Long time no write, I know, I know. I bow my head in shame. However, after 10 weeks of planning, lectures and wondering what's gonna happen next, I've finished the story for my Exploring Fiction portfolio.
Inspiration for this came from The Shawshank Redemption film and Manhunt 2 on the PSP in which the protagonist escapes from a mental hospital. People who have read certain parts of it said it made them feel a bit awkward or uncomfortable. And for that I am glad as it was my aim.
As I've never set foot in a mental hospital nor read of any real escapes, this had some tricky parts to write in which I simply had to make things up (the alcohol-drinking) and go by what I'd seen in films and on TV re-enactments. Saying that, I think it turned out pretty decently. Just don't take it too seriously. Thanks.
Now, without further ado, here is the story with the working title of 'Death is the Answer'.
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As the voices screamed through the long night, I wondered how long I’d be in this hellhole.
I wasn’t always considered a madman. On the outside I had a well-paying job as a record producer, a family and a home. That was until I killed them on January the twenty second.
It began like any other - I was working with a big rock band at the time but after a major fuck-up at the office and finding my wife of eighteen years in bed with my best friend - a bit of a cliché, really - the switch was flicked and I snapped, cutting my wife’s and 15 year old daughter’s throats as they slept.
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“Heyyyyy, brother!”, Andrew called as I walked into his and his wife’s shop. I wasn’t really his brother, it was just a name he had for me as we’d been friends for years and were indeed more like brothers than friends.
“Morning,” I replied, “Got any snow?” I was on a quick break and decided that now was probably the best time to pick up as the shop was rarely busy at 11am and Andrew was always here at this time without fail.
He reached into his royal blue shirt pocket and threw a small bag filled with white powder to me. “On the house”, he said as I caught it. It was a Friday and after the week I’d had, I needed something a little stronger than a glass of whiskey when I got home that night and cocaine was just the thing.
I thanked him, said I’d see him tonight and left the shop feeling slightly more upbeat as I knew tonight would be a good one. The sad thing was, I couldn’t have been more wrong.
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At three thirty I left work in order to surprise my wife with an early arrival. I got home, slipped my key into the lock and opened the door quietly, hoping I wouldn’t be heard. I then stood in the hallway, listening for the TV, voices or footsteps until I heard the one thing I didn’t expect: my wife’s panting followed by the unmistakable voice of Andrew. I hoped they were having some sort of weird discussion or comparing sex noises, but when I heard it again, my hopes were dropped. It was coming from the bedroom. Our bedroom.
There was only one thing that could make this week worse, and it sounded like it was happening right now. I dropped everything where I was standing, walked towards the bedroom and burst in, yelling obscenities, telling Andrew to “Get the fuck out” and asking my wife what she thought she was doing.
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“You cheap, lying, fucking whore!”, I shouted, emphasising the word “whore” and stepping forward as I did so.
She whimpered and looked at the floor, wrapping her clothes around her bare body as she did so.
“Got nothing to say? Not even a fuckin’ apology? Worthless!”. I was unable to control my anger.
“That’s not fair! Not after the way you’ve been neglecting me”.
“Neglecting? I’ve been working! Without my working you’d be homeless. Of course, you wouldn’t understand that being the lazy, useless one you are!”
Apparently they’d been at it for around six months, meeting daily for afternoon sex whilst I was at work. I was beyond furious, beyond upset and beyond confused. I wanted to murder her on the spot but knew that I wouldn’t be able to contain my guilt.
That was until I took the cocaine that night.
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I waited for them to go to bed - my daughter in her own room, my wife in the spare - and began my preparations. Everything I needed was readily available so, after finding a decent knife and sharpening it, I got down to business, so to speak. Although my head was spinning, I felt in control. It was time.
Starting with my wife, I entered the dark room and stopped, listening to her soft breaths. The final ones she would take. I looked at her dark outline, her chest rising with each breath, and thought about our marriage and the waste it had been. I was furious.
As I stepped forward, I bent over and plunged the ten inch blade into her smooth throat, feeling the steel scrape bone and muscle as it went through. I clamped my hand over her mouth to prevent her from making any noises as she wriggled and shook in pain.
Nothing could have prepared me for the amount of blood that would spray as I pulled the knife out. I’d expected a bit of spray, but not this much. A dark fountain of red covered the walls, bedclothes and myself, ruining everything it touched. The shaking finally stopped and my lying, cheat of a wife let out one more long breath before becoming a corpse.
As I stood staring at the lifeless body in front of me I tingled all over. I had no idea murdering someone would feel this great and I couldn’t wait to do it again. I left the bloody corpse where it was and went to perform the same on my daughter, not thinking of the consequences likely to arise.
I entered her room and looked at her head poking out of the covers as she slept, peacefully unaware of the hell she was about to experience. In my high, angry and excited state I’d forgotten that she was just an innocent bystander.
In a similar manner as before, I sank the knife into my daughter’s throat, this time feeling it exit the back of her neck and pierce the mattress. Like her mother she had to be silenced and restrained while she struggled as well as showering me with blood. However, she died a much quicker death, lacking the dramatic final breath and shakes, instead just closing her eyes. If there wasn’t a large hole in her throat, she’d have just looked asleep.
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The trial judge called it the most “disgusting and brutal” murder he had encountered in 32 years; the press hated and me and my parents and in-laws forgot about me. I was a lone man with nothing to lose.
I loved my family, they were my life and soul, but until it happens to you, you’ll never understand why I did it.
There I was, lying in a cold cell, half naked and forced to listen to the constant screams day and night with nothing but regret and medication running through my head.
My actions may have crossed a line, but I was a sane man processing sane thoughts. I didn’t deserve this torture, but the warden didn’t care. I’m sure he even took pleasure in knowing that I had to hear these screams. Was this not a bad enough sentence? A cell was understandable, hearing those long, terrifying - and terrified - screams of the insane, that was torture. Right to the point of planning my escape. Mentally, of course - pen and paper were both out of the question for me as, apparently, both could be used as a weapon of sorts.
