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Post by Biblically Accurate Angel on Jan 14, 2019 0:16:11 GMT -5
Skunkworks I was not exactly sure what I should call this. Actually, I'm still not sure if what you're reading is going to be entertaining in any way, but I'm writing this anyway so I guess we'll all have to wait and see. What is this about? I don't know. I tried figuring that out, but nothing revealed itself to me. This is just a collection of stories I was inspired to write for some reason or other, and now that they are in existence we'll all have to make the best of things. Parts of this is 3WSR lore which are finally being written about - others are random things that no one thought was possible as a story or wanted. Please, do the decent thing - cast me aside into the wastepaper basket I belong in. I'm so confused. Your esteemed Author
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Post by Biblically Accurate Angel on Jan 14, 2019 0:16:48 GMT -5
Space Race
"Alright, lads," said the Bronze Mage to the VEC-ites, "it's time to finally beat the Colorfolk at their own game." "What game would that be sir?" "Quiet, you!" he snarled. "I'm not in the mood to play games today. Now, my plan is simple: we're gonna build a rocket ship." "Wait, how many?" "Uno, motherfucker! We're gonna build a rocket ship and beat the Colorfolk at their own game." "So the Colorfolk are in the rocket business?" "What?" "You said we'll beat them at their own game; is that game rocket science?" "Shut the fuck up."
Well the word got around, they said, "VEC is insane, man!" Man In Blue got the news and promptly went, "No way, man!" Decided that the timing was right for a fight, So he organized a rocket building himself that very night.
"Alright now," he said, "what are we doing?" "Building a rocket, sir!" "When do we want it built?" "Before VEC, sir!" "How do you build a rocket?" "Like a jigsaw, sir!" "What are we gonna call it?" "Erdogovern VXIII, sir!" "Excellent, keep working!"
It isn't common knowledge, but Man In Blue's favorite lunch is a bologna sandwich, with cucumbers and chips and an iced tea. That very next day he had sat down at the GHC&LC (Great Hall Cafeteria & Luncheon Co.) and was just saying grace when the telephone rang. "Mother!" he gasped. "Haven't I asked you not to ring when I'm on important business?" "My god, is lunch really that important to you?" "How did you know I was dining?" "I'm your mother, boy, I have eyes everywhere." "Goddammit." "Now don't swear at me, you fucking stick! I was just wondering if you were coming to your Great Uncle Albert's knighting." "What's he getting knighted for?" "His services to the bee industry." "Eh, I'll keep an open schedule."
When he finally hung up and went back to his lunch, he found a note in his soup. "Hold up, where'd the soup come from?" He read the note, which stated in these polite terms: "GFYS" Testing revealed that the soup was laced with cyanide, which explained the death of Man In Black Forest Ham's daughter. The burial is set for next Tuesday; please avoid bringing flowers and instead donate to her favorite charity: Porn Shops For The Clinically Deformed.
Anyways, this meant that there was a traitor in the Great Hall. It was now their duty to sniff the cuntstuffer out. The clues at the soup scene weren't very many, but they did find a green feather, which they assumed came from Man In Peacock, but that was no good because it wouldn't be politically correct to lynch a member of the LGBTQIAP+ community. Thus the trail went cold and people stopped caring about the fact that one of them was a cold blooded killer. To be fair, after the whole orcs thing, they were all cold-blooded killers.
Meanwhile, VEC were busy working on their rocket ship. It was at this point when Priori decided to ask BM what they would even use the damn thing for. "What do you think I am, a fucking psychic?" "Sorry, I was just wondering..." "We're only doing this so we can have a bigger monopoly on this island." "I see. So you literally only decided to build a rocket so that we can say we built a rocket and the Colorfolk didn't?" "Stop asking so many questions, little girl." "Rot in hell, Pixie Stix," and Priori gave him the finger. The Bronze Mage misinterpreted this gesture and next morning the pair awoke to find themselves in bed.
