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El Zilcho

One Shots

Recommended Posts

arch stanton

I hit the hard deck and starved it,

No reason coz I took the the time to divide; half it,

Masked it, from the head to the toe and the waist to the base,

Nothing but a bad looking, grim faced nut case

With pepperspray mace and the money sack safe,

It ain't no race so back up and tack up,

Rip a wrack up with the fingers that stack up

And lacer up with the oil that is pumped,

Spin the wheels on this ride and eat it like a piece of rump

Like a lump caught up somewhere deep in your neck

And light the lighter of light to stand hold for this regret

It ain't no test if you beat the slowed down members

They just special with the badges of senators.


Theme: Laws of attraction

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Mokrie Dela

I liked that. It flowed like a rap song. :)




Reduce our world to simple maths,

An essay of science,

with your thinking hat.

Produce results that seem so flat,

Complicated equations,

but no substance or mass


Try to explain the wind and the rain,

write down your theory,

Publish your results.

But try as you might, it's all in vain,

It's contradicted,

it's all at fault


But despite the random,

The patterns remain,

and you show your working,

Marriage within religion,

within community,

backs up your thinking.


And while Islam marries Islam,

Christian marries Christian,

There still exists love that transcends limits.

It crosses religion,

It crosses heritage

And shows of your theory,
That there's nothing in it.


So take your science, and take your theory,

Take your statistics that don't impress me.

Stop trying to explain the world we live in,

All your findings, they are for nothing.


You can't reduce life to science,

It's so much more than mathematical compliance

Abandon all your arrogant pretense,

You live can not be lived with your scientific reliance.



Theme: Unlovable.

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arch stanton



Unlovable, like a sudden move

And a groove - from the upper waist down to the left boob

And I'll press snooze so I don't move to loose

Don't look at me like that, nothing I must simply prove

Your love I don't loath like your damn sleazy clothes

Your past exes arranged in several rows - that's low

Like a blow of metal to the upper torso, more so, it's deadly like my raps raw flow

Got the gauge locked onto 44. though, with the crosshairs on you - popped onto auto

You're like a pesky pest house invader

I got the lethal poison, time to meet your maker

And it'll shake ya whilst I go enslave ya

Don't stick me up hoe, you ain't takin my paper.


Unlovable, like a horrid smell

Or a type of deadly soul sent from the depths of hell

And may I sell my soul for the spirit

These lyrics I write for you bitch and then I spit it

And admit it, that you run your mouth and never send me south,

I'll be left to doubt, anxious to the core then I grill an ounce

So don't god damn rounce when I kick your ass out

Don't be mad coz you get on men and mount them - you like a fountain

As people walk by and drop pennies in you

You're viral and contagious like the f*cking swine flu

So don't pout boo, I'm untouchable

And you're the nasty, rotten fool that's unlovable.



Theme: I can't settle for this

Edited by Lexty.

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I've been trying to live here peacefully for the last five years or so. It's a nice place - I like it here. But they say it's the people that make a place - at least that''s what the towns notice board says. See the people here don't take much of a liking to me. They never have. I've put it off for so long mostly down to the otherwise easy going life. But gradually, my neighbours have become more aggressive against my presence. In the streets I get starred at by the passer bys. Sat in my car at a set of lights, an egg lands and splats over my windshield. At my doorstep I find burning dog sh*t and lately, small graffiti symbols marked on the wall.


It's getting worse still, It sounds like paranoia, but at this rate - it's no coincidence. People everywhere cough as soon as they see me. It doesn't sound like much but it's happening so often now, I can sometimes predict the next - and every one beats you down a bit more.


"Die painfully okay? Preferably by getting crushed to death in a garbage compactor, by getting your face cut to ribbons with a pocket knife, your head cracked open with a baseball bat, your stomach sliced open and your entrails spilled out, and your eyeballs ripped out of their sockets. f*cking bitch, I really hope that you get curb-stomped. It'd be hilarious to see you begging for help, and then someone stomps on the back of your head, leaving you to die in horrible, agonizing pain. fa**ot, get the f*ck out before you get your face bashed in and cut to ribbons, and your throat slit."


Just got in and this was a message left on my answer phone. Yeah it's crude and the threat may be idle so it's hard to take it seriously - yet I can't help but feel a little anxious. So far, no real harm has come my way, but these people know my number, they most likely know my address and it appears they knew me before I even met any of them. Whatever it is they know, or think they know about me, they didn't approve. So I stay vigilante for the time being. I can't settle for this however, this is no way to live, maybe I can figure a way out of this - I'll update this log in the coming week if I'm still here.




Next Theme: Gridlock Traffic

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Mokrie Dela

Shanghai, China, June 2032


Ribbons of steel stretched through the glass canyon metropolis. Hundreds and hundreds of vehicles sat idling under the red sun and orange sky. On the side of the road sat dozens of kiosks, each one encapsulated in plastic with an attached air filter. Inside each of the kiosks stood a man or woman - or two - in front of a grill or wok.


A stubby man in a gas mask stood by one of the kiosks. From inside, the vendor placed a sealed box of noodles in what resembled a small airlock, and pulled the shutter closed. The stubby man opened it from his side and retrieved his meal.


"Xièxiè," the stubby man said, his voice muffled through his gas mask. He bowed and turned, stepping onto the packed road. He slalomed through the stationary vehicles until he reached his own - six lanes over. He tapped on the glass and his friend unlocked the doors.


He closed the door behind him and placed the container of food on the central console, on designed specifically for such a task. All cars came with some form of dining table that folded down or out from the dashboard.


The men pulled out chopsticks from their holder and dug into the noodles. They both made satisfying noises as the ate and watched the television on the dashboard. After a minute the vehicle moved forward - automatically - a dozen or so feet.


"Jerky today," Shen said, his mouth full of noodles.

"Can't always be smooth sailing," Li said with a shrug. "At least we've got this," he tapped the clean end of his chopsticks on the flatscreen TV. The chatter from the gameshow drowned out the rumbling of the Fusion engine.
"How long you think it'll be this week?"
"I don't know, Shen." Li dug in for more noodles. "It's not usually more than two days."

"I went in with Ming two weeks ago."

"Oh, Ming. Polarize the windows did you?"

Shen laughed. "I'm sure the Jǐngchá would notice that."

"Might be a female; she might join in!"

"Nǐ tā mā de!"

Li smiled.

"Anyway: Ming. Three days it took."

"Must have been worse than normal. Strange, it's usually quite consistent."

Shen shrugged. "It was a long one. Got home a week later."

"We should get the shuttle."

Are you joking? I don't have that much money."

"But we'd be there in a day."

"And cost a week's wages per day. That's only for the bigshots, not us littlemen."

"It's worse in Japan."

Shen scoffed. "I don't care about them. Next you'll be telling me how better it is in America."

"I've never been, but I've heard it is better. Takes hours."


"Yeah - They only have one meal."

"How do you know that?"

"Benny?! What does he know?"

"He went out there."

"To America?"


"When, Li?"
"Five years ago. When we was working with Lao."

"Well he's a silly old fool."

"He's my uncle."

"And you trust his word. I bet he claimed the streets were paved with gold." Shen scoffed. "Where's our exit?"

"Ten miles up. Should only be another six hours from there."

"I need a new job. I'd love to take the shuttle. Get there in a day. You think the government could do something."

"A billion people driving on the same road. What can they do? Cull the population?"

"I didn't mean that!"

"It is what it is. Sure, takes us three days, we're in for a week, but then we're home for five days."

"If you're lucky. You know Tang?"

"He the geeky one?"

"Yeah, that's him."

"I haven't seen him since he transferred."

"Well he does seven in, three off, plus travel days."

"Seven and three? That's harsh."

"And you're complaining about your five."

"Well we don't get travel-pay. Does he?"

A shrug.


A couple of minutes passed and Shen looked out through the murky window and the unending line of vehicles. It was like being in a field of metal flowers. It'd be nine days until he saw a meadow. There was the odd flower in the offices, but that was it. Even the rooftop gardens weren't enough.


The Gameshow ended and Shen suggested loading up the games console - a luxury that cost a month's wages. Li shook his head. He was bored of the current game releases.

"We've still got a couple of hours until we're off this road." The dashboard indicated that they were crossing the lanes - something that happened once the traffic moved again. The system was all automated; the computers took control of every vehicle on the motorways. When one needed to turn off - the route was pre-programmed - the traffic computers halted traffic enough for the vehicles to move accordingly. It was all calculated to ensure smooth traffic flow.


"Fancy something for dessert?" Li asked.

Shen nodded. "What have you got in mind?"

"Something fruity. There's a stand up here." Both men looked at the dashboard. The exit sign was green - the computer calculated that there was sufficient time to visit a vendor.


"Your turn," Li said. Shen sighed and grabbed his gas mask. He exited the car and walked through the smog, crossing the lanes to the side. He reached a vendor and was only third in line. As he waited he turned and watched the waiting traffic.

Every week they did this. Two or three days in traffic. His grandfather had told him of the days where one could cross the entire coutnry in three days. That was unbelievable to Shen. Sure, one could walk but with the smog, they'd fall quite ill. Even with the gasmasks, the pollution would permeate the skin. It was possible to buy protective suits, but they were uncomfortable and hot. It wasn't unheard of for people to die of exhaustion and dehydration...


He looked back at the kiosks and the alleyways that stood behind them, leading to service areas and access/delivery roads. He thought about just running, disappearing into the alleys and seeking out one of the forgotten towns - the small neighborhoods that lived behind the more lively districts. Some were shanty towns, some were old, shunted apartment blocks. Would that be a better life? Living in such a place, walking an hour to work in the roadside kiosks, working ten hours, then going home every day? After three or four days at work, he wanted to go home. Sure, he could sleep at work, and there was a few hours allocated to entertainment and leisure, but it just wasn't home.


He looked back at the cars, and to where Li waited. Then he looked at the kiosks and the shady pathways behind them. Was this life right? Were the old man's tales about the days where traffic was avoidable true? Was this life truly better?


Shen was really tempted to just run from it. Deep down he hated the situation. Life in comfort, but with such long journeys and a week at work; or life of freedom but near-poverty.


This world wasn't right....




New Theme: Morality of the Gods

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I remember reading that story before Mokrie. Liked how it made a sh*tty dystopian future grounded and typical.


Morality Of The Gods


"The humans have displeased us for then last time." God Thunder proclaimed. The other gods cheered in agreement.


"So how do we go about acting on there disobedience?" God Law asked, opening a debate. The legion of Gods sat around the grand table, tapping there fingers and sighing as each sought out a way to deal with the humans.


"How about, we go down there and tell them about our disapproval, try to come to a compromise." God Timid suggested.


"Oh yeah, like that'll work. I say we just smash in there puny planet with a massive bang and kill them all!" God Rage chipped in.


God Law responded "How will we be able to teach them a lesson if there all dead?"


God Thunder replied "God Rage is right though, the only time these humans pay attention is when their feeble lives are at stake."


"That is true." God Law followed.


"What about a global disease that slowly wipes out almost all of the planet." God Nature suggested.


God Rage responds "No! A disease is too slow. The humans are too stubborn to think it was from us anyway. Remember Ebola? What we need is to do something that leaves a direct message from us, while causing massive destruction. You know, make a statement."


God Timid replies. "I don't know, I like the disease idea. Seeing all those lives lost will surely make an impact on those who are left."


God Thunder churps up. "You'e all wrong, The only way to show our power against the humans is to use the one thing they can't control and that they truly fear. The weather! Say, we have massive storms across the eastern coasts and earthquakes along Europe and f*ck it, let off the volcanoes. They won't now what hit 'em."


