I write for fun so I can become a better writer. My focus is the writing of dramatic stories in whatever genres interest me. My goal is to someday have a published work of fiction that can be bought at a bookstore near you. Follow the THIS.
This Won't Hurt
Kelly Zhertva was hiding in a bathroom stall as girls from her 3rd period class walked in. She could tell who they were by their perfume, which mixed together was almost nauseating. She’d been dodging them all day because Cleo, leader of this trio of malignant narcissists, wanted to give Kelly a piece of her mind. Kelly knew most people couldn’t understand why she was with Shane, whom everyone at Small Haven High knew as Vulcan.
This Old Rotten House
“How come the walls are bleeding?” murmured Shiela to herself. This can’t be good, she thought, her vision becoming clearer. The bleeding wall wasn’t bleeding blood, more like emanating a rotten sap-like liquid. It was dark brown with a hint of red, thick like molasses. If it weren’t for the pungent, rotted forest tree smell it could be passed off as that, or motor oil. Shiela grabbed the cushiony mass below her, regaining knowledge of her surroundings. She was laying on a couch, a small one, in the middle of the den at her friend Hector’s house. The fabric was falling off the arm rests and it was stained by her friend’s late mother’s cigarette habit. Hector was lying on the floor in front of Shiela, murmuring in a deep, drunken sleep. Shiela sat up and nudged Hector with her foot. He barely moved, a lone gurgle being the only sign of life of his.
This Can't Help Anything
In my left hand was a six inch long dagger, it and my forearm were caked in digital blood. In my right hand I was holding a dead woman by her ponytail. I stabbed her in the eyes before carving an upside down cross into her face. I carried her corpse to her bedroom and laid her on her bed on her back. I walked back through the house to make sure I got everything I wanted to do, done properly. I walked to the dining room, and adjusted the man sitting in the chair farthest from the entrance so he wasn't slumping over anymore. He had his eyes and face like the woman's upstairs. Just the same as the head of the woman on the plate in front of him. I walked out to the backyard and ignited the gasoline in the fire pit. The flames engulfed the body of the woman whose head I delicately separated from it. Pixelled flames just don't compare to the real thing.