Aside from this trivial shit on the part of the leaders, the actual members of the two factions were making some decent progress, and by the end of the week, they had completed the actual rocket ships. VEC got set up to launch. They were just beginning the countdown when the Colorfolk drove up, blazing down trees and destroying precious wildlife with the Erdagovern VXIII in tow. "Surprise, motherfuckers!" shouted Man In Blue. "Fuck!" screamed BM. "Everyone, speed launch this shit!" But the Colorfolk were fast too. They stopped and before even checking for final issues, got it on launch. The two ships took off at the same time. Cheers came from both sides as billowing smoke flew out.
Then the Colorfolk's collided with VEC's and the ships crashed to the ground, annihilating half of the island's railway system and killing at least 41 people, including Grog, an orc descendant, and Man In Spaceship Orange, two astronauts with a bright future ahead of them, cut before their time.
Five court orders, numerous fines, and a long lecture from the Honourable Markus H. Mike later, the two factions put an end to their space program and decided to keep their feet on the ground, permanently. Then came the Space Arc...
This story is dedicated to Sir Albert Westingham-Erdagovern. We wish to thank him for all he has done in the bee industry in his 80+ years, and may he enjoy a pint with Her Majesty and live long throughout the years.
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Post by Biblically Accurate Angel on Jan 14, 2019 0:17:11 GMT -5
Back From The Edge
The King of the Pirates was dead. This was an undisputable fact. On the very verge of another success for the piratical empire, the Piracy International Coalition, a stray cannonball had hit Nelson White, and taken the man's life far too early. They won the day, but with their leader down, all seemed lost.
Nelson White had begun the PIC after his father was killed by pirates and quickly built a reputation as he connected them all together to form one large group, growing faster than anyway could have envisioned. Over 1,000 ships now sailed with them, and they were a force to be reckoned with. No ship stood a chance, and even armies of entire nation found it fruitless to fight them, and preferred surrender before all else.
But now White was dead. It seemed as though this dream would whither and fade.
Andrew Deathbringer, the First Mate of the PIC, did not wish to take the place of his fallen captain, and thus it was commonly agreed upon that Sir Richard Ffoxington would become the new PIC leader. He was a British admiral who had been placed in charge of a treasury ship which became under siege by the pirates. Quickly taking the opportunity, he surrendered and was annexed into the Coalition. That said, he only ever was trying to look out for himself, and often opposed White's leadership if it meant less of a chance for him to make some dough. Rumours even circulated that White was planning on marooning Ffoxington, but his death came too soon for that. With White now out of the picture, Ffoxington seemed unopposed and would likely seize command as soon as possible.
One man, however, realized that Ffoxington in charge would mean issues for the PIC. White governed over his men firmly but kindly, and treated any prisoners like guests. Ffoxington thought he was too soft on the men. With the latter in charge, things wouldn't be half as good as they were with White. Only out to better himself, Ffoxington would run the organization into the mud. Thus it was that Balthassar Essex formally opposed Ffoxington's taking the lead. He spoke of the dangers of such a "pickle-lipped, skin-sucking bastard" running their empire, and soon had built up a massive following, enough to rival Ffoxington's own.
Ffoxington soon realized he had a dreadful adversary in Essex, and sent men to kill him off. The men failed to do the job, and failed to return, so he sent more men. These too did not come back. He went through about 20 men until he realized that this just wasn't going to work out. "If you want to get a job done, you better do it yourself," he muttered to himself as he embarked to hunt down Essex.
When he arrived at the man's cabin, he debated on whether or not to go on the offensive or the defensive. He decided upon the former. Kicking in the door, he shouted, "Get up Essex! It's your dying day! The angel of death has come!" "Oh he has," said a voice, "but it's not who you think." A being dropped down from the ceiling and blocked the doorway. Ffoxington wheeled around. "Goddammit, you're not Essex!" "That is very true," said this unidentified pirate. "Stand down and get out of my way; I have no beef with you." "Oh, but I take grave issue with you, particularly the fact that you're still alive." "Wh-what? Now hold on -" "You came here looking for Essex, did you not? Wanted to kill him, I believe? Too bad. He isn't in right now. Want me to leave a message?" He back Ffoxington up against a wall. The man was speechless and visibly terrified. "Nothing? Too bad. I guess we haven't met. You're too busy wanting to rule our Piracy International Coalition, and I won't allow that. You may have been looking for something else tonight, but I'm sure you never wanted to fight the Fucking Slayer..." Ffoxington tried to scream, but he couldn't. No sound came out of him, as Anthrax Slayer annihilated his very existence.
