood in its center. She opened it with care, its dry hinges creaking out as she did so. The room was pitch black, empty, just like she had been told it would be. The light of her torch bounced off the window on the other side of the room, the city street eerily silent far out and below. The desk she'd been searching for stood in front of it. The silence that filled the building confirmed what Jack had already told her: that the alarms were dead. That didn’t mean she could forget the patrols though, as she eyed the door carefully whilst getting to work.

She pulled on the drawer of the desk, the lock holding fast. Another thing she had expected when she broke into the headquarters: their chief wasn’t going to leave it out for anyone to get their hands on. She flicked her lock pick out of her pocket, becoming absorbed in her work as she set to breaking the seal. She was so close now she could practically feel the file in her hand, the tension shaking her hands not making the job any easier. Soon she could save Ryan.

She felt the lock give and a grin broke across her face, her heart pounding in her chest as she pulled it open. The folder sat in plain view, unassuming to anyone but her. It opened without any resistance and she eyed the contents within. Her face fell.

This wasn’t the file. The folder wasn’t empty, far from it, but all that it was was mockery. Whoever had left these sheets for her had taken the time to write two words from head to toe on every page: Ha Ha. She had her suspicions on who the culprit was.

At the very back, there was a single piece of scrap paper with a more meaningful message scrawled out. “So sorry Diana.” It started, and she scowled immediately. She had been beaten to the punch and she knew that it was going to cost her. “You should have known better than to play around in the big leagues though. Enjoy the parting gift.”

She blinked for a moment, then cursed under her breath. She flung herself across the room, bracing herself for another explosion that would send her flying through the walls as a charred husk. There was no fiery death this time, however. She approached the desk again and investigated the drawer she had pried open. Tucked underneath the lip was a blinking red light: a silent, remote alarm.

“Oh bloody hell.” She groaned, exhausted from the constant games of cat and mouse. As she prepared to leave the building in a hurry, a pair of guns caught her attention through the doorway with an audible click, the two suited men on the other side sending a clear message about leaving.

The Scarlet Order had caught her again.
I'll probably turn this into a serial.

Mr. Danya
Mr. Danya
Joined: 7:39 PM - Aug 11, 2009

10:40 PM - Feb 29, 2012 #9

Okay screw the last serial because I had no idea where it was going. This one I've actually more or less already written so I know it'll have a definite end, but I'll upload it in chapters for the sake of ease of reading and not having to write it all at once. Plus it actually has a title.
[+] Spoiler
It was the quiet hour in the rustic village of Clara Maria, with the silver moon looming in the sky. The only souls outside the comfort of their straw beds were the respected Dr. Mañera and his withdrawn assistant Eduardo, a man who had not been right of mind in over thirteen years, since the day the bandits rode through the village and devastated his family before his eyes. The illusion the doctor presented to the town of helping the lost soul with his constant presence could not be further from the truth, for Eduardo was there that evening to assist the good doctor once again in his late night activities.

“Do you see why the good lord has delivered you into my arms, Eduardo?” the doctor asked his accomplice as he watched the shovel strike the dirt once again. “It is so that we can be the pioneers of a better tomorrow. Without us doing this God given task Eduardo, how many more would suffer unto a fate they truly did not deserve?” he hung his head solemnly, taking off his hat in memory of the head.

Eduardo looked up at him from the hole he stood waist deep in, his dark brown eyes glazed over in the light of the moon reflected off a fresh tombstone. He said nothing, before returning to his work displacing the earth beneath him as the doctor had commanded. He would do whatever the doctor had commanded, so long as it kept the delirious voices clear from his mind.

“Don’t you see, Eduardo? Without us, the two of us, perpetuating these acts of the good lord up there, we’d be but victims of a greater fate like the ones faced by your daughter not years ago. Did you want such a fate for your daughter?” Eduardo dug faster. “In time, Eduardo, you and I will know truly what the great God did in fact design ourselves for, and we shall prevent such a tragedy from reoccurring, I promise to you.”

The spade ricocheted against a solid mass covered in earth: the funeral casket of a man who was once wealthy in life, now condemned to the eternal hellfire as the worms fed on the body whilst the soul endured a thousand torments.