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When you’re locked up, unable to do what you want and when, time is all you have. Time and thoughts. I sat in my cold cell for hours at a time, thinking about the murder, my family, my freedom (and lack of) and, after some time, escape. I thought of ways to escape - tunnel under, feign illness, ambush or kill a guard and steal his uniform, but when I mentioned it to Danny, my cellmate and fellow sane man, he told me I was stupid for even thinking about it.
That was until two years into my incarceration and he was just as fed up as I was with living in this stone hole.
As we sat on our hard beds - me on the left side, Danny on the right - he looked up from his book, Stephen King’s ‘Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption’, smiled and said “Let’s do it”.
Over the following two weeks we would quietly discuss our escape - methods, routes and times - until the day finally came. March the tenth was the day we’d decided that this was it, we were going to get out of there and re-experience our
freedom.
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Lunch was the perfect time to study the building and plan the escape as our cell was a long distance from the lunch hall and involved passing a number of cells similar to ours and various rooms used for interrogation and interviews.
Walking along the sheet metal platform I could hear screams, cursing and mumbling. Everything I assumed was stereotypical to a high-security nuthouse. Glancing into some of the cells I caught sight of the source of the rancid smell which floated around the building: piles of shit left my those too lazy to use the toilets provided for them. I gagged. This building was a shithole, and I couldn’t wait to get out.
Entering the dinner hall (could they have named it anything more childish?), I saw people throwing food, nut bags talking to themselves and others just staring into space. The latter seemed the sanest. But I wasn’t here for friends, I just wanted to be a citizen again, living in a normal home and working a normal job.
After collecting my lunch of a cup of fermenting water and moulding bread, I ate slowly, looking around the hall for cameras, guards positions and doors. The first were everywhere, the second obvious and the third rare, but accessible, albeit protected by wire mesh. We just needed to use some simple violence and we’d be out.
I did the same for a week - looked, listened and mentally noted - until I could picture the building interior with my eyes closed. It was then that I knew it was going to happen. We, my cellmate and I, were going to escape. Have no worries. Live our lives and be free.
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The following week we spent preparing ourselves for the escape - sharing mental notes, discussing times and creating makeshift weaponry by each sharpening a toothbrush handle using the metal bed frame. It was exhausting, mentally (due to the secrecy) and physically, but the reward was going to be worth the exhaustion.
Easter was coming up which meant, like every yearly holiday in this madhouse, people were allowed to have the odd alcoholic drink and festive meal. It also meant that security would let their guard down.
We went to lunch at the usual time of midday, each grabbed a beer to cool our nerves and boost our confidence a little and sat in our usual places.
With our hearts racing and tension running high, our drinks were finished, we nodded at each other and stood, knocking our chairs over in the process. Due to the permitted drinking, the guards were none the wiser and simply glanced at us then continued drinking. Just how we hoped it would be.
Our first destination was the foods counter to collect another drink with the hopes that the guards would suspect nothing, then, with our drinks in one hand and weapons concealed up the sleeve of the other, we casually strolled towards the mesh-covered door, ignoring the flying food scraps and drunken shouting. It was time.
Danny distracted the sober-looking guard by asking if he wanted a drink which was held out to him. Naturally, the guard turned his head, revealing his neck to me, at which point Danny screamed “Now!”
At that signal I let the toothbrush fall into my hand and with a quick swing of the arm, embedded it into the guard’s exposed neck, hitting him so hard that the handle was invisible with only the brush showing. The sounds he made as he dropped to his knees were like nothing I’d heard before: he gagged, then choked, sounding as if a lump of food was stuck in his throat. Seconds later he coughed once and fell forward, has face bouncing as it hit the tiles.
The sounds of the guard hitting the floor caught the attention of the other guards who, by now, were a little worse for wear. “Shit!”, we both said sharply.
“Grab the keys”. Danny bent over the guards still corpse and started to detach the loop of keys from his belt while the other guards continued to wobble towards us, fiddling with their guns and walking into various obstacles familiar to a drunk person. “Hurry”, I told him, becoming impatient. The initial alcohol buzz was beginning to wear off now and I was feeling tired and irritant. If we wanted to escape we needed to do it now, and Danny’s slowness wasn’t helping.
“Got it!”
“Open the door.” The guards’ distance between us was decreasing and I was getting nervous when I heard a loud crack followed by a hollow thump behind me. Risking taking my eyes off of the guards, I looked towards the door and saw Danny’s body slumped against it. A trail of blood which looked like it had been painted on ran down the door and stopped at his face which was now flat against the door’s mesh covering.
With no time for upset, I turned and half walked, half ran to the door which, luckily for me, had been unlocked by my cell mate. I kicked him out of the way, pulled the door open and picked up pace, the drunk guards attempting to follow me. I only had to run a hundred yards and I’d be out.
Suddenly, I was propelled forward as something hit the middle of my back. I fell in a similar way to the guard I killed, my face hitting the floor and resulting in a mouthful of dust. I’d got out the building, but I hadn’t truly escaped. I’d failed for the last time, but with a strange feeling of euphoria I smiled before blackness took over.
Epilogue
What I did to my family was wrong, I know that, but as I’ve said before, until it happens to you, you’ll never truly understand why I did it, nor will you understand how I felt on that night.
My time in the mental institution was like none other. At home I was free and in the open, the nuthouse took all of that away from me in an instant and plunged me into a world filled with security guards, locked doors and mesh-covered windows. It was hell. That is why death, when it came, was a blessing.
Had the guards simply caught me during my escape, I’d have been locked up
with tighter security. Death was the only answer. For my wife, my daughter and myself.
Wednesday, 4 April 2012
Tuesday, 6 December 2011
Knife Against Flesh, a poem
This is something I wrote in lecture a couple of weeks ago. It was going slow and I'd recently been listening to Skeletonwitch meaning I had some of their lyrics in my head. With a little bit of scribbling and imagery thoughts I came up with this.