God Rage replies back "Of course you'd say that God Thunder. You're obsessed with your lightning rod. We don't need anything special, just show up and kill all but a few that we leave our message with. Don't f*ck with us!"


God Timid responds. "But how can they worship us if they think we're total douches?"


"Perhaps we could imprison them on some kind of cell?" God Law suggests.


"Oh come on, they're already practically imprisoned, they won't now the difference." God Nature retorts.


"We could start another war?"


"No, no! asteroids. Think big rocks we throw at them!"


"f*ck rocks! We flood them, leaving the last few stranded on highrises."


"And then what? Seriously, we go down there and just kick the sh*t out of them!"


"So they'll be super pissed at us for the rest of time. Use the weather, Hurricanes! Snow! Fire!"


"No, disease is the way to go. We just need to one up the plague."


"You know there's a rule about avoiding plagues. It's best we go down and talk to them."


The arguing get's more heated to a point where no one can hear anyone else and nothing get's done. The Lords of the Gods look down on their squabbles in disappointment. They sit around their table and discuss what is to be done about the Gods of the humans.


Next Theme: Alone on a cruise ship


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Like a knife through butter, the tip slice through, turning liquid into crashing divided waves, as their creaked and moaned, the guttural workings of a ghost surrounded by black water; nothing alive on-board, nothing alive in the swirling, black mass beneath, except the shape of something dark and wide, slow, majestic, following along the shape it had mistaken for something of similar existence.


With clenched hands over the railing, the cold water shimmered against the lunar rays and yet the inertia lessened, with no swaying of the hulking beast. He stood still, observing like deck which was still and silent; no shapes lurked upon these wooden floors, and if they did, they were most likely the feet of mice that padded and scratched, no more, no less.


How did I get here? He asked himself this as he stepped away from the side, the moon-kissed water sprayed upwards over the side, a whale! It let out its speech and continued to swim along as he strolled across the empty deck. Maybe there was a Pilot, a Captain that knew the destination, the final end to the journey. He could not quite possibly be the only passenger on this hulking, mechanical contraption of the ages--somebody was steering it, weren't they?


"Good lord," said the man as he strolled up the metallic stairs, stepping past life-boats, and decks, the sound of air blowing beneath the railing again. "I'm going to find the guy steering!" he yelled. Why am I explaining myself to a whale?


Silence followed; accompanied by the sound of crashing waves, and on the horizon, the visage of sparkling lights, like diamonds on velvet silk, twinkling. Where were we heading?


He stepped into the pilot cabin, overlooking the direct path ahead, towards the lights of whatever distant land they had journeyed to. Yet no workers, no men stood, steering, planning the safe dock ahead. Who's f*cking driving this thing?


It wouldn't be long until the cruise ship crashed--it was veering for the land, about ten minutes away. Why couldn't he remember why he was on this boat? Why wasn't anybody here!? He couldn't get the lifeboats down on his own, not in the dark like this! Think fast, boyo.


What do to? Stay and try and steer the boat? He looked over the controls; colours and beeps blared at him. This thing don't even have a f*cking steering wheel.


"The whale!" The land loomed closer and closer now.


He turned and sprinted, running out of the naval office, out onto the side he leaned over the edge. "OI, WHALE!"


Pshhhh! Water sprayed upwards, dabbing him with wet kisses. "WHALE. THE BOAT'S f*ckED."


It let out a deep, guttural wail.


"I'm gonna jump. I swear, if you f*ckin' try to eat me."


The boat creaked, hitting what was, most likely shallow water. The man jumped over the edge with a scream and crashed into the blackness which submerged him, freezing him. As he thrashed and swam upwards, something pushed him underneath, upwards, and then as the cold air of the night seeped back into his lungs he slipped onto his back and realized that the whale, was underneath him. He wiped his eyes and watched as the cruise ship went by, towards the land, and within minutes it collided, causing a great crash. The whale remained still, blowing water upwards.


"Whale, take me to land!"


Psssshhh, it sprayed again. "f*ck you, you think I'm a taxi service?"


I'm insane.


Next theme: "I always come back to you."

Edited by Ziggy455

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Mokrie Dela

Starting with a cliche. Nice, ziggy


All jesting aside, a tiny hint of madness to that character

I wonder if there's more to it that meets the eye


I'll always come back to you.



The smell fills my nostrils, pungent, sharp. People lying on gurneys like livestock on carts. Voices murmur, casual and low, urgent and rushed. Voices of authority, voices low, voices hushed. Machines beep and the air conditioning sighs. A chill creeps down my spine. My skin turns electric and I shiver. That smell of antiseptic, the nausea it delivers. The hustle and bustle, relentless, endless. A huddle of trouble, mindless, merciless.


Cold hard floors and pale green walls. Soulless greys, of steel and plastic. I've seen it before but my memory falls. I'm in a daze; it's all too drastic. No hill to climb, no door to open, just a hard brick wall, just useless ibuprofen. Paracetamol and morphine, placebos and heroin. Useless, empty drugs, hollow treatment and empty promises. Hopeless, horrid rut, bereavement and vomit.


My skin is warm but the air is cold. Stale and dry, choking and cramped. There is no hope in here to behold. Wails and cries, moping, damp.


The sinister looks i their eyes. Guardians, sentinels, cardigans, bicycles. Standing tall but doing nothing. Looking busy, and important but in reality impotent.

Resus trolleys jut out like brambles, to trip me up, obstacles. All around me people scramble. lift me up? No just bad news.

The door creaks and screams open. The room is frozen. Her voice is heavy and laboured, but she speaks only in sighs. And still I can't cry. Just sit here silent, watch her and time both pass. Four score and ten, ravaged just before. So cruel and yet so inevitable.

And now we wait.













If there was a physical challenge. A weight to lift, a track to run. A struggle that could be won. I would climb that hill, I would take that mantle. But instead we stand, sit, waiting dismantled. Strength stands for nothing, like those guardian sentinels. What is it for?

What are they for?


And yet I come, whenever I can. I come in spite of fear and nerves.

Yet they come, day after day. They come in spite of charts and curves.


I know now that it's perhaps too late. No; it definitely is too late. The point of no return. I should have endeavoured more. You live and learn. It you'll learn nevermore.


But know is this, if you can somehow hear. In spite of the odds, against the grain. Just one wish: if you stay here. We can reminisce, talk about the rain.


Just one wish.

If you can hear this.


If you'd just wake up and ask me to,

I'll always come back to you.


New theme:


Left behind

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Thick muscle had been torn, as searing hot lead had slipped through, slicing ventricles, creating new holes for blood to escape from and die. Yet as he sat underneath the tree, he gripped his chest. No pain. His gaze focused on the landscape ahead, where the sun remained frozen, and not a single cloud had spread. In all directions there remained nothingness, and only the shade of the once-living tree, which was no shade at all, seemed to be the only thing erected for miles around. The man ran his hand through his hair; sticky with blood, and stood up. From up in the rafters of the tree there came a voice.


Hello there.” It came as if hissed, lowly, from the mouth of somebody not far. The man, shaken from the sudden speech, felt like a snake was going to pop up and begin a conversation, yet from upwards there lurked no serpent, only black cloth that blew in the breeze. “Hello?” The man looked around again.


You’re late.”


Late for what? “Late?”


You weren’t supposed to take so long with it.”


Whispers fell upon confused ears.


“So long—“


The alleyway, Jacob.”


Jacob! The name went through him like a gunshot, flashing images, of a swing, a woman crying, and alleyway—blood and ash, swimming in a mix of urine, across the gum-stained concrete of a black and charred concrete block, kiss with dabs of polluted rain between two tenement blocks. The man with yellow teeth wasn’t smiling, yet in his hands, something else grinned wholly, ready to spit. Crack!


Jacob jolted and gripped his chest as the breeze became much stronger behind him, and with the flap of fabric, the voice went off behind him. He turned and stared at the shape; black fabric that encased darkness itself, yet he could feel eyes upon him. The dark cloak blew gently in the fading sun, yet the thing that stood before him seemed like he was in water. Its essence seemed to point towards that sort of motion, yet as Jacob remembered the alleyway, and the pain in his chest, he sighed. A bony hand reached out and touched him on the shoulder.


I’m sorry, Jacob, but I have others to ferry—I will return for you, make no mistake.”




Soon. I am sorry to leave you behind like this.” The shape floated away, as if beginning a long journey into the scorched desert, yet Jacob felt like no journey he had ever made had ever been longer than expected. I’m being left behind.


Another scream came from inside, and in the alleyway, he felt another hot flash of pain in his heart. Green eyes, filled to the brim with tears. “Keira, don’t lea—don’t go, please,” he whispered to himself, as the black shape continued to walk away, slipping into the air like smoke billowing upwards. The last image in his mind of Keira; turning away slowly, smiling maniacally. He remembered crawling, glass prodding his stomach, and then darkness as something loud echoed out.


As he stood by the tree, he realized that being left behind meant he had time to think, before he would move on to wherever Death, or whatever it was, was going to come back for him. As he looked around, and up at the gangly growth that stuck out like a skeletal hand, he didn’t realize the wound in the back of his head that dripped down his back. Looks like I’m gonna be here for a while, he thought, as he took a deep breath, and let out another cry as his old life flushed into his dead mind once more.


Let's crank up the themes.


NEXT: Incest and murder in American Suburbia.


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I might have gotten a bit into this one. Reader discretion and all that. :^:


London, 2003.


"But Mother, aeroplane is the safest form of travel there is."


Jane replied to her Mother, as she sliced her knife across the pancake with such delicacy and tenderness, you would never hear her plate scream. The family of three were seated around the oak, kitchen table; eating another one of Mum's delicious full english breakfast. Sarah, Jane's Mother, had short dyed blonde hair that curled across her ears. Now in her late forties, her figure had slightly grown outwards. Not so much that she lost her title of 'MILF'. Sat on Sarah's left was Trevor. Taking breaks between his bites to lift the large broadsheet up to his face. Around the same age as Sarah, he was slightly balding with thin grey hair around the back of his head that carried on to his thick stubble. Jane, sat across form her parents, was twenty one years old. She had long, natural dark brown hair that caressed her smooth shoulders. Her face was soft and without a blemish or dimple. The protruding bumps on her chest had perfect roundness, shaping her thin, tight pajama top.


The kitchen gleamed from the sun soak. Chrome trimmings and glossy cupboard doors shined an image of a perfect family, enjoying their morning. Sarah lowered her glass after taking a modest sip of orange.


"That may be true Jane, but travelling on your own is dangerous regardless. Right Trevor?" He groaned in agreement, still eyeing the sports page.


"It's only for six months, Mother. I'll be with friends and we're not complete idiots."


"No, you're young and not wise like me and your Father. You still don't know how the real world is."


"Oh come on, it's just a road trip across America, we'll never be in the same place. And we'll always stick together."


Trevor folds his newspaper on the table and turns to his wife. Jane watches her parents have a quick exchange of whispers, her Mother nods at the end, before her Dad slips out a cough and clasps his hands over the table, looking at Jane.


"Jane, we know you well enough as your parents, that you're a sensible and smart girl. We love you and only want what's best for you. So if you want to take this gap year in America, that is fine with us. For me, this will show us that you are no longer our little girl, but are now your own, grown woman who can look after herself."


Jane was speechless, a smile took over her face as she tried to with held her laughter of joy. Finally she got up and hugged her Dad and Mother.

"Oh, thank you, Daddy! And Mum, you're the best! I'll tell my friends and start packing!" She left the kitchen, jumping with glee.


The big day arrived, Jane and her friends arranged to meet at her house to go to the airport. Jane, her friends and her parents had all gathered outside - waiting for the minibus. Sarah, tapped Jane's shoulder to have a word.