With Ffoxington out of the way, Essex was now unopposed, and became the new leader of the PIC. While he was a bit of a stricter man than Essex, and organized a few changes with the Empire, he nonetheless won his crews over and strove to carry on the legacy Nelson White had began. As for Anthrax Slayer, he became the Second Mate of the PIC, and an invaluable force of terror who helped the PIC win many more victories against their foes.
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Post by Biblically Accurate Angel on Jan 14, 2019 0:17:36 GMT -5
Inertia
Man In Gold lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.
He had no wish to move at all.
There was nothing.
Utterly nothing.
So this is what it's like... to lose your world...
He tried to think of happiness.
Of wonderful memories.
Of days gone by when he had been happy... so happy...
But there was nothing.
Nothing left.
Not a drop of joy left for him.
He wished to God that he too would die.
The news had been too horrible.
After the panic of the kidnapping, he was already strung out.
But...
Now...
She was dead...
Lucretia...
It couldn't be possible.
It isn't possible...
Is it?
Can it?
Oh God...
Lucretia....
His wife was dead...
His son was gone....
What was there left for him in this world?
He finally moved.
He turned and glanced at a picture.
It was of him and his family.
They were...
So happy...
But further within, he could see clearly...
The smiles were empty.
The faces cold.
There was nothing left.
Now what was there left for him?
Only pain...
And fear...
Their lives, broken forever...
Lucretia...
And Man In Gold began to cry for his wife, his son, his family, and for all the happiness he would never get to have again.
He wept...
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Post by Biblically Accurate Angel on Jan 14, 2019 0:18:01 GMT -5
Faith
Kim had fallen for him from the beginning. His blue eyes gleamed and made her catch her breath. They had danced that night, and it was sealed. It was fate. She put her faith in him. She soon found that those blue eyes she so adored held more than beauty. There was something else, deep down inside, but she couldn't see it yet. As a year went by it started to come out. He grew less tolerable. Sometimes he'd come home drunk. She loved him, yes, but it was horrid seeing him like this. It kept getting worse. She'd try to comfort him and he'd pull away. "You don't really love me," he'd say. Seeing him depressed didn't help her, and she tried to calm his fears. By the second year it grew worse. They began having arguments. One night in a fit of rage he punched her right in the face. It took some time to stop the bleeding. And did he care? Not really. He seemed to worry more about jailtime than her life. By the third year she'd had enough. One night she asked him to clean the dishes. He complied, but one of them apparently made him so angry he flipped out. Cursing it, he threw it to the ground. It shattered. Kim was horrified as he scowled over it. Then she found her tongue. Somehow the dish unlocked the key to whatever door was storing everything she'd bottled up. "How many more times until I break out from this guilty mess?" she screamed. "You've known all this time I can't leave you, and yet you continuously threaten me, leave me in dire straits - I can't take it! You've taught me to hate to love you, because you love to hate yourself. I wish this had a happen ending like in a fairly tale, but it won't. It's either going to kill me or you, or us both. I'm not staying around anymore. I'm packing my bags, and I'm leaving tomorrow. Go fuck yourself!" She went right to packing up everything she needed, while he sauntered off to his room. They hadn't slept together in some time. Around 11 o'clock, after she had finally fallen asleep, she was awoken by a much drunker version of him. He hit her in the face and dragged her out of bed. She tried to scream, but he gave her a punch to the jaw. Her teeth broke, bone shattered, blood dripped. He tore off her garments as she struggled to no avail. He raped her, and as he raped her, he beat her, and as he beat her, he laughed, and as he laughed, he screamed, "There's no escape! I'm not letting you go!!" There was nothing anyone could have done with this madman. By the time he had finished and his heavy breathing started to slow he realized what he'd done. He checked her pulse. There was no pulse. He realized he had a body on his hands. He cleaned up the scene. He put the body in a bag. He rowed out to the middle of a lake and there he dropped it in. He watched it sink. Then he left. He straightened his life out after that. He moved to a new town and changed his name. He became a model citizen and a leader of the town. People respected him. He went to church and prayed daily. He gave wisdom out like hotcakes, and no one would have dared suspect this man was a killer. No one but his conscience. It beat on him every day and every night. Sometimes he'd cry out in the middle of the night. It was as if he was haunted. He was haunted all right. Haunted by the spirit of the woman who had put her faith in him.