Note: this is not personal or aimed towards anyone, just a bit of fun.
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Knife against flesh
Pushing harder as fear rises
Noises escaping the throat
As a stream of red escapes
Living, dying, suffering my wrath
Bleeding, choking, crying still more
Cutting the air, and cutting the throat
A knife against White flesh
Stream turns to river
Noises become screams
Crying becomes begging
As my knife cuts yet deeper
Body going limp
Falling down hard
Like the sack of shit you are
Worthy of no like
Note: this is not personal or aimed towards anyone, just a bit of fun.
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Knife against flesh
Pushing harder as fear rises
Noises escaping the throat
As a stream of red escapes
Living, dying, suffering my wrath
Bleeding, choking, crying still more
Cutting the air, and cutting the throat
A knife against White flesh
Stream turns to river
Noises become screams
Crying becomes begging
As my knife cuts yet deeper
Body going limp
Falling down hard
Like the sack of shit you are
Worthy of no like
Tuesday, 22 November 2011
A story task, written by me
Following on from my previous post, we decided to have a little bit more writing fun. This time I told Tyla to set me a story task - write a short story of his choice, and this is what I was told to write about.
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"Wake up, soldiers!" were the first words Mick heard that morning. As he sat up he felt a hard rush followed by a throbbing temple. That bottle of scotch last night was nothing but a bad idea, especially with the knowledge that he was due to be fighting this morning. This hangover would, inevitably, slow him down. With a groan though, he climbed off of his bunk, taking care not to land too hard, and pulled on a pair of trousers, shirt and a pair of sunglasses to hide his bloodshot eyes. Around him, other soldiers, small and large, were pulling on their combat gear - known as "greens" throughout the army - and assembling their rifles. Today was a big one and they had to be prepared. Mick was soon reminded of this and vowed never to drink again.
Outside of the troops' sleeping grounds the soldiers were lined up and awaiting their briefing. "Ladies and germs, today is a day which will place your abilities on the line. You will fight, and you will win. Injury may occur, but giving up is forbidden. Fight to the win or fight to the death. Your choice! Now, when I say 'Fight' you charge those scumbags with everything you have! Am I clear?"
"Yes, Sir!" the soldiers - including Mick - replied in unison.
After a long and silent wait the general finally gave his order, "Fight, motherfuckers, fight!"
And so they charged up and over the sand dunes to be greeted with something they'd never seen before: toad-green, shiny, lumpy alien creatures. Mick knew they wouldn't be pretty, but this was far from his expectations. Before he could think any more, though, the creatures were approaching. Fast. "Shoot!" was all he heard before squeezing the trigger, causing his rifle to spit out a stream of bullets at breakneck speed, striking and piercing his target with ease, ripping the top of its head off in the process. He laughed. What. A. Shot, he thought. Stop thinking and fight. Fight. Fight!
After a battle which resulted in 5 deaths, countless injuries and the destruction of an alien battalion, the soldiers returned to camp for their lecture on the day's work. "I would like to congratulate you on your fine fighting today, soldiers. We may have lost some of our own but we killed more and for that you receive my full congratulations. However, I would also like to remind you that this is only the beginning and that we are far from the end of this war. Tonight, though, we celebrate!" He kicked the trunk beside him which opened to reveal a line of bottles filled with, undoubtedly, alcoholic substances.
Mick groaned and looked away but before he could walk in the opposite direction Private Chiko tapped his shoulder and held a cup filled to the rim towards him. "Drink?" he asked in his high, Asian voice. "no thanks, Chi", was Mick's reply, "I don't drink". He then winked, turned on his heel and walked towards the soldiers' camp - for once he was going to have an early night.
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"Wake up, soldiers!" were the first words Mick heard that morning. As he sat up he felt a hard rush followed by a throbbing temple. That bottle of scotch last night was nothing but a bad idea, especially with the knowledge that he was due to be fighting this morning. This hangover would, inevitably, slow him down. With a groan though, he climbed off of his bunk, taking care not to land too hard, and pulled on a pair of trousers, shirt and a pair of sunglasses to hide his bloodshot eyes. Around him, other soldiers, small and large, were pulling on their combat gear - known as "greens" throughout the army - and assembling their rifles. Today was a big one and they had to be prepared. Mick was soon reminded of this and vowed never to drink again.
Outside of the troops' sleeping grounds the soldiers were lined up and awaiting their briefing. "Ladies and germs, today is a day which will place your abilities on the line. You will fight, and you will win. Injury may occur, but giving up is forbidden. Fight to the win or fight to the death. Your choice! Now, when I say 'Fight' you charge those scumbags with everything you have! Am I clear?"
"Yes, Sir!" the soldiers - including Mick - replied in unison.
After a long and silent wait the general finally gave his order, "Fight, motherfuckers, fight!"
And so they charged up and over the sand dunes to be greeted with something they'd never seen before: toad-green, shiny, lumpy alien creatures. Mick knew they wouldn't be pretty, but this was far from his expectations. Before he could think any more, though, the creatures were approaching. Fast. "Shoot!" was all he heard before squeezing the trigger, causing his rifle to spit out a stream of bullets at breakneck speed, striking and piercing his target with ease, ripping the top of its head off in the process. He laughed. What. A. Shot, he thought. Stop thinking and fight. Fight. Fight!
After a battle which resulted in 5 deaths, countless injuries and the destruction of an alien battalion, the soldiers returned to camp for their lecture on the day's work. "I would like to congratulate you on your fine fighting today, soldiers. We may have lost some of our own but we killed more and for that you receive my full congratulations. However, I would also like to remind you that this is only the beginning and that we are far from the end of this war. Tonight, though, we celebrate!" He kicked the trunk beside him which opened to reveal a line of bottles filled with, undoubtedly, alcoholic substances.