"Now Jane --"


"Oh come on Mum, we've gone through the rules!" Jane interrupted.


"No, listen, it's important. Now Jane, in America, you have a brother. He's a lot older than you and moved out there when he had grown up. America's a big place, but if you were to ever bump into him, I don't want there to be any, you know - confusion."


Jane looked in awe at her Mother. In disbelief that a huge piece of her family had been kept a secret from her.


"You're only telling me this now! How could you hide something like that from me?" Her Dad, took hold of her shoulder as she steered her face to his.


"Hey Jane, not now in front of your friends eh?" Trevor chipped in. Sarah now in tears, he tried to ease things down. "Look, me and your Mother had some trouble with him in the past and we don't like to bring him up, ever really. When you get back, we'll have a long chat about him but until then, forget about him and enjoy yourself."


He smiled, stroking her chin as she nodded with a sniffle. The taxi pulled into the driveway and the luggage was being thrown in the back.


"Now remember Jane, you phone me every night to tell me where you are. And just stay safe until you get to Las Vegas."


"L.A. Dad. We're going to Los Angeles."


"Oh" Trevor chuckled. "L.A. that's right. Well, always stay safe anyway."


Everybody gave their farewells and the taxi left for the airport. Jane was soon distracted from her brother as she realised she was now going to be travelling across America for the next six months and the excitement took centre stage.


Landing at JFK, the girls went to the car rental desk and looked over the plans for the road trip. It was the long haul from New York to Los Angeles, where they planned hit major hot spots along the way, taking in sights by day and getting pissed by night. All to finish up on Santa Monica beach, resting under the sun.


"And another thing Jane, you're gonna lose your virginity on this trip." One friend sni**ered to her.


"Yeah Jane, how can you be twenty one and still not get laid?" Another friend joined in.


Jane didn't have much interest in such things and across the whole trip so far, had kept herself to herself. Ahead of schedule, they had made it to Arizona in months. The stayed the night in a motel after visiting the Grand Canyon, the four of them, separated between two rooms.


"So, Las Vegas tomorrow, what are you planning on doing.?" Jane's friend asks.


"I say we stay stay there for a few weeks, until most of us get bored, then spend last month or so in L.A."


"Right okay, I see you're really not interested."


Her friend pulled out a bottle of Tequila from her bag. The two got dunk quickly as they chugged shots down one after another. Jane was laid out on her bed, not aware she was stroking her tit. Her friend watches on as he removes her top, leaving her in her jeans and a bra. Jane closed her eyes as her head was swimming, when she felt a weight press down on her. Her drunkenness had taken any sense of urgency from her. Her friend kneeling over her belly, pulled Jane's top over her head, revealing her C cup bra and her toned curves underneath. Her friend got up and pulled down her skinny leggings, tugging at her thin panties, revealing a small plume of pubes. Removing her jeans, she got back on top of Jane, who was still dazed and semi conscious. Her friend, rubbed her hands up and down Jane's body, clasping her palms over her bra, then reaching down to her waist. She lowered one hand and stoked the inside of Jane's smooth legs, Jane let out a moan as she did. Her friend raised her head to Jane's shoulders and started mouthing her up her neck, licking and sucking up to her chin and finally, she met her lips with Jane's. She sealed the two together, and started making out, slowly inviting her own tongue to enter Jane's mouth. Finally Jane accepted and the two tongued and kissed each other as they both moaned and sighed in ecstasy. Her friend started to pull a bra strap over Jane's shoulder, the left cup became loose, parting from Jane's breast. The two still making out, Jane opened her eyes, then her body went cold as she screamed in shock at her friend and pushed her away.


"What the hell are you doing?" Jane stood up, out of her bed, not realising her tit was exposed as her bra hanged off.


Her friend stuttered at the sight. "Erm, er I thought you might be - because you're still a virgin and --" Jane cut her off.


"Absolutely not! I can't believe you!" Her friend sat on the floor.


"I'm sorry Jane, I don't know what came over me." She dug her head into her hands.


"I'm going to sleep, please don't try anything else." Her friend passed out on the floor soon after.


The two didn't speak a word of the night before. They had arrived in Vegas and wasted no time to venture through the city, shopping. Then checked in at their hotel and got ready to hit the casinos that same night. They ventured down the strip and visited casino after casino before saying put at Caesar's Palace. The girls stood at the bar waiting for their drinks. A slightly older man approached the girls and asked to pay for their drinks. They all giggled and started small talking with guy. Except Jane who was distracted about last night. Finally, the fella looked Jane up and down, observing all her visual traits. Jane looked back, not wanting to e rude and smiled. The guy had thin stubble and light brown hair he gelled a spike over, hovering over his forehead.


"Hi and what's your name sweetheart?" His voice was raspy, yet smooth in the way he stretched his words. The girls behind him, started whispering and giggling some more.


"It's Jane" They gave a huge grin and his eyes widened.


"Jane huh, well that's a beautiful name. Well my names Donnie and I'd like to take you out for some dinner Jane."


Jane was speechless, before she could give a broken, nervous answer; the bartender hands over her drink.


"What kind of drink is that?" He asks. She smiles back, trying to holding back an excited giggle.


"It's called a Naked Colada."


"Oh really? Well, I gotta see what a Naked Colada tastes like." She hands him the drink as he takes old of the straw. "Uhm, that tastes good. Here let me pay for that."


Jane remains speechless, unable to stop smiling. She takes another sip to brake the awkwardness.


"So Jane, I can tell your from England, but where about's in England is that?"


She swallows nervously. "London." His eyes widen again.


"London eh? I've been there, to visit family one time."


Jane's smile turned in to a huge grin as she started chuckling at Donnie's face. Her chuckle turned to a maniacal laugh when she dropped her cocktail and stumbled along the bar, knocking into Donnie and finally collapsing on the floor.


Jane awoke in a dark room. She was resting on a cold, metal surface. She tried to move her arms to get up but found they were tied and spread apart. She bent her legs back but her movement was cut short when the ropes around her ankles held them back and spread her legs apart. Finally, she held her head up and screamed when she saw she was completely naked. She wriggled her body in a panic, her arse swiping the cold metal, side to side, shaking her head side to side. The ropes didn't feel impossible to break, but efforts were to free herself were futile. Steps sounded into the room as Donnie entered.


"Hello Jane. My, my you've time has gone fast" He grinned.


"Why are you doing this?"


"Did Mom tell you, you had a brother?"


"You're my Brother?" He sat on a chair at her feet, stoking one as he eyes her body up and down.


"Well, it's a long story, princess." She squirmed at his touch and tried some more to break her restraints. "It's a shame you don't remember this house. You were born here Jane. Our whole family used to live here, before your Mother and Dad left me here to go live in London."


Jane stuttered back. "What happened?"


"You see, my beautiful Jane, you are my daughter."


"What, you're lying, my Dad's in England!" At that moment, Sarah and Trevor enter the room. Jane loses her breathe at the sight, almost crying at the sight. "Dad? Mum, what is this?"


Sarah looks down to her own feet, not answering. Trevor pats his son, Donnie on the back and kneels down next to him and starts massaging her other foot. She groaned in disgust while her mind twisted from the revelations. Trevor spoke up.


"It's true Jane, my dear grandchild. Donnie here is your real Dad and your brother. Don't worry, your Mum's your mum. After you were born, we thought it best to take you from here and raise you in England until you were ready to return. We left Donnie our old house and promised to him that we'd keep you a virgin until he saw you again."


Donnie smiled to his Father and gave him a hug.

"You did good old man! Look at her, she is gorgeous."


"So what happens now is - Donnie will return the favour by allowing me to christen your body, so to speak."


Jane couldn't take any more of what she was hearing, he screamed back at them. "What the hell is going on here?"


Trevor, unzipping his jeans, calmly replies back. "Donnie has allowed me to take your virginity."


Jane screamed and squirmed relentlessly, banging head up and down, desperate to escape her clutches.


"Hush piggy" Trevor exclaims a with his pants at his ankles. "Open those legs wide now."


He thrusts himself inside her. Going in at full speed straight away, pounding her in with no remourse. Jane screamed and cried in anguish, tears running down to her chin. Donnie and Trevor cheered whil sweat trickled down to Trevor's chin. Jane ferociously threw her ankles and arms within their restraints. Jane didn't believe it when she felt the freedom for her right arm and right leg. She had snapped both free and in a second, kicked her Grandad away from her. Turning her head, she saw a knife lie beside her. She felt God must have been saving her, with such luck. Quickly cutting loose her other arm and then her left ankle, she held the others at knife point.


"Get f*cking back you sick bastards!"


Slowly walking passed them, Trevor stepped forward to stop her. With haste, she lunged the knife in and out of his belly and watched him drop to the floor numerous times. Donnie retreated with his hands hands up. She steadily approached the front door. The key still in the lock, she unlocked the door and swiftly ran out on to the street. Sprinting naked down the road, she saw she was in the middle of some suburban maze. No cars could be heard and no people walked the street. Just the sound of ringing crickets and patter of her bare feet on the tarmac could be heard. She cried for help, shouted for anybody. A sharp, whooshing noise whizzed behind her. A slight sting was felt on her bare arse. She took one breathe before collapsing. Donnie, stood at his doorway, lowered his dart rifle.


Next Theme: The Bunker

Edited by ainsz

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It wasn't supposed to come down to something so frivolous, something so incredibly delicate as chance; when it came down to it she knew that taking a chance was far more stupid than giving herself a chance but... well. it was too far gone for that now. Whatever control she'd seized in the earlier days, whatever way of coping she'd managed to scrape from the bottom of her mental barrel was now as far from her as her grip on reality, and considering she'd been teetering on the edge of a crumbling rock for the last week or so and still had no idea where the stable ground beneath her ended and the empty air ahead of it began she was now at a point where she was relatively sure that any grasp on sensibility and rationality was out of her reach.


The only answer, as of now, was to shut herself away and do what she needed to do. Making choices was near impossible, taking that step to hold the reins of her own life and future was too great a risk, even more so than whatever answer landed via the marred surface of the coin she clutched in her cold, unrelenting fist. She remembered hazily, cross-legged and elbows digging into her thighs as she leaned her entire upper-body weight on the sensitive flesh beneath, a session with her psychotherapist where she'd been asked to describe her mental state in terms of a room - 'if you had to define how you're feeling in terms of a room, something tangible and visible, your surroundings as a whole... how would you describe that?' - and found her head bobbing slightly in agreement with the memory, both surprised to have remembered something from years ago and comforted by the familiarity of living through things that had already happened rather than forcing herself to live in the moment. It had taken her approximately three minutes to come up with an answer, musing over the idea of creating a space in her mind in which her thoughts and emotions would settle - it had seemed like a loaded question at the time, the possibility of saying the wrong thing and her therapist completely missing the point creating a bubble of anxiety in the pit of her stomach until, when it had finally slipped from her lips without thinking it through, it clicked and made far more sense than anything else she'd barely said during their session.


'A bunker,' she had said quietly, not looking at the woman opposite her, fingers twisting in her lap, avoiding all responsibility for her words, 'so deep and far underground that I'm... entirely unreachable. No one can get in, no one can hear me and all there is in that room is air. Air and dead space. And me.'


It was an odd acceptance at the time, the entirely appropriate depiction of how she was feeling in the form of a room, but now - straightening up her hunched back and staring ahead of her without really seeing anything at all - it settled into place perfectly and reminded her that, for at least one single moment in her life, she could accurately put into words what her form of existence took and not feel as if her mind was a muffled smog of confusion and disbelief.


The bunker. She was in the bunker once again, with no one able to reach her or touch her or pull her from it. There was as much comfort in that familiarity as there was in the memory itself.