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Post by Biblically Accurate Angel on Jan 14, 2019 0:18:24 GMT -5
Solar Confinement
Benjamin Byrd was frantic. "Dad's under an avalanche!" he called to the other Antarctic Colormen. "I need some help!" Man In Antarctic White came running. "We have to hurry!" Benjamin told him. "The snow is falling all around him!" But when they arrived at the scene it was too late. Elskar Byrd, the Man In Fucking White, stared up at them. "Fuck this shit," he said, and at that moment was buried forever under the ice.
Benjamin took his father's death very seriously. The new Man In Fucking White was more depressed than he'd ever been. "Let him be," Antarctic told the others. "He's grieving."
Man In Fucking White thought back on the legacy of the other Men In Fucking White. His father died due to an avalanche. His grandfather due to hypothermia. He great-grandfather went mad thanks to a leopard seal bite. His great-great-great grandfather died in a blizzard. Only his great-great grandfather had had a normal life. Benjamin Byrd decided that this was no life to live. He was going to move back to England where the sun shone and he could survive to see his grandchildren.
He informed the others he was leaving. They understood. In fact, they told him they expected this from him. "Honestly," said Man In Brighter White, "we've all been on edge lately. Given the blizzards have picked up more in the last decade, we've earnestly been in discussion to uproot back to the UK for the time being at least. This is merely the catalyst." Benjamin breathed a sigh of relief. No more living in solitary confinement from the rest of the world. It was time to return home.
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Post by Biblically Accurate Angel on Jan 14, 2019 0:18:43 GMT -5
Dreamstate
Laying low in a ragged pile of frightened waifs was a child ready to conquer the globe, but David D'Levin was not aware of that fact at the time. He was just trying to find a decent meal. It had been so long since his stomach was full that he'd forgotten what it felt like. On old man crossing the street lurched and fell silently down upon the ground, dead for the world to see, if that godforsaken world could even upon its eyes. There spilled forth blood, and the only one who saw it was D'Levin, shocked by such an act that no one gave a damn for. People merely passed over the body and did nothing. The man meant so little to them it nearly made the child cry. If the dead are so worthless, how much less are the living?
Finally finding a bite among the rats, the boy lay his weary head upon the stone ground. He tried to sleep, but thoughts floating around his kept his bloodshot eyes open.
It was then that he saw the notice.
"SHIP'S BOY WANTED FOR PASSAGE TO AMERICA"
D'Levin pondered. This was just the ticket. At long last he could leave Sodor and go somewhere where he'd at least have a chance. So he grasped it with both hands.
You know the rest of the story...
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Post by Biblically Accurate Angel on Jan 14, 2019 0:19:02 GMT -5
I will not accept the truth.
I will not accept the truth.
I will not accept the truth.
That it's over...
That it's over...
No, no...
I must not push forward, no.
I must not push forward, no.
I must not push forward, no.
'Cos it can't be over...
It can't be over...
No way... yeah...
I will not believe your lies.
I will not believe your lies.
I will not believe your lies.
You say it's over...
It's all over...
But...
Hold on....
Hold on....
Hold on...
Hold on....
I WILL NOT ACCEPT THE TRUTH
I WILL NOT BELIEVE YOUR LIES
I WILL NOT ACKNOWLEDGE PAIN
I WILL SURVIVE AND LIVE AGAIN
Coming back now
Rising up now, lord
Hold on Hold on Hold on Hold on Hold on Hold on Hold on Hold on
It can't be over
She can't be dead no no no no no
I WILL NOT ACCEPT THE TRUTH!