Mick groaned and looked away but before he could walk in the opposite direction Private Chiko tapped his shoulder and held a cup filled to the rim towards him. "Drink?" he asked in his high, Asian voice. "no thanks, Chi", was Mick's reply, "I don't drink". He then winked, turned on his heel and walked towards the soldiers' camp - for once he was going to have an early night.
A brotherly collaboration
This is something which was written about three months ago but completely forgotten about as I'd been busy with house searching, uni and socialising. I was having a look through some documents on my iPad and came across this little gem.
Background story: I was sat in the bedroom with my brother (who happens to be the author of the previous brother-written story) and decided that we should have a little bit of writing fun and do a collaboration. The 'rules', if you can call them that, were that we each write a paragraph of between 100 and 200 words then continue it with our next one, if that makes any sense, and try to get around 500 words down.
Tyla began the story, I continued it, then he followed on. It's simple to tell who wrote what as he is a musical-obsessive and I'm a writer of weird things (admittedly, gay dogs are weird but ho hum). If I recall correctly, I'd been reading Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde at the time, hence the similarities.
It's not my best piece by far but it did make me laugh when I read it back earlier. Hopefully it'll leave you with more than a face like so: -___-
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Once upon a time a dog called Jeffrey met a another dog called jimmy. They met in a kennel and it was friendship at first sight. Jeffrey and jimmy do everything together, they play football together and they watch football together on their 70" tv. Jeffrey supports Chelsea and jimmy supports the scousers. One night Chelsea were playing the scousers (liverpool) at stamford bridge. Chelsea won that game and jimmy was VERY pissed off. While Jeffers Was celebrating jimmy walked out in a strop. They didn't see each other for a couple of days. When jimmy came back he said sorry to Jeffers. Later that day they both relised they were gay and they got married the next week and even better news jimmy relised that the scousers were crap so he started supporting Chelsea. (Tyla, 135 words)
Whilst in the kennel, watching seventy inches of Casualty, Jimmy had an epiphany, he realised that his life was not being lived to its fullest. And so an adventure was due. Over the next two weeks Jimmy huffed and barked, creating a strange concoction of chemicals which, when drunken, caused him to become The world's first shapeshifter dog - he was a canine capable of taking any form he wanted if he put his mind to it. Chelsea had been relegated to shite and adventure was all that was on young Jimbo's mind with now being the perfect time. So out he went, to perform his first task: getting those Chelsea suckers unrelegated. It would be hard but if he and his partner were to be happy, it had to be done, so out he went. (Pete, 138 (273) words)
When jimmy or "jimbo" thought long and hard about this he decided that he was gonna become a human. When jefferey saw jimmy become human jefferey also wanted to become human so that's what he done so in the end jefferey and jimmy both became human. When jimmy became human he had a change of mind and he wanted to play for his home town Liverpool. So he signed a contract at liverpool and jefferey signed a contract at Chelsea. Jefferey didn't like what jimmy had done. A week later it was Chelsea vs Liverpool in the final of the FA cup. They were both playing in the starting line up. This time Liverpool won the game and jimmy celebrated like mad in front of jefferey. After this jefferey was very angry so he hired an assassin to kill jimmy. Will he go through with it or will he back out at the last minute? (Tyla, 158 (431) words)
For a week, Jeff thought about the assassination but found himself unable to decide. Did he want to become the cliche lover-killer which had been done too many times in the past or did he want to remain in the same vicinity as a man (or dog) who played for those scummy scousers? Decisions, decisions. Pacing back and forth whilst listening to some Devildriver, Jeffrey dropped his head forward, threw it back, released a breath of air and made his decision - he was going to hire an assassin and get rid of Jeffrey, but it had to be professional and clean which meant the job could be done by only one man: Leon! (Pete, 110 (541) words)
Background story: I was sat in the bedroom with my brother (who happens to be the author of the previous brother-written story) and decided that we should have a little bit of writing fun and do a collaboration. The 'rules', if you can call them that, were that we each write a paragraph of between 100 and 200 words then continue it with our next one, if that makes any sense, and try to get around 500 words down.
Tyla began the story, I continued it, then he followed on. It's simple to tell who wrote what as he is a musical-obsessive and I'm a writer of weird things (admittedly, gay dogs are weird but ho hum). If I recall correctly, I'd been reading Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde at the time, hence the similarities.
It's not my best piece by far but it did make me laugh when I read it back earlier. Hopefully it'll leave you with more than a face like so: -___-
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Once upon a time a dog called Jeffrey met a another dog called jimmy. They met in a kennel and it was friendship at first sight. Jeffrey and jimmy do everything together, they play football together and they watch football together on their 70" tv. Jeffrey supports Chelsea and jimmy supports the scousers. One night Chelsea were playing the scousers (liverpool) at stamford bridge. Chelsea won that game and jimmy was VERY pissed off. While Jeffers Was celebrating jimmy walked out in a strop. They didn't see each other for a couple of days. When jimmy came back he said sorry to Jeffers. Later that day they both relised they were gay and they got married the next week and even better news jimmy relised that the scousers were crap so he started supporting Chelsea. (Tyla, 135 words)
Whilst in the kennel, watching seventy inches of Casualty, Jimmy had an epiphany, he realised that his life was not being lived to its fullest. And so an adventure was due. Over the next two weeks Jimmy huffed and barked, creating a strange concoction of chemicals which, when drunken, caused him to become The world's first shapeshifter dog - he was a canine capable of taking any form he wanted if he put his mind to it. Chelsea had been relegated to shite and adventure was all that was on young Jimbo's mind with now being the perfect time. So out he went, to perform his first task: getting those Chelsea suckers unrelegated. It would be hard but if he and his partner were to be happy, it had to be done, so out he went. (Pete, 138 (273) words)
When jimmy or "jimbo" thought long and hard about this he decided that he was gonna become a human. When jefferey saw jimmy become human jefferey also wanted to become human so that's what he done so in the end jefferey and jimmy both became human. When jimmy became human he had a change of mind and he wanted to play for his home town Liverpool. So he signed a contract at liverpool and jefferey signed a contract at Chelsea. Jefferey didn't like what jimmy had done. A week later it was Chelsea vs Liverpool in the final of the FA cup. They were both playing in the starting line up. This time Liverpool won the game and jimmy celebrated like mad in front of jefferey. After this jefferey was very angry so he hired an assassin to kill jimmy. Will he go through with it or will he back out at the last minute? (Tyla, 158 (431) words)
For a week, Jeff thought about the assassination but found himself unable to decide. Did he want to become the cliche lover-killer which had been done too many times in the past or did he want to remain in the same vicinity as a man (or dog) who played for those scummy scousers? Decisions, decisions. Pacing back and forth whilst listening to some Devildriver, Jeffrey dropped his head forward, threw it back, released a breath of air and made his decision - he was going to hire an assassin and get rid of Jeffrey, but it had to be professional and clean which meant the job could be done by only one man: Leon! (Pete, 110 (541) words)
Tuesday, 6 September 2011
A story by my brother
As the title suggests, this is a story by my little brother. Being the typical 15 year old that he is, he's capable of everything - writing, reading the classics, being the Prime Minister and knowing the royal family. So, as proof of this, I gave him a writing task. He was required to write a story about a zombie raid in London (don't ask, I thought it'd be an easy one) and keep it around 500 words.