Slowly she uncurled her stiff fingers, eyes dragging from the wall to the now-warm coin laying steady and waiting in the centre of her palm; this was safer, in a way, than making the decision herself. If she fully forced herself to take control of her life and make this decision - and made the wrong one - she could possibly end up living with the regret of her choice for as long as she allowed herself to live... or she could simply cease to exist. Taking that responsibility was just too difficult, too complicated, too much culpability to deal with. Chance over choice: it was her only way forward. The universe would decide. Fate would decide. A small, dirty coin would decide.


Perching it on the edge of her thumb and index finger she drew in a deep breath, reached out with her other hand and wrapped her shaking fingers around the small gun at her side, closed her eyes and flipped.


Next Theme: the endless summer.

Edited by IvI Ph03nix IvI

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Mokrie Dela

The endless summer


Byron walked unevenly across the sand, the hot sun blazing down from on high. He pulled his wide-brimmed hat from his head and wiped his greasy hair with the back of his sleeve. Ahead was the city, he saw. Glass towers reached up into the cloudless sky, gleaming a blinding white as they reflected the sun's harsh glare down to earth. Even through the thick, dark sunglasses it made his eyes squint and water. He replaced his hat and walked on.


The road into town was once Tarmac, but that had melted in the unrelenting sun, setting at night to do the same the next day. Eventually this process has stopped and the road surface had become rough, gravelly, cracked and hard.


From behind he heard the sound of a truck, running on dirty fuel, no doubt. The engine rattled and coughed and the floor shook. As always, Byron walked off of the road, as all experienced travellers did. People didn't stop for pedestrians.

The truck roared past, kicking up a thick cloud of dust and smoke behind it. Bryson had braced for it, turning away and covering his face. He felt the dirt in his face and after a minute felt the hot air kiss him again.


The truck would head to the towns Hub, which was where Byron was headed. The skyscrapers were mostly empty, or at least abandoned. People had little use for paper clips and pens, the ink dried by the sheer heat in buildings which were half-mile-high greenhouses.


A city's Hub was a stark contrast to the desolation of the cliché-named wasteland. Where the wasteland was largely empty, save for the odd shell of abandoned and sunburnt vehicles; the Hubs bustled with activity. People rushed from left to right and back again. Steak hung in the air, the source of which unseen and in demand. Queues of people snaked round and round, and voices filled the air.


Byron headed straight for the Well, as any other man would. He was unsurprised to find that this Well was a large one, and an old west style saloon had been built around it.

Byron felt like a Cowboy walking into the building. A few heads turned but most were as uninterested in him as he was in them. Still, the walls almost heaved with the massive throng of people. Voices chattered incessantly, inaudible in their abundance. He tried to make his way to the front but the crowd was too thick; it would take hours.


Two to be precise. There was easily a hundred people in the saloon, all after water, no doubt. The liquor would be served upstairs or in a back- or side-room.


Finally he managed to reach the attendant. His bottles were snatched from him along with his payment and hustled to a tap. They were filled with much speed and great care; not a drop was wasted.

He took his bottles back and headed to the exit. Men with guns watched from the bring above, should anyone try anything untoward.


"Clear gold," a gravelly voiced man said as Byron exited the building. The harshness in the mans voice was not a normal; practically everyone spoke in growls.

"Worth its weight," Byron replied, lifting one of his bottles.

"You heading east?"

Byron shrugged. "I'm just heading. No one really has anywhere to go, do they?"

"Don't head east. Water bandits all over the road. From what I heard, North is where you want to be. Springs and underground rivers galore up there."

"A fairy tale," Byron said. "Muttered to keep us with some form of hope."

"But I've seen proof," the man said.

"Really? And I'm Mickey Mouse."

"I'm Dom French, how you doing?" The man - Dom - extended his hand.

"No, you don't..." Byron sighed. "Never mind." He turned to walk away.

"Carrots," the man blurted out.


"Carrots. One month ago, I was eating carrots."

"Really?" You were at a place with enough water to grow crops and you left?"

"Not by choice. Not everyone can afford them. Least of all starving little kids, thirsty as a camel."

"Actually, camels don't..." The blank look on the mans face stopped Byron mid sentence. "What did you do?"

"Stole 'em. And they booted me out."

"And why are you telling me this?"

"I ain't just telling you. Just no one will listen."

"We'll probably a good thing. If everyone did listen, they'd all flock up there right away. Most would die, and the road would be littered with bodies-"

"Show me a road that ain't."

"Fair point. But even if people did make it, they'd overrun the place and guzzle whatever meagre resources are left."

"There's a sea. A great sea, a mile wide..."

"There ain't no seas left."

"Sure there is."

"Well okay, but you can't get to them. Military guard them and regulate the water that comes out, what little that is."

"One day someone will listen to me and not slap me down."

"We'll keep searching, friend."

"And you keep starving... Friend."

Byron looked at the man. "Dehydration, not starvation."

"Whatever. Both lo kill you."

Byron nodded and looked around. He saw the emaciated children in the street, the mammoth queues for the water source. He'd seen death and desolation. He'd seen enough, and he's lost more.

"Up north, you say?"



New theme


The endless winter ;)

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arch stanton

Upon the window sill, and out of the peach coloured curtains; expansed, among it's beings, spread far and wide a land of prosperous grapes and fruits. Many, although, fogged by the starlight and storm, stay trampled by their belongings in the humbleness of their own adobe. Christopher D. Andrews, the father of Tom and James, with one leg perched on his knee beside a crackling fire, watched as his youth pecked with their eyes at the snow filled plains. You may never see that earth again, the father spoke behind his white beard. Why father? Well, because the sunlight is gone, he spoke again, and the water is gone. Rivers adjacent to their hut laid dry and dormant, filled with white layers of frozen water; the water itself, dormant. Go eat your soup now, it's gettin cold it is.


He held the silverware, crisp in his dying hands. Glaring, daring to see another drop. Daring to see another tear roll down the eye of his boys. Their mother, dispersed in a world full of villain and creeps. Tried to support us, he spoke. Never did, never lived. She brought down his world in one spiral, one drastic yet minor fuss up.


Ice. It is soon to melt, yet once it melts; the water is gone. Sun takes it - dries the land. For those primitive Aztecs that roam the wilderness, the only humans to be out in this mess, pray to the sun in a glorious dance; a rain song. Hoping that some dear mother would caress the race of poison. He never thought Tom and his brother would try and escape. He may had been a hoarder but never hoarder his kids. He found them, lynched on the tree just past Napple Lane. But by whom? It wasem' halfwits, he spoke in the mirror he held in front of his ageing face - but it had been years. He knew nothing of time, as the water had dried and the sun had died. Light, seemed to subside.


Dark. Light was gone, from the source. He set foot, for wood. As for food, his youngest son was not the best; marinated in the entrails of his oldest sibling. Boiled, it did, he spoke, as he trenched onward through the dirt and mud. Pine trees, a silhouette of them, put him into the forground of this scene of man versus beast. Curves, so bend, somewhat linear, lead the fool into a pit in a valley in a far away land. Suppose I give youse my kids? No, the native spoke, behind him, his men of fifty - horses, glowing. Their women, rotting. Their culture, rotting. Slight gestures were made, and the darkness still fell as for the sun was dead. We got only, give or take, a month, the father spoke. Then they don gone.


Arrows. Not swords, but lancers and barbaric uses of tools to disembody nature - neuter mother nature. Impaled, the spurs killed him. A group of them, them Aztec, knew of death as their tools. Privilege, one spoke - perching the father upon the sharpened log. Seems they didn't know, as they danced and drank piss and shot dogs - raped, pillaged, and so on. All the while, the man, the father, set alight. Light. His eyelids, melting upon his retina, sealing shut reality. Hair and skin, staining the face. Nose, gone. His brain, revealed to the earth. Nerves shot to every part of the body in distorted pain. Force feeding the man peyote. Living and dying were incorporated for a time being. Not the time-being, but a time being. Not from what we call time, but what is actual time. Spoke to me, he whispered.


Death. And time spoke back the same word, in a tone very similar to the ring-leader of the zombies; the natives. You'll come with me, it say. You'll see the kids you once ate, and they'll speak in tongue to your wife. They are doing bad things to her.. now, now, don't weep. The man weeped as his eyes melted onto his cheeks and the Aztecs chanted, watching this man loose his mind; venturing far beyond any world anything had gone before them. The kids, it spoke, are raping your wife, giving birth to a new generation. The women of the tribe, climbed upon the father, slowly thrusting against his burning body. The burns sown deep into their entrance; physically and spiritually. He let out a moan, watching as the women clenched onto his rod and slid off it; taking with them, his generation. Now, now, time spoke.


Next theme: Jagged.

Edited by Lexty.

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The man stepped out of JoS. A. Bank Clothiers, looking suave in his new charcoal-grey woolen suit. He ran a hand through his soft, dark hair, as he looked upwards with eyes that matched the color of the blue sky. He smiled at no-one in particular; his strong jaw and flawless teeth only became more impressive. With a flourish, he revealed a silver Bulgari watch and considered it. After a few moments of this, the man composed himself and, with his ritual complete, proceeded to walk towards the other end of the block...


I rose from the bus station bench and followed.


His stride was subdued, without being inconspicuous. His swagger confident, but not arrogant. He had the look of an elite, yet maintained an aura of approachability. Every one of his actions seemed to be optimised for attractiveness: the almost-imperceptible turn of his head as he gazed at the woman passing by, the deft movement of his hands as he retrieved and put away his smartphone, the unbroken rhythm of his step whilst avoiding the men who might ask him to spare something...


For twelve minutes I shadowed that man. On the thirteenth, I bolted forwards.


Blade pressed against his back, he complied with my quiet commands; we moved as one into the alley nearby. The man stood erect and walked stiffly as he was forced fowards, but his demeanor was flaccid, and all the power that had been there previously was no more. Once in the alley, he turned towards me, and, with his back against the wall, had no escape from the device in my hand - a gnarled, nasty little thing, serrated in all the wrong places. His straight suit jacket and smooth shirt would contrast nicely...


As I looked into his fearful blue eyes, I nearly faltered. Yet, just a moment later, I had covered his mouth and thrust my blade inwards.


It was the worst feeling in the world, and I'm sure he would've agreed.



Edited by EatingPlums

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Mokrie Dela

Bit of a poor one:


Feel the fingertips tingle, feel the ground shake.

Send chills down your spine, feel the ground shake.

Take a deep breath, Light your soul on fire,
Take a deep breath, thrust your fist higher.

Hear the crowd roar, feel the ground shake.


Open yourself up, Let yourself feel it.

Don't hold back, Let yourself live it.

Run out of breath, Set the world on fire.

Catch your breath, thrust your fist higher.

Be in the moment, Be one with it.


Feel your hair on end, feel the ground shake.

Take your breath away, feel the ground shake.

Let it flow through your veins, Let it take you higher.

Let it flow through your veins. Let it light your fire.

Feel the energy, feel the ground shake


Kiss the girl, feel your world shake.
Rule the world, feel you chains break.

Sing out loud, Scream with all your pride.

Take the reins, it's do or die.

Plug yourself in, feel the ground shake.


Theme: The Existential trials of impending Apocalypse.

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Le zébu suintant

Nice. :)

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The Day The House Stood Shaking


"Tin food?"


"What's that John?"


"Tin food, Joanna! Is the tinned food packed in the car?!"


"Yeah I think erm, I don't know!"


"Ahh for f*cks sake sake Joanna, Can't you do anything?"


"I'm sorry, John."


"Just get what you can carry, in the car. We gotta go like now!"


"Here's some bed sheets for Jemima and James."


"Where is James?"


"Err, he was.."






"Do you hear him?"


"I didn't hear anything."


"James son. Come on, where are you?"