“Silence, Eduardo!” the doctor ordered, hushing his own voice so as not to enter the unthinkable realm of hypocrisy. The window of the church remained dim and unlit, not a single sound breaking through the tension of the night as the critters of the dusk hunted afar for scraps of food whilst the minds of the day slept their slumber, the priest of the church amongst them. Not a single candle was lit to pierce the shadows, and reveal to the two in their God given task.

Dr Mañera let out a sigh of relief as his heart unclenched from inside his chest. Eduardo watched him with those motionless glazed eyes, his mind refusing to command the body without a word from the doctor. With a silent nod from the man who stood above him, he was on his hands and knees and cleaning the dirt from the casket.

“Fetch a bag.” Came the order from above, the doctor fixated on what the casket before him contained, teeth gritting into each other from the excitement growing inside. Dr Mañera jumped into the hole next to his assistant, his weathered brown trousers no stranger to the dirt, a fitting piece of apparel for their owner who maintained the town’s most respected clinic.

The casket reeked of death even in its youth, parasites and vermins already working the body inside as the same sort of people had done in life. A frozen face stared into the doctor’s as Eduardo removed the last of the nails and pulled it open, recognising the man before him but not understanding his actions. The doctor covered his eyes with a pure white cloth, freshly prepared, removed from the cleanest pocket of his long coat. “Forgive me, my friend.” Dr. Mañera whispered, bowing his head to the solemn moment, as Eduardo returned with the bag in tow, ready to help him in the struggle of stealing the corpse to a new resting place.
Comment now, comment when it's done, whatever suits you. For once I'll upload from start to finish.

Cannon Fodder
Cannon Fodder
Joined: 5:48 PM - Mar 30, 2010

10:51 PM - Feb 29, 2012 #10

Hooray, love it <3

post moar plz :3

Mr. Danya
Mr. Danya
Joined: 7:39 PM - Aug 11, 2009

4:04 PM - Mar 10, 2012 #11

[+] Spoiler
“Ah, Dr. Mañera.”

Their cart had walked through the streets without notice, the sound of a single horse on the road of the sleepy village lost on the residents who waited for the dawn in a land of dreams and slumber, until they approached the dirty bar of The Braying Burro. Even at this hour, the moon gliding across the peak of the sky, the light shone out the windows that had been polished not hours ago but were already gaining grime and muck as the few drunks still to pass out drained beer down their throats.

In front of the house of card games where no-one played with an honest hand and where drinks were cheaper than the water stood Carla Loretta, the village’s one and only lady of pleasure. “I did not expect to meet you at this fine hour,” she said, that painfully tempting smirk that she flashed at many a man who had visited her, as if to fill the rest of the town in on her dirty little secrets, sitting across her face. “Here to bring Eduardo for another night?”

“I’m afraid not, Miss Loretta.” The good doctor answered, tipping his hat towards the lady. Eduardo looked at Carla with his beady black eyes, a desire to taste the sweet delights of the late hour once again whilst caring not a drop for the mind that housed the physical pleasures, the way a simple dog eyed its bitch in heat. “I do wish you a fond evening, all the same.” said Dr. Mañera.

“You disappoint me, Doctor.” She smirked again, leaning over the railing before her to display that ample bust of hers, pressed tightly upwards by a tired old silk dress that had been gifted to her by an overly fond suitor several clients ago, making the skin that had begun to tire and wrinkle apparent to all. “What on this fine, dusty wasteland of a village are you dragging through the dark of the night anyway?”

Dr. Mañera gave his own smile, a bedside smile that had put many a trusting villager at ease in his care, to the questioning whore whilst his hand gripped the reigns of his horse. “Just some supplies, I assure you Miss Loretta. It’s been a long ride to collect from my most trusted supplier, you see, and I’m sure you understand how Eduardo and I are most surely tired.”

“Now wouldn’t that be the damnedest thing, Doctor.” She said, finally dropping that sinfully inciting smirk as her eyebrow crept up her forehead. “I could have sworn I saw yor horse on its way out not barely an hour ago.”