For someone who's never really written before (excluding schoolwork), it's not a bad piece of text and reminds me of how I used to write as a wee boy.
Now, without further ado, here it is.
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On the 22nd of September London was a perfectly normal city where normal people were doing normal every day things. This was untill scientists discovered an outbreak of some sort of unknown disease. This bemused scientists for a long while,they werent sure what the symptoms were and how the disease broke out. The first person they warned was the prime minister David Cameron.
Jack who was a top London scientist worked long hours to learn more about this disease no one had heard of because there was no name for it. Jack done his tests by using someone who was In the early stages of the disease. The tests that came back had never been seen before. Bare in mind jack was a top London scientist he was confused so he called in a couple more scientists to check the results and they had no answers. Meanwhile the patient is locked up for safety reasons, this was because they didn't know what the disease was. For example, if It was infectious or not. When jack goes back to check on the patient he is asleep. When the patient is proded by jack a couple he wakes up with red eyes and attempts to bite jack. This makes jack immediately go to the phone to warn the prime minister that there is an out break of a very serious and life threatening disease that could spread worldwide. The prime minister is advised to leave the country as soon as possible.
On the 24th of september the disease is spreading across the whole of England and starting to spread worldwide. For the last 2 days jack has been saying with a couple army soldiers for security. There are four of them in total including jack. Matt,Sam and Alex are the army soldiers. They have been forced to kill the people who are infected with this still unknown disease. The main priority to them is to reach loved ones and to protect them from this vile disease. Jack has this theory that if you are bitten by someone who is infected or blood goes in your mouth or eyes then you become infected with the disease.for this reason they wear masks at all times to protect themselves. With matt, Sam and Alex being in the army they have weapons to kill the infected. The only way to kill the infected is to remove the head or destroy the brain. The only weapon jack has is a baseball bat to protect himself and to fight off the infected. It was too late to find a cure for this killer disease because it was to dangerous to go back to the lab for jack and the equipment to test on the infected would have been destroyed. Who jack and his army crew could do was stay alive and hope things would eventually calm down.
(The end)
When I read this and mentioned the Shaun of the Dead similarities (removing the head and destroying the brain & baseball bat), Tyla claimed (key word here) that it was accidental. Hmmm.
For someone who's never really written before (excluding schoolwork), it's not a bad piece of text and reminds me of how I used to write as a wee boy.
Now, without further ado, here it is.
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On the 22nd of September London was a perfectly normal city where normal people were doing normal every day things. This was untill scientists discovered an outbreak of some sort of unknown disease. This bemused scientists for a long while,they werent sure what the symptoms were and how the disease broke out. The first person they warned was the prime minister David Cameron.
Jack who was a top London scientist worked long hours to learn more about this disease no one had heard of because there was no name for it. Jack done his tests by using someone who was In the early stages of the disease. The tests that came back had never been seen before. Bare in mind jack was a top London scientist he was confused so he called in a couple more scientists to check the results and they had no answers. Meanwhile the patient is locked up for safety reasons, this was because they didn't know what the disease was. For example, if It was infectious or not. When jack goes back to check on the patient he is asleep. When the patient is proded by jack a couple he wakes up with red eyes and attempts to bite jack. This makes jack immediately go to the phone to warn the prime minister that there is an out break of a very serious and life threatening disease that could spread worldwide. The prime minister is advised to leave the country as soon as possible.
On the 24th of september the disease is spreading across the whole of England and starting to spread worldwide. For the last 2 days jack has been saying with a couple army soldiers for security. There are four of them in total including jack. Matt,Sam and Alex are the army soldiers. They have been forced to kill the people who are infected with this still unknown disease. The main priority to them is to reach loved ones and to protect them from this vile disease. Jack has this theory that if you are bitten by someone who is infected or blood goes in your mouth or eyes then you become infected with the disease.for this reason they wear masks at all times to protect themselves. With matt, Sam and Alex being in the army they have weapons to kill the infected. The only way to kill the infected is to remove the head or destroy the brain. The only weapon jack has is a baseball bat to protect himself and to fight off the infected. It was too late to find a cure for this killer disease because it was to dangerous to go back to the lab for jack and the equipment to test on the infected would have been destroyed. Who jack and his army crew could do was stay alive and hope things would eventually calm down.
(The end)
When I read this and mentioned the Shaun of the Dead similarities (removing the head and destroying the brain & baseball bat), Tyla claimed (key word here) that it was accidental. Hmmm.