"Err-err, go check his room. James!"


"James, are you in here?"


"Oh thank god your here James."


"What the hell are you doing son, why are you just sitting here? Have you looked outside?"


"I just feel like sitting here."


"What do you mean; you just feel like sitting here?"


"I don't see the point in this panic and rush. I'm just gonna play Cod."


"No - James. you can't play on that box right now. I mean do you really need it explaining. People are dying outside and we need to get the f*ck out of here."


"I don't see the point."


"No. For god sake James you can't be be a f*cking teenager about this right now. You're have to take this a bit more seriously, now let's go!"


"James, honey. I know you're having your phases and you're growing up. But now's not really the time to be a Kevin."


"Look you can both go, but it's an exercise in futility in trying to survive out there."


"Oh look at that Janice, he's talking in f*cking riddles again with his big words - trying to fool us. I told you we should have taken him to see that f*cking shrink."


"He's just expressing himself John! Now James, we love you and we're your parents. We're family; we do what's best for you and for all of us. So right now, what's best is that we all go downstairs and drive away in the car. You can bring your PSP."


"What if it isn't best. I mean you're kidding yourselves if you think you're gonna survive out there."


"James! You better stop talking sh*t and get your arse off that bed and into the f*cking car now!"


"Stop shouting John!. Why do you have to get like this, every time John!"


"Do you feel that Janice? Right now, do you feel that? The whole house is f*cking shaking. This whole f*cking building is swaying on it's f*cking foundations ready to f*cking collapse, Joanna! Do you understand?"


"Don't talk down to me like that."


"And we're all stood here, on the f*cking landing like a bunch of senile old drips. Just because our depressed, maniacal, teenage son can't be arsed today because he's in a phase."


"Don't talk about him like that John! He's right there, he can hear you! Your destroying his emotional development! It's thanks to you he's like that John!"


"He's not a f*cking computer Joanna. You don't grow up through a f*cking process of a programme, he's just a f*cking nut!"


"It's his hormones John! He is a teenager! A normal teenager at that! You used to be one too John!"


"Yeah, I remember. I used to be outside chasing skirt and scoring. Not smoking f*cking pot all day and looking at a f*cking screen, wanking off to it and only get off my arse for a sh*t or to get something from the cupboard."


"Do you two see where I'm coming from yet?"


"What's that James?"


"Well you've been rushing around, panicking all morning, raring to go - only to stand have an argument for the last ten minutes."


"Don't forget Son; this was an argument because you wouldn't get off your arse when it's f*cking Judgement Day outside. You cause these arguments."


"Yeah, but you were both happy to waste all that time arguing, you know - when it's f*cking Judgement Day outside."


"Right you little wise arse, I'll rag you out of this f*cking room if you don't get up in five seconds."


"You will not, John!"


"Look, you two. Just go and make what you can of your little drive. You won't get far and even if you could - it's not like it's worth it."


"I told you he's a f*cking nutter! Look, James - get your out of your arse and let's f*cking go."


"No Dad. I'd rather stay here. And so would Jemima."


"What do you mean, is she with you?"


"She came in to my room because she got scared. I told it'll be over soon and it's best to just go to sleep. She's awake though."


"Jemima, baby, come to Mummy and Daddy."


"I want to stay with James."


"No, we can't stay here sweety. It's not safe here now and James is coming with us."


"No, I'm not."


"James, stop being an idiotic teenager and just see some f*cking sense for once."


"Have you seen outside Dad? Don't you think all this chaos and madness kind of dampens your sense of reality?"


"What the f*ck are you talking about now?"


"Well, up until now, all aspects of life have come across as quite trivial and unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Things like education, friendship, entertainment, working, raising a family and all that sh*t are only important in their own sort of context. All the while, we're told how amazing life and the universe supposedly is. In fact, much too amazing for any of that other stuff to matter in the slightest. I look outside and the picture I see kind of proves that. But here's the flip side. I also look outside and see how unbelievable and ridiculous a spectacle it is. That everything we knew about life and the universe has just been obliterated in one moment and now my sense of reality as a whole has completely dissolved, so much so that even the concept of existence seems unbelievable and ridiculous in exactly the same way. And now existence feels more like entrapment. Therefore, any point or argument you could ever make is moot as all you could tell me is subjective as everything is this existence is pointless and irrelevant, even to itself."


"No - James, you rambling f*ck. You've smoked too much weed and sat in the dark by yourself, thinking to yourself. And you've thought so deep that hit your own sphincter. Now enough of your teenage f*cking sorrows and mad ramblings, We are f*cking leaving. James come on! Jemima, you too sweetheart, you get your self over here and put your coat on."


"I don't want to Daddy?"


"Joanna, we really need to do something about this. You get Jemima and I'll sort out James."


"I don't know John, James kind of has me convinced with some of what he says. And I ain't leaving without my kids."


"You've got be joking. Tell me you're f*cking joking. Joanna?"


"I'm going to sit here with my kids and we're going to wait, you can join us if you want to John."


"You can't be serious. He's just a stroppy teenager who's stoned out his face. You can't truly take any of what he says seriously."


"He could be right John. And if my kids want to stay here, then I'm going to stay with them."


"But we're a family. We don't just give up when things look bad and let go of our grip on reality. As person, as a human being you do everything yo can to survive and look after each other. Please, you can't all just sit there."


"What even is surviving? what is life and living and being a human being? What even is all that; when that is happening right now. All of that, along with existence itself is made up and superficial and only seems to make sense in there own made up context that you've been fooled to fall for. And now that context is completely broken"


"James, shut up with your bollocks."


"You only have to look outside Dad to see everything you thought you knew is in fact a lie. And that life and fighting to stay alive is not the be all and end all and is ultimately pointless. You know it and your just in denial because you're entitled old self can't help admit everything you know is wrong."


"I think he's right, John."


"What are you gonna do, just f*cking sit there and singing f*cking Kum Ba Yah?"


"Maybe - if we feel like it."


"Jemima sweetheart, you want to live don't you baby?"


"I just want to stay in my house, Daddy."


"Jemima stays with me, John."


"Well that's f*cking it then, isn't it. You've killed us James, You've f*cking killed us. You're all f*cking nuts."


At that moment, the house collapsed and the Johnsons were crushed inside.




Next Theme: Trapped in a bedsit with the only look outside is through a letterbox

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Mokrie Dela

Dave had the TV low, barely audible. Daytime TV, chat shows, people with problems that should probably be sorted via a counselor, not an arrogant TV Presenter. Dave scowled at the TV and reached for the bowl balancing on the arm of the sofa. He misjudged it, and knocked the bowl, sending the spoon clattering noisily - but he caught it before it fell to the floor. He stared at the bowl - empty. He sighed and set it on the floor.


From outside, he heard the humming of a passing car. He shot from the sofa and landed in a kneeling position by the front door, his fingers darting up to the letterbox.


Through the tiny portal, he saw a red Saloon roll past. Who was that? He asked himself. It was almost three in the afternoon, isn't everyone else at work? Why is someone driving past his house? His house!


He watched the car drive off, wondering if the driver - or passenger - had snapped photos of his house. He stood and walked to the back door. He tried the handle, finding it locked. He breathed a sigh of relief, and checked the window - also locked, and the blind was down. He moved upstairs, checking every other window was locked and the curtains closed. Finally he checked the window of his living room - which was right next to the front door, but awkwardly behind a second sofa - that he never used. He adjusted the curtains, again and again, until there was not even the tiniest gap. He checked out of the letterbox again, but the street was silent.


He plonked back on his sofa and picked up the remote. He'd grown bored by the chat show, now, so he slapped at the buttons with his thumb.


Oh, a motoring show. He liked this one, even if everyone in the world thought the presenters as a triplet of maturity-challenged amoebas. He didn't care. They made him laugh.


As the presenters introduced the show, he rolled himself a spliff and lit it. He exhaled in satisfied relief just as the first 'sketch' of the show came on. He thumbed the remote, turning the volume up - only a tiny bit; he had to still be able to hear things outside.


And ten minutes passed before he did. Footsteps. He scrambled from the sofa, practically crawling to the door. He flipped the letterbox open again and stared.


A young, very attractive woman was strolling past with a dog. What a cruel act of genius! Distract him with a sexy woman, while the dog bites his jugular out and, while he lay there bleeding out, the woman would steal his house.




He silently wished her harm, and watched until she disappeared from sight. He had to check the back door again.


Back in the living room, he wanted to check to see if the woman or driver had returned. He avoided the curtains - anyone would notice someone looking out of curtains. It was obvious, and he couldn't let them know he was onto them. Instead he used the letterbox. The outside flap had fallen off a long time ago, and he'd not replaced it. It made it easier to watch.


Neither had returned. but he heard sudden gunfire. He threw himself backward, hitting his head on the balustrade of the stairs. He blinked and rubbed his head. No blood. Was that their plan? Kill him with surprise? It seemed a bit unreliable.


Another gunshot sounded - this time he could tell the gunshots were inside his house! He spun round, eyes quickly fixing on the source. The shooter would be hiding behind the TV.


He didn't own a gun. Maybe he should change that. But what was he going to do now? He didn't -


The TV showed the third presenter shooting a gun out of a window. Dave collapsed by the stairs and sighed in relief. Still, he'd better check the house.


Twenty minutes later, he was on the sofa again, casting repeating glanced toward the door. He ran over everytime he heard a noise, certain that the passing flock of geese were drones sent to bomb his house, or that the garbage truck were sifting through his rubbish to steal his identity. He knew he didn't throw anything like that away - he burned it - but he second guessed himself. Those bloody binmen! Acting like skill-less robots, but really were spies! Why was the government looking at him? Why not the Sikh six doors down, who supporteded Southampton when they lived in Sheffield? Why not the loud-mouthed mother of two, who didn't have a husband? Where did those kids come from? Planted! That's where. They were andriods, props to make her look harmless. What about the young Chinese couple who, every afternoon went out at around four, and didn't return until midnight? Were they trying to hack into his computer? He decided he'd unplug his computer from the internet when he wasn't using it. But what about his phone? He turned that off, then stared at it, wondering if they could hack it while it was off....


Another car passed, and he ran to the letterbox. This one was grey and the driver was a black man. He'd never considered that before. The blacks! Were they after him too? He wasn't racist, and had never had an argument with a black man - though he had had a row with the white, teenaged guy at the local chicken shop. Was that it? Were they going to assassinate him because of that? Were they hired by the government.


He took at deep breath and returned to the sofa. The spliff had extinguished itself in the ashtray, and he re-lit it, sitting down to smoke and watch the rest of the show that he'd paused. He wasn't having a repeat of the gunshot again.


He smoked the entire spliff and relaxed. Finally, evening came and he decided to get some dinner. A kebab. He phoned up, gave a fake name, and said he'd pick it up. The kebab, pizza, Indian and Chinese were all at the end of his street, on the highstreet. He walked out of his back door, so as not to be seen by surveillance, and down the alleyway. At the end he crossed the street and walked through the small park to the shops.


He picked up his kebab - watching carefully as they made it, wondering each time if the one they were carving from the tower of meat was his. He watched like a hawk for poison or anything that fell on the floor. Nothing did. He paid for his dinner and walked home, checking behind himself constantly that he was not followed.


Back at home he tentatively ate his kebab and chips, trying each bit to see it tasted right. It did. So maybe the Kebab shop were still not in the governments pockets. Yet. They will be, though, and the Turks were good at assassinating people, right? He'd played that game set in Istanbul in the 1500s. Everyone wanted to kill everyone else.


Dinner done he had a beer and watched a film. But after every scene - especially the tense ones - he had to look through the letterbox, at the world that conspired against him. No one came, but that just enhanced his determination that he was a target. No one knocked on his door - because the government was stopping them. Any day now they'd make their move.