Dr. Mañera smiled from under the brim of his hat, hiding his piercing eyes as Eduardo looked at him for his master’s decision. “I assure you, your eyes were playing tricks, Miss Loretta.”

She looked at him for just that instant longer than a woman should have looked at a man in such a position, but conceded her concern with a shrug of her broad shoulders. “My mistake, I guess then.”

“It is but no-one’s fault, Miss Loretta.” The good doctor once again smiled, hat raised to look at her face with his sheathed eyes. “Surely but a trick of the light.” He nodded, snapping the reign of his steed and bringing out a shrill whinny in the night’s darkness. “I wish you a pleasant evening, Miss Loretta.”

“And to you, Doctor.” She nodded back. “Eduardo.” She smirked.

The cart rode on once again, the covered corpse of a wealthy man in the back passing the whore’s eyes with not even a second glance, as she went back to lean on her post and wait for a man to come along and make her evening.

Mr. Danya
Mr. Danya
Joined: 7:39 PM - Aug 11, 2009

7:35 PM - Dec 22, 2012 #12

Got ourselves a little 'un here. I started doing a Let's Play of The Walking Dead (Great game, go check it out if you haven't already) with Lee as a total jerk, but then I started to think I wasn't really nailing what parts of Lee's character are set by the game, so I kinda gave up fairly quickly.

Ah well, have the unfinished result. No real spoiler risk since it's only of the first ten minutes or so, but hey.
[+] Spoiler
If I had known that this was how my life was going to end up, sat handcuffed in the back of a cop’s car? I would’ve never married. Fuck that bitch and the asshole she died with.

My name is Lee Everett, as good as that is to me now. I had a career, taught history at the university, but all that went out the window along with my wife’s pants (hell, should that be ex-wife now) when I came home and caught her in the bed with the senator. Shit, I didn’t even know he was a senator until the police arrested me, but that didn’t mean shit to me at the time. She was supposed to be my wife, and that’s why I catch her fucking some other guy?

Whatever happened after that, I didn’t give a shit then and I don’t give a shit now. All that matters is that I’m still heading to the big house, and god knows I’m not cut out for that life. Guess for the next three life sentences, I’d better keep my head off.

“Well then, I reckon you didn’t do it.”

It was the first thing I’d heard from the old ass cop driving me to jail. I’d figured he wouldn’t say anything; much less tell me he thought I was innocent. He was the first guy who’d said it to me though, so I figured I’d give him a chance.

“What makes you say that?” I asked him. I really did wonder what made him so sure, considering they found the corpses in my bed. God knows that I’d have thought I did it if I were this guy. Turns out it was because people in my position, driving down the highway out of Atlanta and into prison always started screaming they didn’t do it. Every time.

I humoured the fucker whilst he went on about his family and asked me about my wife, told me I married the wrong sort of woman (I could’ve socked him one right there if I wasn’t still cuffed up in the back of his cruiser), but he just went on and on about some nut who cut up someone and then pretended he never did it. I tuned out long ago: I was already on the road to hell, it wasn’t like I needed to suffer all the way down the motherfucking river Styx.

Whilst he blabbed on, I killed time staring out the window. Seemed like a lot of cops were heading back into the city, even saw me a helicopter going in too, but honest to god why the hell should I have cared? I had had enough fun dealing with the police for the last few months, now it seemed they were everywhere I turned. Maybe that’s how all convicted criminals saw it, or maybe it was just me.

Either way, I didn’t need to be a serial killer to see the girl walking out in the middle of the road as our car drove straight into her.


When I was ten, I was riding in the car with my dad when we were in an accident after some asshole cut us off. Back then all we’d done was wind up wrapped around a lamp post, but my dad had still wound up with enough damage to his leg that he still walked with a cane the last time I saw him. They never did catch the fucker that cut us off either.

Compared to what the cop’s cruiser went through, that was a walk in the park. The car span right off the road and into the woods, rolling over off the road as I was thrown against the roof and floor, like I was in a tumble dryer on fast spin. The old dude in front of me had it just as bad, his medical kit and taser flying around with him, but I blacked out so fast after my head slammed into the roof that I didn’t even feel us stop moving.

Next thing I knew, I was staring at that same cop’s corpse.