Location:Chelmsford, Essex
Sunday, 21 August 2011
Sights and Sounds
This is a short piece I wrote last week in one sitting whilst waiting for a meeting time to arrive. If I recall correctly it was written as a quick observation practice but other than that, no specific reason. I'll probably refer back to it in the future as a reference to a new piece.
In the meantime, here it is, pretty much exactly as it was written by hand.
-------
It sounded like a low hum. A grumble. There were no in-between silences or sweet sounds, just a grumble. If you wanted a quiet holiday this wasn’t the ideal location.
Around me people spoke on their ‘phones and walked within their own shells. These were important people in their own rights. They had places to go, people to see. However, every one of these important people was just an ant in a huge society of workers.
On the outskirts of the hum was the rattling of machinery destroying concrete and the odd expensive car going past, releasing poisonous gases into the air. Trees lined the streets and occupied the communal parks. Birds spoke to each other, but I could still hear the destruction of concrete and the construction of buildings.
The sounds were comforting. I knew I belonged here. I was in my new home. I was in the metropolis, the city, London.
-----------
The "ants" description came from the naturistic notion of there being hundreds of ants in a nest, walking around, working.
In the meantime, here it is, pretty much exactly as it was written by hand.
-------
It sounded like a low hum. A grumble. There were no in-between silences or sweet sounds, just a grumble. If you wanted a quiet holiday this wasn’t the ideal location.
Around me people spoke on their ‘phones and walked within their own shells. These were important people in their own rights. They had places to go, people to see. However, every one of these important people was just an ant in a huge society of workers.
On the outskirts of the hum was the rattling of machinery destroying concrete and the odd expensive car going past, releasing poisonous gases into the air. Trees lined the streets and occupied the communal parks. Birds spoke to each other, but I could still hear the destruction of concrete and the construction of buildings.
The sounds were comforting. I knew I belonged here. I was in my new home. I was in the metropolis, the city, London.
-----------
The "ants" description came from the naturistic notion of there being hundreds of ants in a nest, walking around, working.
Friday, 19 August 2011
The Chair, a short story
This was something I wrote at the start of the year as I wanted to write something nasty but kind of decent.
I was going through my writings on my laptop and came across the story. After a quick read, I noticed it needed some editing which I did and finally came out with this. It may need a bit more editing here and there but for now, it's fine and I'm pretty happy with it.
Enjoy!
-----------
I could feel the cold steel against the small of my back and the blade sliding on my skin with my every step. Sometimes it would scratch and I’d feel a small tear of blood run down the indent and settle somewhere. People would look at me as I walked past them, not because of the knife - that was hidden under my trench coat - nor because of the pain each scratch caused, I could hide that with a determined face, but because of the scar across my mouth; held closed with lip rings. I was used to it though, and right now my scar was the last thing on my mind.
I pushed the two-way door, its hinges squeaking and approached the bar. “Double Jim Beam”, I said, wiping some sticky liquid off of the arm of my jacket. Fucking kids can’t even keep their drinks in a glass. I paid the young barman and found a table in the dark corner and waited.
An hour and two double Jim Beams later he walked through the door. A tall man with dark long hair, leather biker jacket and what looked like some expensive sunglasses resting on his head who walked with confidence and authority. He approached the bar and said some inaudible words with a laugh while the bar kid poured him a drink.
He threw some change on the bar, which I assumed was the correct amount, and glanced up, spotting me in the corner. Walking over with a dark pint of what looked like Guinness in his hand, he looked me up and down with an eye of suspicion and sat down in one smooth movement, not spilling a drop of alchohol. Clever bastard.
He lifted his pint and took a long drink, causing me to assume that he‘d had a long morning. “Got the gear?”, he asked quietly after letting the half-empty glass slide through his hand and gently settle on the table. I nodded slightly and tapped my left jacket pocket twice. “Let’s go”, he said before downing the rest of his pint and standing up. I took my Beam in two - the liquid burning my throat - and followed. I could see the barman staring at us curiously. I shot him a hard look followed by a sly smile and walked out.
********
We walked up the driveway towards my front door as I span my keys round my finger. With a final spin I caught the keys and pushed the main key into the lock. “After you”, I said, pulling the needle from my pocket and, in one quick movement, stabbed it into his neck and injected a nice, heavy dose of anti-speed. Two seconds later he fell with a heavy thud, his head hitting the doorframe as he dropped.
Play time!
********
With a groan, his eyes flickered open and he squinted in the fluorescent basement lights. Disorientated he tried to move, however, unfortunately for him, he was stuck with his ankles tied to the chair legs and his hands cuffed behind the hard, wooden chair.
“Evening. Sleep well?”.
Being a typical victim he replied with “Where am I?”, stripped to nothing but a pair of polka-dot boxers.
“I wouldn’t worry about that right now. I’d be more concerned about keeping still if you want to remain alive”, staring him in the face. As I said this this a smile grew on my face and he spat at me. Unaffected, I backhanded him across the face, my not-so-purity ring breaking the skin. A thin, red line of blood ran down his cheek. I wiped my sleeve over my face and walked across the basement floor towards a desk covered with a stained-brown bed sheet. Whipping it off there was a clang of metal. I dropped the sheet and looked in front of me, scanning the table and its contents. Across it were all the items I’d set out this morning: pliers, blowtorch, corrosive acid, jump cables and generator, thick ropes and a foot long baton, all clean, tested and ready for use.
I slipped on a pair of dirty industrial gloves and picked up the cold steel pot of acid. Using a thick metal syringe I sucked up some of the green acid through the one-way suction hole in the lid and walked towards my victim, a small smile growing on my face while a look of concern came over his along with increasingly deeper breaths to the point where he sounded like he was having an asthma attack.
As I stood above him and placed my thumb on the plunger he clenched his eyes shut and let out an ear-piercing scream of “NO!”, and that was it. I lowered my hand and placed the syringe back on the table and went upstairs to find a ball-gag. I could hear him release a lungful of air. The man thought he was potentially free. I knew otherwise.