After the film he went upstairs to bed, slept poorly as he usually did; waking up to every sound, from the wind to passing traffic.


And the next day, he'd go through it all again.




Next Theme: Hula Hoops and Haribo

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That was brilliant, has to be one of my favourites of yours man. I see we're still on the subject of existential crisis and general paranoia, a subject i enjoy getting in to. I feel like keeping this ball rolling. :^:

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Mokrie Dela

Definitely do. This is my favourite topic on the entire forum. It made my day seeing someone had replied to this. I hope people return more regularly to this section, too.


Brilliant? I didn't think so. When I write these One Shot "entries" I do so in literally one shot. Type, post. No edit, not proof read. It's my own little game if you will. Funny thing is, that whole short comes from me seeing someone I know who smoked a lot of weed. I was standing in his bedroom doorway talking to him, and a car drove past. He shot out of his chair and was curtain-twitching, head pivoting like watching two tennis players on speed (I should have used that!). It freaked me out. Don't do drugs. :)

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It was the detailing of the characters actions that was 'brilliant' for me. Unless someone else jumps in, I'll be thinking something up for the next theme.

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Go for it. I'll get on the next one.

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Outside Information


The clunk on the M4 satisfied my ears as the cocking handle snapped back. I surveyed our surroundings before giving the all clear signal to Tom and he leaped of the the stone wall and in to the mansion's grounds. He whistled for me to follow him over and to together we crept along the house walls towards an unlit window.


"You ready for this Tom?"


"You're asking this me now?"


"You're not at all nervous then?"


"No of course not, what's there to lose?"


"Good, I'm glad you think like that, 'cos we gotta stay sharp - on the ball ready for anything." He whispered sternly and snapping his his fingers with his last few words. From the outside, the mansion looked like any of the other higher class estates in the area, but Tom and I had been watching the premises for the last six months, trying to get a look in. However what we didn't see seemed more telling, considering Tom's intel. Never did a car or person leave or enter the estate; nor was anyone ever saw walking around the outside. All that ever changed here was the inside and out side lights turning on off as night and day passed. Stranger still, the same same lights would turn on each night at the same exact time; as though they were set to a programme. Only a select few would stay off each night. We stopped and sat underneath the sill of a window of a room was never lit.


"You spotted any cameras, Tom?"


"Not one, Frank"


"All right then. Gimme a sec."


The two of us were about to infiltrate the mansion and seek out who ever was running the joint. We were kitted out quite well, though however organised, armed or even number of people were inside was any ones guess. More allies would be a plus. In fact, the whole city throwing a mutiny would be ideal for what we were here for; however convincing anyone this mission was with any real purpose or even that we weren't some crazed conspiracy freaks was pretty much impossible. Even at this moment of almost no turning back did I have second thoughts. But Tom had shown me things that made it hard to question his theories or to him, facts.


"Well would you look at that, the window's totally unlocked."


"Don't you think the security's a little low for a place like this, Tom?"


"Yeah well, normal folk's houses have more security than here. Makes this place all the more subject to my info, to me. All right jump in, I'll keep watch."


"Seriously, You want me to go first?"


"Hey, I thought you wasn't nervous?"


"It's just, you're more trained in this sort of thing; I thought--"


"Don't worry about who's more trained. Just get in there and pop who ever you see. Even if they're offering you free f*cking cake. You take down whoever's inside. Remember what these twisted f*cks are doing to us."


"Okay man, chill out. I'm going in."


I swing my body through the window and land softly on the floor. Proud that I had made absolutely no sound on my footing. Unable to see even my self inside, I hesitantly turn my torch on with my M4 ready. Nobody else is in the room. Pivoting round I see there's nothing in the room. The walls, floor and ceiling are a set of perfectly flat, grey panes with absolutely no blemishes. It reminded me of those white rooms you see on T.V. where they hold interviews in front of a green screen. Walking forward, my steps make no noise, not even a scuffing sound from my boots as I dragged my heels along the floor. I beckon to Tom.


"Tom, it's clear, I mean really clear. You can jump in man, you gotta see this." At the far wall in front of me was a brown, wooden door with no frame around it. At a closer look, the door is completely flat with only the visual details of what a door would look like. My heart jumps when Tom shouts to me."


"Hey Frank, why didn't you give the all clear for me?"


"I did, like thirty seconds ago."


"Well I didn't hear, i thought something happened to you."


"Well dude, check this out. I mean this whole f*cking room, look at it."


"Oh man, what did I tell you? My info was f*cking right, this is the f*cking place man! Everything is true - well everything is a f*cking lie but this just f*cking proves it. These f*cking walls man, it's just a flat texture, it's made of nothing. Feel it, rub your hand against it, it doesn't feel of anything. It's just a collision."


"Why would they have a blank room?"


"I'm not sure, Possibly the interior doesn't fit the exterior of the mansion so they had to fill some space. Kind of lucky they even bothered, this could have just been a bottomless pit."


"A bottomless pit?"


"Well, from what I've read, some people - missing people. They sometimes fall through walls and into a bottomless pit, like some kind of underworld of nothing. The only account of this happening is from some guy who claimed he fell for what seemed like an eternity, until he just reappeared in an alley a few blocks from his house."


"Wait, this is f*cking crazy, that makes no sense."


"Well, him being the only one to tell this story, it's hard to know how true it is - that's for sure. But you do have to realise that in this world, where we are, everything about physics, biology and well science in general is made up. It's created. Everything you see is made by hand, I don't mean brick by brick, but asset by asset."


"Well, err check this door out here. Look here, it's just like - a picture of a door."


"Hmm, I was about to say we're out of luck getting into the mansion through here but this door could be a good sign. It's just a texture but it could mean there's something on the other side."


If I wasn't convinced yet, Tom was about to make it certain that everything he told me was true. He approached the door and stuck his hand through the wood like board like nothing was there. Most of what Tom told me before mostly came off of as everything is bullsh*t and don't believe anything and all the rest. Only he had a load of solid information to back it up. Though it's easy to accept the reality you're in and anything that challenges that is difficult to believe, seeing really is believing. Admittedly I came along with him at first out of curiosity, rather than a true motive. I never actually got a real grasp of what he truly meant by it all until now. And now I knew he was on to something.


"Frank, there's a real door on the inside. Amazingly, it's unlocked. So I'm going to open it. When I do, we won't be able to see on the other side but there's a good chance whomever may be on the other side will be. Think of it as a one way mirror, or something. So go prone and fire if any bullets come our way. You got it?"


"Sure, I'm ready, Do it!"


"f*ck it opens outwards, so I'm gonna have to have to throw it open."


"Go for it man, I'm good."


"Okay it's open!"


And nothing. No alarms, no bullets no shouting. Though we couldn't see, the continued silence gave us enough courage to enter the door. And through it, we had entered the mansion. No guards, no people. Devoid of any activity, besides from the two of us. The inside was a huge lobby with duplicates of brown, wooden doors all around and all had frames. Real looking, 3D doors too. The floor was a solid marble spread with patterned black scrawlings. A wide, marble staircase with thick oak posts and iron banisters that lead up to a room with wide opening. Naturally, it was our first point of interest. We climbed up with our guns ready, side by side, focusing on the opening of the room upstairs seeing into it more and more as we reached the top. We could see metal cupboards and desks, then computer screens and dials on switchboards. More of the room came into view as walked over the last steps and finally a white coat with a bald head was standing behind the tables.


"Target, twelve O' clock, go loud!" An instinctive response, Tom shouted. I hesitated from firing, while Tom unloaded without restraint. The man was quick to duck behind the metal cupboards while Tom fired into the clanging sheet metal until his clip had emptied. He quickly reloaded and we both entered the room and stopped at the other side of the the apparatus. The metal cupboards had no dents or even a scratch. A frail, scared voice came from behind.


"Please, please stop shooting. Nothing can harm you here."


"Shut up maggot and get up."


"Will you shoot me?"


"It'll be too late once you find out you spit f*ck, now on your feet!"


"Please, calm yourself. I'm just a technician that works here. I don't know who your looking for but it can't be me."


"Shut the f*ck and stand up with your hands behind your head."


"I don't want to die."


"Tom, give him a chance."


"What if he's armed?"


"I promise you I'm not."


"Shut the f*ck up! Besides that, You agreed with me earlier, we kill anything inside this f*cked up place. Don't go soft on me Frank"


"But he's just an old man, he's harmless."


"When will you understand Frank; nothing - here - is f*cking - real! And that f*cking coward sh*tting in is pants is part of why that is so."


The old man cautiously peeked his head from behind the cupboard with his hands up.


"Wha - what, you know?" Tom quickly aimed back at him as the old man ducked again.


"Know what?"


"Please don't shoot. I can - I can tell what you want to know."


"Give him five minutes Tom, Christ!"


The old man peered over again slowly and Tom Kept his sights on him.


"How do you know?" The old man asked.


"Let's just say I have some outside information. Now you have five minutes to explain yourself before I put a bullet between your eyes."


"Please, I beg that you don't --"


"Why are we in this hell?"


"Oh, I wouldn't call it that. This world is perfect."


"Like hell it is."


"No really, this world is set up beautifully for all that reside in it. It's all really for you more than anything. And the whole simulation is quite amazing, really it is."


"So it is a simulation then?"


"Well of course. The programme is a perfect balance based purely on environment and goals in order to satisfy human emotion, optimally. And you get to live your lives thoroughly thanks to it."


"Bullsh*t. It's a prison with parameters set up to deceive our emotions in order to make us submit to it.!."


"That's really a very cynical way of looking at it, if you don't mind me seeing. But - but an interesting one I may add."


"Why are we here?"


"Well, quite simply for population control. The simulation was set up to literally house billions, even trillions of people without ever taking up any great amounts of space or resources, besides electricity and water and a fine blend of constant nutrition of course. The simulation is in fact called the Houser Programme."


"What's this room, in fact what's this mansion for?"


"Well the mansion is just here to serve as an unsuspecting building for where we operate."


"Uhuh and this room?"


"Why, this - is the control room."


"So we are under control?"


"Well, the world you're in is, but you are free to live live your lives without restraint."


"You control the world - from here?"


"Any changes we see fit to make are usually done from this room yes. But any changes we do make is done over a progressive and natural process, it really is wonderful to witness."


"Are you from the outside the simulation?"


"I'm sorry?"


"You heard you me, sick f*ck."


"Well - yes, I am - but - but only because I work on the simulation."


"So you don't feel like living in this - wonderful world you've made."


"Well - I never had the need to, I --"


"How do you get back?"


"I, err - what?"


"Tell you mother f*cker, how do you get back, or I'm going to shoot you dead!"


"Well I can show you, but do really want to go back?"


"Show me!"


"But consider the questions you have to raise for yourself. Is the world on the outside really any better?"


"Don't stall me."


"No I'm being quite sincere. You may not like what you find. There's good reason you live here. What if the outside world is much worse, a nightmarish land. What if it's much the same as the one you're in but it's--"


"enough with that, you have five seconds to show me."


"Okay, okay! Please! Just follow me."


He walks us over to the far left of the room, where at the far wall, in front of us is a flat, brown door, without a frame. The old man leans on the right side of it, while Tom joins him on the left. The old man explains what to do.


"You see, the door is just a plain texture. Not solid at all. You simply step right through."


"You go first, old man."


"Well, all right." The old man turns to face the door and motions to step through when Tom fires a bullet though his skull at point blank.


"What the hell did you do that for?"


"I just wanted to see if he'd go for it, relax man."


"f*ck, You didn't need to do that Tom!"


"f*ck the sick maggot, I was always gonna shoot him."