I hurt all over, but nowhere near as bad as my knee did. Thoughts of my crippled dad sprung to my mind, but only for a second, as I saw my dead officer buddy outside. I tried calling out to him, I hadn’t noticed just how still he was at first, but the trail of blood leading from the car to his body clued me in pretty fast. I noticed he had his shotgun out too, whatever the hell he had needed it out for. I’m no police officer, just in case that wasn’t obvious, but I’m pretty sure standard crash procedure doesn’t involve getting out the 12-gauge.

Unfortunately, my hands were still cuffed and I was still locked in the back. Damn police security, always trying to stop criminals escaping. Still, if there wasn’t another cop coming any time soon, you couldn’t blame a guy for taking the chance to end his sentence early.

It took me a while to kick my way through the police window (stupid kids always thinking they break in one blow), but dragging my sorry ass out of there was even tougher. My knee screamed out like a bitch when I fell to the ground, but I was able to right myself without too much more trouble than I’d have expected if I’d known much about medicine.

Shit, out of all the jobs that could’ve helped me flee the law, I went and decided to be a history teacher.

I hobbled around the car, finding the shotgun that Officer Dead had brought out with him. Would’ve served me well in my new life of being a fugitive, but my hands were still cuffed up and bending over to pick the damn thing up almost tore my leg clean in half. Fortunately, the officer had the keys to my handcuffs in his back pocket.

I dropped them as I was trying to free my hands the first time, fell right by the officer’s face. “Shit!” I cursed; if he was going to decide now that he was still alive, it would’ve been like someone had walked in on me robbing a bank with the blowtorch in hand. Fortunately he didn’t even blink, and after quickly grabbing for the keys again my hands were finally free.

That’s when he changed his mind about being dead.

At first I t was just a groan; I would’ve dismissed it if I wasn’t already on edge, but after that his hand twitched too. “Shit.” I cursed again, at that point ready to be arrested by the poor fucker and have an extra twenty years put on my sentence. What I wasn’t ready for was the fucker, half of his face missing with nothing but a bit of flesh hanging off his skull to spring at me.

I backed away on my ass as his dead face kept staring at me, but the police cruiser pissed me off once again as I found my back to it. “Get away from me!” I yelled at him, for all the fat lot of good it did as the fucker kept crawling towards me. I grabbed for the shotgun again, hands free and ready to blow his head off, but all that came from pulling the trigger was an impotent click. If I’d joined the army I might’ve been able to tell if there was a safety trigger on or something, but lucky for me, I correctly assumed it was out of ammo as the dead officer kept crawling at me with a hungry look in his eye.

I could’ve turned it around and bashed his skull in, but a nearby bright red shotgun shell convinced me otherwise. I fumbled for it, fumbled again when I tried to load the gun the first time, but as my heart kept beating whilst the officer crawled at me, I finally loaded the shell into the gun and aimed it straight for the asshole’s head.

“Don’t make me do this!” I yelled, giving him the only warning the fucker was ever going to get, before I pulled the trigger and sent whatever the fuck he was by then straight back to hell in a spray of lead.

As his headless body slumped down, my breath caught in my throat: I’d just murdered an officer.


Because my day hadn’t been shitty enough, I saw a figure out in the distance. Great, a witness, just the shit I needed after I’d blown some poor but fucking crazy officer’s head off. I had to think fast, so I said the first thing that came to mind: “Help! There’s been a shooting!” I said, not lying, but praying in my pants that she hadn’t seen me doing the shooting. Instead, whoever it was, they just ran off instead. Knowing my luck, now the police knew where I was and that I’d killed a cop.


I sat there for a moment; my breath was still pulsing at the combined fear of being attacked by some god knows what it was monster, and the fact that I was going to be arrested soon, when the noises began. Moans, groans, all the sorts of noises the former police officer had made when he’d gotten back up, and they were coming from everywhere.

I struggled back to my feet, my leg still screaming whilst I forced it up. Turns out that the officer wasn’t the only one suffering from whatever the fuck it was that had made him go mad, because all of a sudden I was surrounded by all sorts of people who’s skin was coming off, limbs were missing, and I swear to god one of them had her intestines hanging right out. So I did the only thing I could do, and ran for my goddamn life.