********
After a ten minute search, I’d found the gag - a ’classic’ red ball and black leather strap with a connector buckle on the back - and set on my way back down to the basement. Once I was down I saw that my victim had managed to make the chair fall over onto the grey stone floor. He was now lying on his side, looking helpless and vulnerable. “Silly boy”, I laughed as I picked him up with some struggle.
After picking him up, I went behind him and grabbed his thick hair so I could attach the gag. After a lot of head-shaking and growling it was on and the mouthy cunt couldn’t utter another word.
As I returned to my position above him with a needle in my hand and him looking now even more helpless, I gently pushed the plunger and let two drops of acid fall onto his bare leg and quietly hiss as they cooked the skin. Behind the gag I could hear a long moan. “What’s that?”, I asked, lifting the gag. “Fuck you!”, was his only reply resulting in another backhand across his face.
“One more word and you’ll be tasting bleach!”, I warned him, letting the gag flick back into his mouth. I turned on my heels and walked back to the table as his eyes began to dilate with fear. At the table I ran my hand over the tools, each one clanging as I moved to the next when I spotted the large white box of 50 catheter needles I’d left on the shadowed wooden shelf above the table. They were just waiting and asking to be used and this was the perfect moment.
“Do you like piercings, Mr. Stanley?”, I asked, still facing the shelf. I heard a mumble. “I’ll take that as a yes.” I turned round and slowly walked towards him, unpacking a needle as I walked. At the chair I pulled off the orange cover with my mouth - hygiene was the last thing on my mind right now - and spat it to the side.
Standing there, I scanned his lame body up and down, wondering where to poke the first needle. There was so much bare skin it was impossible to choose just one place; this was going to take some time. I finally decided on the biceps - an area not too sensitive but would still feel the pain of a two-inch needle being jabbed in. I held the needle in my right hand, hovering beside the man’s arm, “Ready?”, 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Stab!
“Mmph!”, I heard as his eye widened then slammed shut, presumably due to the pain the of a 2-inch needle piercing the flesh and muscle of his left arm. It now pointed out horizontally, looking like an arm version of Pinhead. A thin red line of blood dribbled down his arm and settled in the indent of his elbow joint. “Where next?”, I wondered aloud. The right arm was my choice, even things out a bit like a spirit level., so I repeated as before, except from behind this time. Unfortunately I couldn’t have the pleasure of seeing the pain in his face. From his groan though, I knew I’d hurt him and that was all I needed to know.
Once I’d finished having my fun with the needles he looked like a torso version of Pinhead from Hellraiser. With two in each bicep, one piercing each of his nipples and four in a diamond shape around his heart, he began to sound weak and exhausted - the only noises he was making were those of deep, shallow breathing.. He now looked more feeble than ever - his face was bruised and swollen and flopped loosely forwards, unliftable, each of his legs had numbers of small acidic burns and blood ran down his face from his nose and mouth onto his naked torso. How he was still conscious I had no idea.
To finish things off I collected my DSLR camera from the table, focused onto his body, my ‘model’ and began taking photos. To some these photos would be art, and we all know art sells and, of course, I knew the market of which these pictures would sell; guaranteed money. After a few more photos from different positions and angles it was time to release this man from his pain so I walked behind him and slowly began unstrapping the gag.
The gag ran down Mr. Stanley’s body, catching the needles mid-fall and landed with a quiet bounce on the floor, rolled a foot or two and was stopped by the strap intersecting the path. I returned to my position in front of him and looked down. He slowly rolled his eyes up to connect with mine and said between breaths “You . . . Bitch!”. Those were his final words before I reached round and pulled out the knife from the waistband of my red latex skirt. With a quick backhand slash I sliced the air with the blade, smoothly catching his throat in the process. When I stopped a number of bloodlines ran down his neck before his throat seemed to explode in a shower of dark red blood, catching my right side in the process.
I turned and walked up the stairs towards the exit of the basement, closing the door when I stepped out. I’ll clean him up later, I thought to myself before stripping and walking upstairs to run a bath. I was knackered.
I was going through my writings on my laptop and came across the story. After a quick read, I noticed it needed some editing which I did and finally came out with this. It may need a bit more editing here and there but for now, it's fine and I'm pretty happy with it.
Enjoy!
-----------
I could feel the cold steel against the small of my back and the blade sliding on my skin with my every step. Sometimes it would scratch and I’d feel a small tear of blood run down the indent and settle somewhere. People would look at me as I walked past them, not because of the knife - that was hidden under my trench coat - nor because of the pain each scratch caused, I could hide that with a determined face, but because of the scar across my mouth; held closed with lip rings. I was used to it though, and right now my scar was the last thing on my mind.
I pushed the two-way door, its hinges squeaking and approached the bar. “Double Jim Beam”, I said, wiping some sticky liquid off of the arm of my jacket. Fucking kids can’t even keep their drinks in a glass. I paid the young barman and found a table in the dark corner and waited.
An hour and two double Jim Beams later he walked through the door. A tall man with dark long hair, leather biker jacket and what looked like some expensive sunglasses resting on his head who walked with confidence and authority. He approached the bar and said some inaudible words with a laugh while the bar kid poured him a drink.
He threw some change on the bar, which I assumed was the correct amount, and glanced up, spotting me in the corner. Walking over with a dark pint of what looked like Guinness in his hand, he looked me up and down with an eye of suspicion and sat down in one smooth movement, not spilling a drop of alchohol. Clever bastard.
He lifted his pint and took a long drink, causing me to assume that he‘d had a long morning. “Got the gear?”, he asked quietly after letting the half-empty glass slide through his hand and gently settle on the table. I nodded slightly and tapped my left jacket pocket twice. “Let’s go”, he said before downing the rest of his pint and standing up. I took my Beam in two - the liquid burning my throat - and followed. I could see the barman staring at us curiously. I shot him a hard look followed by a sly smile and walked out.