"But he was all right. He could have shown us more on the other side."


"f*ck it. Look, there's one thing I never told you before because, well I figured it kind of trivial considering the rest of what I showed you. But here it is. You know Haribos right?"


"Yeah, yeah of course I do."


"Yeah, well I read that in the real world, Haribo is the collective name for some kind of sick fetish. You know like the gummy bear for instance. That's a gay fat man with know teeth who'll suck you off. And Starmix is the name for a mixture sh*t and spunk. Yeah I'm serious. And I don't have to tell you what a jelly bean is. Same thing goes for Hoola Hoops. Another word for anal sex."


"That's good to know, what's you're point?"


"My point is, these sick c*nts, like this dead man here, take these things and use them as euphemisms and turn them into products and that they sell to kids. It's sick joke and they're laughing at us verything time we walk in to a 7/11 and buy in to their little joke. It really makes me angry that. I guess it's the little things that get to you the most sometimes."


"I guess."


"So killing this old man was partly for that. These people have no soul. They're twisted and f*cked up and I have no remourse for them. So don't be shocked if on the other side, a bunch of them come welcoming us, offering us free cake and I gun each one them down. And I'd expect you to do the same because sure enough; that cake is a f*cking lie. You understand Frank?"


"Yeah, I do."


"Now let's get ourselves through this portal. Just think what could be on the other side - what reality might actually be."


"Full of Haribo fetishists?"


"Any thing's possible!"


"We ready for this?"


"Let's do it."


We both walk through the door texture and enter a black void. The door soon vanishes behind us and we're stuck, floating in nothing. I cannot see Tom, but I can hear him. No way of telling how long we're here but with nothing to see or do, however long it had been was excruciating to experience. Only our brief conversations and the sensation of movement that gave you sense of progression kept us from going insane. But there was no telling if it would end. But finally, with no real transition, we found ourselves on a barren, dried desert landscape. A tarmac road cut through vast plain with blurred, grey mountains circling the view.


"This is it!" I shouted.


"This is it."


We walked down the road, with our gear still with us, hoping to hitch a ride. The world was very much familiar to the simulated one. But to me, on some kind of higher level, it felt real. I looked at Tom who instead looked unimpressed. Perhaps he expected more. Though maybe it would be hard for some people to accept reality ever again after one of them had been proven to be false.




Next Theme: A seven way showdown



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Jack and Clara are attempting to escape LA with Clara’s father’s money; Martin King, a well-known drug-ring leader and owner of one of the largest criminal enterprises in LA. Paul is an out and down photographer who is desperate for cash, desperate enough to kill Jack and Clara. Lewis is a homeless man, who saved Clara as Jonesy, a hired hitman attempted to kill Clara with a sniper shot to the heart. Kiara and Simon are a bank-robbing couple, who were hired by Martin to collect Clara and kill Jack. The showdown happens in a parking lot outside LAX.


LAX, night, with rain pouring down with the light show of thunder above, exploding, shaking the ground as the Suzuki bike skidded, and the scrawny frame of Paul jumped off the bike, his leather jacket dripping as he did. Jack stood tall, his arm covering Clara whose blonde hair became damp and messy in the stormy abyss of the car park. With a bony finger pointing at them, Paul spoke: “Give me that bag, now!”


“Stay back!” Jack screamed loudly and moved back.


“I don’t wanna kill you, yeah? But I will.”


“Just please,” began Clara as she shoved Jack’s hand away, “we’ve been doing this all damn day. Please, I’m begging you. Just stop. We need this, we can’t stay here with him, he’s a psychotpath!”


“What? Who?”


The sound of a car skidding broke through the rumbling in the skies, an then the Dodge Viper came into view. Two frames stepped from it, a portly woman with a black ponytail and a yellow dress, and on the other side was a tall man, in a business-suit that got darker with the rain dabbing it. They strolled forward, each of them holding pistols, the man’s; a 357. And the woman, a Glock 17. They continued to move forward and held them high. “Finally, out in the f*ckin’ open, ain’t we?” The man spoke with a crooked smile. “Kiara?”


“Yeah, babe?” The woman in the yellow dress aimed at the photographer and squeezed the trigger. The Glock 17 roared and Paul fell backwards, tightening up and hitting the floor with a gasp as his eyes went white and his body went limp. Kiara continued to walk. “f*cking paparazzi get on my nerves—now, you two, move.”


Clara stood, shaking in the cold. A shape was already in view behind Kiara when a pair of leather-gloved hands gripped her neck and her shooting arm. She let out a shrill scream but it was cut short from a tightening grip. “Who are—“


“Shoot him, Si’,” said Kiara through clenched teeth.


“Let her go,” said Simon as he aimed his 357 at them.



The man behind her was pristine, with green raincoat, a woolly hat, and black aviators shimming in the headlights of the Dodge Viper. As both of them stood off, Clara held onto Paul. Clara could only think of one thing in those moments; the man who had saved her, the Scottish homeless man back in the apartment who was shot by, supposedly, one of these psychos working for her father, King. The man had tried his hardest to help them escape the building, and he had done so at the risk of his own life. She had his death on her conscience. Was the cash really worth death?


“I SAID PUT IT DOWN, NOW,” screamed Simon, saliva flying from his mouth, his eyes fervent with wild anger, screaming as loud as he was.


“I told you to put it down, too late—“


Clara and Jack began to move back when suddenly the man in aviators yelled to them: “You two move another step and I shoot you first.”


They froze. Up ahead there was a distant honking, as if somebody in a truck was close-by. The honking got louder, and louder, until the bright glare of lights shone on all five of them. The truck, a hulking beast carrying a container, honked louder until it was a few yards in the distance. The man in the aviators fired at it. From where Clara stood she couldn’t see who was driving. Jack grabbed her hand and turned, sprinting. They both turned and ran when suddenly the muffled shot of something similar went out, and then Jack was on the ground. Clara let out a roar of shock and disbelief and bent down to Jack, tears in his eyes. The truck turned to her and circled her, the sound of bullets ricocheting onto metal could be heard over the thunder and lightning but she only looked down at Jack’s body, bleeding, and still.


The light bathed her, but she remained still as the shape exited the vehicle and came close to her. “Just take it!” she screamed. “JUST f*ckING TAKE IT. I DON’T WANT IT.”


“G’up ya feckin’ c*nt—we movin’.”


She looked up and covered her face, hiding the light she recognized the face. The homeless man. “What are yo—I can’t leave him.”


“Lewis is gonna be flankin’ us, ya daft bastard! Is he breathin’?”


“I don’t know—Oh God, I don’t know.” She knelt down to feel a pulse, but the thunder made it hard to calm herself.


“f*ck this,” said the Homeless Man as he scooped up Jack and threw him over his shoulders.


“Where are the others?” asked Clara.


“Dead—crushed em.”


“Oh Jesus.”


The sound of gunfire spraying went off close-by. “GOD DAMN IT, I’LL f*ckIN’ KILL YOU, JOHN YOU SCOTTISH f*ck.”


“Get in, lass,” said John as he climbed in, grabbing her hand. She slammed the door, and let Jack’s body rest on her as John floored the truck and sped off. In the mirror there were mangled shaped on the floor, and then in the distance there was a lone figure, standing, aiming right for the truck. The mirror suddenly flew off with a shatter, and then they turned a corner and drove off into the night.


Next theme: Three Australians at a convenience store.

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Mokrie Dela

Good stuff guys. Alright. Let's try it.


"Y'alright?" Chris said to Karl. Karl replied with a nod.


"How's it hanging, Chris?"


"Goin' ace, mate, yeah."


The store clerk stared at the blonde and fair-haired men, like most store clerks do when foreigners talk, trying to place their accents. Australians weren't super-rare, but they weren't the most common type of tourist.


"Didn't expect to see you in a bottle-o. Thought you were done with the Ambers. AA meetings not working out?"


"Yeah, nah, they're useless."


Another man walked into the off-license. He regarded the two chatting Australians, but walked right past them, barely avoiding walking into them.


"Hey, mate, you got a problem?" One of the two men asked.


The newcomer paused, turned and stared for a second before reverting his gaze to the magazines.


"Hey, my pal was talking to you, moron."


The newcomer turned and replied. "Get out of my face."


Recognition swept across the two Australians' faces, quickly followed by rage.


"Hey, Chris, we got us a sheepshagger, here."


"What kinda dill tries it on with to Aussie blokes?"


"A soon to be dead one."


The clerk watched as the two Australians jumped for the newcomer - who also sounded Australian to him, He guessed it was a regional rivalry, like Geordies and Mackems, English and French, or English and Germans... or Spanish. Damn, the English had a lot of people they hated.


"Alright, guys," the clerk said, in his west country accent. "Break it up, will we?"


He stepped forward to try to stop the fight when everything changed. All three men turned and it took several second for him to see it. Or them. Three of them, cold and dark.


The Australians had guns, and they were pointed at his head.


"Keep cool, and she'll be right."


"What?" the clerk asked.


"Shut the f*ck up, and we won't kill you, you f*cking pommie."


The clerk swallowed hard and nodded.


"Now open the till, yeah?" the newcomer ordered. The clerk obeyed and with the no-sale button. The coins jangled as the metal draw leapt open.


"Chris?" Karl said, positioning himself at the front of the store.


Chris moved toward the till, waving for the clerk to step back, which he did, pressing his back against the wall. It took barely ten seconds for him to empty the money into his bag. Then he turned around. "Cameras?" he asked.


The clerk pointed at the black dome in the middle of the ceiling.


"No you dickhead." the third guy said with a sigh. "Where's the tapes?"


The clerk pointed toward the back room, and the man hurried in that direction. There was a banging noise and he returned, DVD in hand.


"Got it," he said.


"Alright," Chris said to the clerk. Sit down. Wait five minutes. Five, alright, then call the cops or you boss. Any less, and a bullet will be coming through that window, alright?"


The clerk nodded and slid to the floor.


The men hurried out of the store. Outside they turned down an alley and sprinted to their car.


"Did you see the look on his face?" Chris said, his Australian accent now replaced by his native Yorkshire one.


Karl laughed, "He totally bought it."


The third man nodded. "Nice act. Think this'll work on a bigger scale?"


"It's worked so far, hasn't it?" Karl said as they got in the car. Inside, they pulled their wigs off. Karl was a skinhead, Chris sported a ginger buzz cut, and the third man a black high-top fade


"I can't wait to wash all this f*cking fake tan off me," Chris said, starting the engine. "Feel like Jordan, for f*ck sake."


"Or Wayne Rooney's girlfriend. What's her name?"


"Posh Spice? Victoria."


"No, you bell-end. That's Beckham. It's Abby."


"Ah why the f*ck would I know. They're all orangutangs. Man-u are sh*t, anyway."


"Says the Bolton fan."


"Better than supporting Bradford, you prick."


"Say that to Jose," Karl said. They all laughed.


"What's the take, anyway?" Chris asked.


"Pretty good," Karl said. "Pull over, will you? I'll share it out."


Chris did so and turned to see--


The gun pointed at his face.


"Sorry ye wee prick," Karl said, his voice now... Scottish?! "I ain't sharing this. Kinda funny, Don't ye think?"

Karl pulled the trigger and turned and shot the third guy. He took the keys from the ignition and got out of the car. Tossing the keys in his hand, he looked back into the car.


"Thanks for the keys to the stash, ye peices o' shat." He slammed the door and walked off.