I couldn’t move fast on my busted leg, but the monsters didn’t move fast either. I just ran in the same direction I’d seen that figure, everywhere else blocked off by trees or hills or monsters, until I eventually came up to the sort of fence you’d see lining someone’s back yard. I didn’t even have time to swear again, as I hauled myself up and over that piece of wood and out of the monsters' way.

Yeah, I had no idea what was going on.
Course I've only finished one episode so far, so it's not like I couldn't go in and fill in the rest of it, but I don't really want to write a story with my Lee not being anything like what parts of Lee are canon.

Mr. Danya
Mr. Danya
Joined: 7:39 PM - Aug 11, 2009

4:21 PM - Oct 22, 2013 #13

It's close enough to Halloween that I'm allowed to do my annual treat of writing something scary, or in this case just taking a story I came up with last year and actually writing it.
[+] Spoiler
I’ve seen a lot of messed up stuff in my time on the force. People killing people, people torturing people, real sick stuff. But the thing about all that stuff is that, if nothing else, that stuff made sense. People kill or mug each other, whatever, they got their reasons and they can be understood, but that case, the one that just came out of nowhere and disappeared just as fast, I don’t think I’ll ever understand.

A bunch of people had gone missing in the Western district over the course of a few weeks. All the clues had been pointing to a single culprit, one who we were just about on top of. The evidence was in place, the arrest warrants were ready for their capture, and we were closing in. My partner, Officer Brooks, and I were leading the squad as we moved in.

It was just some run down house in the heart of the district. The whole area was way past its prime, but I guess a rat hole is the best place for rats to hide. The place was as much of a dump on the inside as much as it was on the outside, but we couldn’t find any signs of the missing people. We moved further in, hoping that we might have had more luck in the basement.

So we crept downwards, still alert for whoever was behind all these disappearances, as the stairs creaked under foot. I covered Brooks from behind as he took point, the air thick and heavy with dust, the light from our torches barely shining through. Maybe if I’d taken point, Brooks would be the one telling this story instead of me.

We headed into the basement itself, which was just a mess of a room with a few cupboards strewn about, and a roughly hewn stone floor covered with a single rug. I kept covering Brooks as we moved forwards, knowing that we were getting closer to our culprit. That was until Brooks disappeared right before my eyes.

It was like I’d blinked and he’d vanished, but I knew better. The rug had given way under him, and he’d fallen into some hole underneath it, framed with a wooden border like a trapdoor, except without the door part, and taken the rug along with him. He yelled out on the way down, no doubt his surprise dwarfing my own, and then there was a splash.


No sound of Brooks coming back up, or thrashing about in whatever he’d fallen into, or calling for me to help. I called down after him, but I got no reply. I shone my flashlight into the hole, but I could barely see any sign of him. All I could see was a murky red surface, a shade that reminded too much of the fresh bloodstains I’d seen over the years.

I grabbed for my walkie talkie, radioing for the outside team to come in and assist. I was so distracted by this hole, that the thought that Brooks was still in there, that he might have been drowning, that I almost didn’t notice the tiny, dishevelled man coming up from behind me with a heavy spade. I managed to duck out the way as he brought it down, it barely missing my head, and just like that he fell forwards too. Just like Brooks, he screamed as he fell past me, into the hole and into the pool at the bottom, and after that, there was nothing.

We tried lowering me into the hole by rope afterwards, so that I could see if there was any sign of Brooks or the culprit, but it was no good. All that was in there was a large, empty, underground cave and the just as large blood red pool spread across the bottom. No ledges, no cracks in the wall deep enough for someone to climb on, no sign of any way out whatsoever. I called out for Brooks again, but I knew that it wouldn’t work. Whatever had happened to Brooks, it had happened.

We drained the room afterwards, but that didn’t help either. Scientists couldn’t tell what the pool was made of, but it wasn’t water, blood, acidic, anything that they had seen before. There were no holes in the floor under the pool, or any way anyone could get out, but just the same, there weren’t any bodies either. No skeletons, no corpses, not a trace of Brooks or the killer. The only proof that they had even fallen in was the untouched remains of that rug.