I WILL NOT ACCEPT THE TRUTH!
I WILL NOT ACCEPT THE TRUTH!
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Post by Biblically Accurate Angel on Jan 14, 2019 0:19:24 GMT -5
Inside the Machine
Cracking up the sinister feelings of a citadel to the brave new world of ecstacy and entertainment makes life such an interesting array of various feelings of guilt, sexual despondency, radioactive colon centers, and the new wonder we call pre-marital hanky panky. We like to ride the waves into a new dawn where all the cowboys roam forever, free to shoot down all their sacred Indians and make the race hatred burn freely. Welcome to our new system, welcome inside the machine.
On the left you may see a yardstick we crushed last Saturday during a bowling game in which three gods and a hobknob dwarf decided it would be more fun being necropheliacs than homophobic money launderers. For your information, that yardstick was purely designed to measure the size of my dick and I'm quite cut up about its use as a prop for scum-sucking sky faries who don't understand the difference between right, wrong, and shooting up the babysitter with plaster cast mold fixings that were bullshit before they even got here. Don't you just love it, inside the machine?
Well, come to think of it, I never once did recall the last attempt of Lord Walraven (esq.) to unlock the secret portal of light, after which he promptly got insinerated by the cast iron alibi of Jeremy Haines and his stupid rules on what makes a man sloppy and what makes a line linear and how far you can go before you reach the end of the world and why we're on an axis and did you ever believe in god and how hard can it be to stick the entire lollipop in your ear and how come Ms. Davis and Joe Jackson are fools who can't keep shouting, "Danger, danger, I've lost my marmalade," and how it is that we're spinning closer and closer to the sun every year and why can't that fucking chimpanzee stop singing "Oh Cum All Ye Faithful" and whither shall I wander and please, Travis, don't be such a loose cannon, eat your shit, I've had it with these yellow-bellied tongue grinders who lure the little wasted scum bastards into a nice little green forest filled with rain and the undertaker's pied piper collection, a truly unique uniform that can only rival what I like to call "Everybody's Got Something To Hide Except For Me And My Monkey In An Ice Cream Suit That Was Left Outside Under The River For Forty Years Just Because The Germans Can't Get A Return On Their Money Products; Also Known As The Last Man Standing On A Subway Train Shooting Geese And Letting Marge Take Out Her Teeth When She's Not Wearing A Bathrobe And This Is The Longest This Is The Longest Name Of Any Song In The World When You Put When You Put Antidisestablishmentarianism In It In It In It In It" and yes I totally made a song like that when I was like ten years old and yes I totally ripped it off of The Beatles's "Everbody's Got Something To Hide Except Me And My Monkey" which was a fucking long song title and I just wanted to make it longer dammit and anyway that's it from me, cheerio, top o' tha mornin' an' all that shite, send my best to Di' an' the kids and God Bless The Queen, thanks, GOOOOOOOOD MORNING VIETNAM!
I hope that they all die in flames, never to be seen again, Inside The Machine.
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Post by Biblically Accurate Angel on Jan 14, 2019 0:19:44 GMT -5
Headswitch
"Well," said the young boy to himself, "I never was ready, was I?" "No," said the demon who wanted him, "you weren't." "Aye, but I wasn't bloody talking to you now, was I?" And he wasn't.
The sins of your father are many and great, but here's a safe place that you can find underneath your doorstep. Welcome to the Headswitch.
It's a simple technique, but really it's beyond ordinary human compatity. Simply put: when these fuckers hit Mach 2, you're gonna see some flying heavy metal!
Or not really, see, this all boils down to an incident in childbirth where for a brief moment, I had the head of a dragon! You read the correctly, the head of a fucking dragon!
Well bless my soul, I sez to meself, this is a fuckin' dragon, David. I cannae believe me own two eyes! And I can't! And he couldn't! And he shan't!
The next little bit is tricky because we've never had a real translator on our show but take your best guess, a sip of tea, and I'll see you in the mornin', luv.