********
We walked up the driveway towards my front door as I span my keys round my finger. With a final spin I caught the keys and pushed the main key into the lock. “After you”, I said, pulling the needle from my pocket and, in one quick movement, stabbed it into his neck and injected a nice, heavy dose of anti-speed. Two seconds later he fell with a heavy thud, his head hitting the doorframe as he dropped.
Play time!
********
With a groan, his eyes flickered open and he squinted in the fluorescent basement lights. Disorientated he tried to move, however, unfortunately for him, he was stuck with his ankles tied to the chair legs and his hands cuffed behind the hard, wooden chair.
“Evening. Sleep well?”.
Being a typical victim he replied with “Where am I?”, stripped to nothing but a pair of polka-dot boxers.
“I wouldn’t worry about that right now. I’d be more concerned about keeping still if you want to remain alive”, staring him in the face. As I said this this a smile grew on my face and he spat at me. Unaffected, I backhanded him across the face, my not-so-purity ring breaking the skin. A thin, red line of blood ran down his cheek. I wiped my sleeve over my face and walked across the basement floor towards a desk covered with a stained-brown bed sheet. Whipping it off there was a clang of metal. I dropped the sheet and looked in front of me, scanning the table and its contents. Across it were all the items I’d set out this morning: pliers, blowtorch, corrosive acid, jump cables and generator, thick ropes and a foot long baton, all clean, tested and ready for use.
I slipped on a pair of dirty industrial gloves and picked up the cold steel pot of acid. Using a thick metal syringe I sucked up some of the green acid through the one-way suction hole in the lid and walked towards my victim, a small smile growing on my face while a look of concern came over his along with increasingly deeper breaths to the point where he sounded like he was having an asthma attack.
As I stood above him and placed my thumb on the plunger he clenched his eyes shut and let out an ear-piercing scream of “NO!”, and that was it. I lowered my hand and placed the syringe back on the table and went upstairs to find a ball-gag. I could hear him release a lungful of air. The man thought he was potentially free. I knew otherwise.
********
After a ten minute search, I’d found the gag - a ’classic’ red ball and black leather strap with a connector buckle on the back - and set on my way back down to the basement. Once I was down I saw that my victim had managed to make the chair fall over onto the grey stone floor. He was now lying on his side, looking helpless and vulnerable. “Silly boy”, I laughed as I picked him up with some struggle.
After picking him up, I went behind him and grabbed his thick hair so I could attach the gag. After a lot of head-shaking and growling it was on and the mouthy cunt couldn’t utter another word.
As I returned to my position above him with a needle in my hand and him looking now even more helpless, I gently pushed the plunger and let two drops of acid fall onto his bare leg and quietly hiss as they cooked the skin. Behind the gag I could hear a long moan. “What’s that?”, I asked, lifting the gag. “Fuck you!”, was his only reply resulting in another backhand across his face.
“One more word and you’ll be tasting bleach!”, I warned him, letting the gag flick back into his mouth. I turned on my heels and walked back to the table as his eyes began to dilate with fear. At the table I ran my hand over the tools, each one clanging as I moved to the next when I spotted the large white box of 50 catheter needles I’d left on the shadowed wooden shelf above the table. They were just waiting and asking to be used and this was the perfect moment.
“Do you like piercings, Mr. Stanley?”, I asked, still facing the shelf. I heard a mumble. “I’ll take that as a yes.” I turned round and slowly walked towards him, unpacking a needle as I walked. At the chair I pulled off the orange cover with my mouth - hygiene was the last thing on my mind right now - and spat it to the side.
Standing there, I scanned his lame body up and down, wondering where to poke the first needle. There was so much bare skin it was impossible to choose just one place; this was going to take some time. I finally decided on the biceps - an area not too sensitive but would still feel the pain of a two-inch needle being jabbed in. I held the needle in my right hand, hovering beside the man’s arm, “Ready?”, 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Stab!
“Mmph!”, I heard as his eye widened then slammed shut, presumably due to the pain the of a 2-inch needle piercing the flesh and muscle of his left arm. It now pointed out horizontally, looking like an arm version of Pinhead. A thin red line of blood dribbled down his arm and settled in the indent of his elbow joint. “Where next?”, I wondered aloud. The right arm was my choice, even things out a bit like a spirit level., so I repeated as before, except from behind this time. Unfortunately I couldn’t have the pleasure of seeing the pain in his face. From his groan though, I knew I’d hurt him and that was all I needed to know.
Once I’d finished having my fun with the needles he looked like a torso version of Pinhead from Hellraiser. With two in each bicep, one piercing each of his nipples and four in a diamond shape around his heart, he began to sound weak and exhausted - the only noises he was making were those of deep, shallow breathing.. He now looked more feeble than ever - his face was bruised and swollen and flopped loosely forwards, unliftable, each of his legs had numbers of small acidic burns and blood ran down his face from his nose and mouth onto his naked torso. How he was still conscious I had no idea.
To finish things off I collected my DSLR camera from the table, focused onto his body, my ‘model’ and began taking photos. To some these photos would be art, and we all know art sells and, of course, I knew the market of which these pictures would sell; guaranteed money. After a few more photos from different positions and angles it was time to release this man from his pain so I walked behind him and slowly began unstrapping the gag.
The gag ran down Mr. Stanley’s body, catching the needles mid-fall and landed with a quiet bounce on the floor, rolled a foot or two and was stopped by the strap intersecting the path. I returned to my position in front of him and looked down. He slowly rolled his eyes up to connect with mine and said between breaths “You . . . Bitch!”. Those were his final words before I reached round and pulled out the knife from the waistband of my red latex skirt. With a quick backhand slash I sliced the air with the blade, smoothly catching his throat in the process. When I stopped a number of bloodlines ran down his neck before his throat seemed to explode in a shower of dark red blood, catching my right side in the process.
I turned and walked up the stairs towards the exit of the basement, closing the door when I stepped out. I’ll clean him up later, I thought to myself before stripping and walking upstairs to run a bath. I was knackered.
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