Next Theme : "The Worst Joke..... in the World"

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arch stanton

"The Worst Joke....in the World"


The year was 1984, and Tanisha Shoguns had found, through the suspicion of her partner's career, classified documents containing dialogue from personnel at unknown CIA locations that had investigated extraterritorial space vehicles. What Tanisha never expected was that her partner knew she had read these classified files. He had placed her into a 'ground-hog day' type scenario, replaying the day she had uncovered those files of the dialogue. After several times of those ground-hog day situations, she became aware of this endless loop. Tanisha knew she had to kill her partner. It didn't go to plan. He knew her plan. "How much of it did you read?.. tell me that at least.." he muttered.. cornering her in their bedroom.


"Enough.. the alien technology deconstructed gravity to the astrophysicists. It's a great read, I just can't put it down, " she said softly, before dropping a large marble onto the floor. It suddenly lightened the room with a burning yellow and dark orange.Gasping, he grabbed the knife and charged her. In a split second, a huge red fireball enlightened the walls, floors and ceiling. He screamed, with visions of hell burning into his retina. The burning hardened skin turning black. His head leaned backwards and jaw fall fell off. She however, had planned to escape through a portal that caused said explosion. Her partner, barley alive and burning screamed, "That was the one thing you never say when travelling dimensions. Bad jokes always end badly!" and both exploded into a huge fire ball. Fin.


Next title: A heist gone wrong and a cab driver

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slimeball supreme


The wool of the mask, drenched in sweat, stuck to his face like adhesive, hot. The polar opposite of the cold metal lump stuck in his hands, ready to drop. Loose.


Benedict felt ill. The world was slurry, ears ringing, his eyes trained on the shop assistant loading items into the bag, hands shaking. In that split second, maybe the past few, they must've felt alike. They were both in situations they didn't want to be in, they both looked ready to vomit, and both had lost an ally.


The shop manager, a Mexican guy with bad facial hair, was slumped in the corner, his gut split like a turkey, the filling spilling onto the floor, past his bloody hands and bloodier shotgun. He was old, grey behind the ears, and most importantly, dead. Parker, meanwhile, wasn't gone yet, the shells in his leg drilled through the bone, agonizing, Felix kneeling over him while he keeled over in fetal position.


"Please... please don't--"


"Shut the f*ck up! Shut the f*ck up!" Benedict's gun got closer to the kid, the skinny white boy with curls, as he desperately threw stuff, pottery or jewels or whatever was on the shelf, into the bag. He was sputtering, eyes red. He tried to focus but his attention was waned by the wailing behind him, the wailing he, in a way, felt responsible for.


"F*ck, you hear that?"




"You hear!" Felix repeated. "Sirens! F*ck you, Benny!"


"Bro, please, bro..." Benedict couldn't muster up the strength. "Can we sort this out when we get back to the--"


"He's gonna f*ckin' die, dude! He's f*ckin' gonna bleed out!" Parker would've probably agreed, but he was too busy spitting red to really pay attention to the conversation. "If we'd just- if we'd f*cking just--"


He was interrupted by the bag hitting the table, the attendant throwing his hands up, eyes wide. "Take it!" he said. "P- just go!" Grunting in response, Benedict threw the bag over his back, Felix doing the same with his bloodied buddy. When they'd finally turned to face the door, the kid had raced off, ran out the back door.


Slam. The glass doors flew open, spread apart by a steel toed boot forcing through. Sprinting onto the nearby intersection, lit by red lights, they moved through traffic, weaving through stopped cars as their passengers ducked under their dashboards.


"Yo- yo!" Felix started banging on a window, a random car - or moreso, a cab. Benedict, a little ways away, turned to face: "What the f*ck are you doing?" he shouted.


"Yo, we get a driver! We need to get out quick!" Inside, the cabbie, an older looking Pakistani guy with round spectacles and patchy hair, looked like he was about to piss himself.


Benedict sighed, an exasperated sigh, and aimed his weapon. "Unlock the f*cking doors!"



"Dog, it's simple."


They were in the back yard, Parker slumped over on a plastic chair, Pabst in hand, Felix eyeing Benedict from the chain link fence, leaning by. He was probably the 'grittier' of the three lookwise, compensating for how much of a chicken sh*t he was being right now. It kept everyone guessing, really.


"Is it?" he asked. "I mean, you know, we done some sh*t, you know, but like--"


"If they load the junk they got up into a duffel then we set," Benedict continued. "We put that sh*t on eBay, man, we're gonna be rolling in it. And that's just sale money, think how much they got in the register, or in a f*cking safe. We'd make a killing."


They were Vietnamese kids, second generation born on the same few blocks in Allendale, central Oakland, the pawn shop itself a few miles down in Fruitvale. With their 'economic situation', as Felix put it a few weeks prior, it was hard to just make do with what they had. These kids weren't the type to toil in a fast food place or at the pharmacy on High Street, they were proactive, a weeks pay at a place like that could be made in less than 5 minutes with a gun in their hand.


"Yea', bro," Parker affirmed. He was chubby faced, had squared glasses and this forwards facing SF Giants cap. "Yo, my uncle come into some sh*t man. Knows a guy who knows a guy who... you get it. Get us some nice tools."




"Look, Felix, dude. It's a lot simpler than you're thinking it ain't. We won't even need a car, man, we just run a couple blocks and we're outta there. I don't think pawn-o's got silent alarms or nothing. You're acting like it's a f*ckin' jewelry store."


"Don't they sell jewels tho'? Like, not just jewels but other sh*t. Knick knacks."


"Exactly! It's knick knacks," Parker said. "It's all insured anyway, so it's not like they're gonna care."


Felix kinda looked at the ground. "You sure?"


Benedict smiled. "I'm sure, man."



The cabbie drove like he had something to lose, dodging the occasional car in the city's sparse suburbs, dark treads in it's wake. They needed to get home. Parker's house had painkillers, bandages too, which would be fine. Everything would be fine, Benedict hoped, his stubby not leaving the position it was aimed. The driver swore under his breath in his native tongue, knuckles white and fingers shaking.


"W- w-"




The steering wheel span, taking a right on Foothill Boulevard. If there was a tail, the kids had to shake it. The driver sputtered; "Don't kill me, man, I'm just a stiff, man I'm just--"


"Shut up! Drive!"


Parker seethed, "Goddamn it, goddamn it! Goddamn it!"


"You know we wouldn't be in this f*cking mess if we--"


"Felix!" Benedict snapped. "Jesus Christ! We j- just... we gotta--"


"We gotta what?! You're ignoring the big picture here, buddy," Felix spat, blood dripping from his hands as he felt up the wound. "You f*cked us!"




"You- you f*cking f*cked us! Parker ain't gonna f*cking walk again, we're f*cked!"


"Calm down!!!"


"I can't f*cking ca-"


The driver shouted. There were cops in the road. The air inside the cab, hot, felt ready to boil the inside, like everyone was in an oven. The pigs down the alleyway were ready to open the door.




"What?!" the Pakistani turned quickly, facing the man holding the gun.




He span, threw the brakes, grinding the pavement as the car skidded across the road, out of control. Right through a storefront window.


Next Theme: Prison Yard Blues

Edited by slimeball supreme

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Mokrie Dela

Well one day they grabbed me and threw me in jail.

And when I appealed they denied me bail.

They locked me up and threw away the key.

They said I was a menace to society.


All because the Sheriff, well he did not like me.

Said I was a little too fond of the whiskey.

He said he found my fists to be a little too free.

And that one night one struck his deputy.


Well let me tell you the deputy didn't even have a bruise.

And that everyone fell for the Sheriff's ruse.

When I saw the judge I knew I was going to lose,

And so I'm stuck here, I've got the prison yard blues.


They serve us supper of cold soup and stale bread.

And only a sack of hay on which to rest my head,

When I wake ny throat is dry and my eyes are res.

I swear they'd even find fault with me if I was dead.


Once a day they march us out into the yard.

For recreation, but but I tell you even that is hard.

With the sorrowful sun blocked out by the metal bars,

And surrounded by angry men and angrier prison guards.


Well I was sitting there in the afternoon when an inmate asked me if I'd heard the news.

That he had a plan and if I helped we'd be out real soon,

I said yes, because I've had enough of these prison yard blues


Well one stormy night when the moon was hidden by cloud,

It was raining and the wind was hollering real loud.

The tunnel was dug and the thunder masked our sound,

We were smiling and whispering: soon, were freedom bound!


Then finally we broke through to blissful air.

With the heavy downpour soaking into our hair.

As we began to cheer who else did we see standing there?

None other that The Warden! and his unforgiving stare.


Well they dragged me back kicking and screaming but I was fighting too.

They threw me in the hole after I'd knocked a guard's tooth loose.

Do you know how it feels to have hope completely abandon You?

I'll never escape, these dreary prison yard blues.



Been a while. My same old rule, and pretty fun!


Next theme: Eat your way to success.

Edited by Mokrie Dela

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The Gorge

He was sat on his mechanical contraption that looked like a bench on wheels. The wheels, resembling somewhat of what you’d see on the bottom of a trolly at your local supermarket, creaked under Jimmys gargantuan weight. People remarked to themselves quietly in the restaurant, the ones who were not a part of the celebratory meal; a layout of everything from clams to steamed-lobsters; with side plates of mash potatoes, gravy, green beans, and a huge chocolate cake that spelt out “RECORD BREAKER” in big marshmellows.


Jimmy himself was already chowing down on a rack of ribs with the sauce covering his moon-like face. He took in deep breaths as two thin, big-titted blondes stood either side of him. A flash of a camera went off and he jumped, half a bone in his mouth and then let out a muffled giggle as he looked to the girl on the right. She smiled and nodded at him but her makeup couldn’t hide the grim disgust she felt underneath. She could tell he stunk. Jimmy waved at the press as they filtered into the room as if to look at an endangered animal at a zoo. Jimmy didn’t care.


“Gorge, Gorge! New York Times—what do you have to say about your record breaking weight, and do you think it was worth it? And do you think anybody will surpass you?”


“What do I think?” replied Jimmy as he grabbed a chunk of a chicken leg and began chowing down harder. “I says John Minnoch who? Guy was tiny—“ he let out a roar of laughter and the people around him, his dietary team, his friends, and the remnants of his also large family all bellowed wildly, slamming the table, with others in the restaurant wondering if a richter scale was going off somewhere.


Chicken and drool dribbled down Jimmys chin as more reporters filled the room. “Jimmy! Marc Aldous—The Enquirer Daily—you’ve won the record of fattest man in existence, going over a staggering fifteen-hundred pounds in weight. Do you have any victory words?”


“Mmmyeah, I do—“ he bit harder onto the chicken. “I’m a winner baby—I’m number one and I’m planning on staying there. I’ve eaten my way to success and ya know what? I’mma keep going, yessiree.” He threw the chicken away and then grabbed a gallon of milk from a bucket on ice. He chugged loudly, spilling it down his custom-made shirt which if it had a voice, would beg for euthanasia.


“We got any twinkies?!” screamed Jimmy.


He was handed a plate of golden bars, shimmering with syrup and grabbed one, and then another, and then another, filling his mouth wide and then mixing it with more milk into his mouth.


But something went wrong. His eyes slowly bulged and air refused to seep in. He tried to spit out the Twinkies but nothing else came. The two models next to him stepped away and the room exploded into shrieks and screams as he quickly began to choke and panic. He slamed his hands on the table. A waiter ran over, and like hugging a wall of cushions, realized the heimlich would do no good. Jimmy smashed harder onto the table, feeling the bulge of mush in his throat and finally felt his eyes pop from his head.


Like a whale after its death, there was a deep rumbling, and suddenly—Jimmy The Gorge Benchleys stomach exploded against the table spraying all of the food with blood, half-digested ribs, and a full, soggy Twinkie. There was a silence for a moment until finally the screams came, and then nothing but the sound of gas escaping the humungous mouth of the worlds once fattest man.


Next theme: Nicholas Sparks level of sh*t romance.

Edited by Ziggy455

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