Dra och twe ak , ne man'oo ca sat repentseif gri och och och andri docttto lippenstein reppeto ar nim o benstand e leppri . Da ' cap sa ke wigli GiBB se ment miks ' er sim'dood'y'de . Ein ricken schtick le op se bum ta drimimaofisjfigigertsekretariyofkiskifkiskifoenvjsmmmhfakafnsjfjsfnsnsjjsnsnsjsnsaowurharoguhaosrgugahergou an a wee wei 'o .
Make of that what ye will. I know I have. A long time ago. A very long time ago. Waiting for a sign, the coming silver shrine, the arc of space and time.
To get back on the point, what would induce you to swear your allegiance to God tonight? Is it the old frit of the Casabian nut? Or rather the brimstone of Hades' fire pit?
I've never been one to discuss the Chimaera's impact on civilization and Christianity in particular, but I'm wont to do it now. If you look closely at the stars, you'll see what I mean.
Narrating a play is like dangling a puppet on a string, only he isn't dribbling with cum in the play. My eyes are red, but I'm still alive and that's good enough for the gov.
Like father, like son, they say. In that case, I suppose I'm really just dead to the world, because the sins of my father are great and many, but you knew that. I already told you!
Chop off the dead and the body lives on, that's the simplest way to do things around here. The headswitch takes no prisoners, mate. Drink up and live while ye can.
Heaven made me, turned me into a perfect ball of light with joy and happiness. Then it screwed me and laughed. So much for Heaven. Try a little Hell.
At the end of the day, though, there's one thing I've learned and will always remember. Perhaps you can write it down somewhere on a napkin before you lose it, but then again I don't really give a fuck about what you do.
Do whatever.
Falling from grace leaves a cool empty space in the sky.
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Post by Biblically Accurate Angel on Jan 14, 2019 0:20:09 GMT -5
Meltdown
And finally once you've stepped Inside The Machine and taken part in the Headswitch, there's only one place left to go.
And that's Meltdown.
As the entire boiler shuts down and leaves behind it a trail of liquid mercury, try and have a little more patience with the system. We're working very, very hard and it's beastly to have to hear shit from little cunts who can't put two fingers together. Ah well, fuck them, I never needed my frontal lobes anyway. Or was it lube?
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Post by Biblically Accurate Angel on Jan 14, 2019 0:20:29 GMT -5
Octavia
Man In Gold sucked on his breath as she entered the hotel room with a trailing gown of white satin. Her face was highly saturated. Her lips, cold steel blue.
He gaped as she undid the collar of his shirt. His eyes rolled backwards and forwards. Normally, that's the sign of a medical monstrosity, but Octavia didn't care. It didn't matter. Nothing matters, not now, not ever.
She got down on her needs. He got down on his abdomen. The opposite of attraction is repulsion, and it was a mix of the both that had led them to this. Vile. Sick. Adulterated. Castration of the mind.
Open-mouthed, that's the word. That's exactly what happened. The feeling. The extortion of ecstacy. Vacuum-breathing, really. Red shift filled their eyes. As she ministered his promises, the feelings increased until it all erupted from within. Father, it is finished.
Her shadow, moving silently. It cuts the day away. And on the morrow, he remembered, just as I remember you as you walked into that room. For I give them life, and it is my twisted mind that makes all of this fiction reality. So much for the dice. Roll again... feel the passion.
Shadows comes, but shadows are gone.
Dislocated jagged pieces just won't stop moving. At one point the golden one thought that Octavia would slice the organ off completely. But she didn't. It just kept sliding, sliding into this broken mind. He knew it shouldn't continue, knew it shouldn't go on, knew it wasn't right. But in a moment all the fears dissipate and the only thing you understand is the present. He was swimming against the river, but damn me if he wasn't rising with the tide, too.
Nights spent in longing arms, nights spent in tearful rage, nights spent under a cloak of darkness. Nights of wasting love.
Where we came from... we're all going back there soon...
What must one do to break away from his vices? Her contriving schemes. Or was she the hero and he the villain of this fairytale? God, how many times have we met this way? A thousand and one, points of light, shining on the desk, burning up into the light.
How many lives have we lived before? Is it all a dream or is it... is it... is something driving us? How many facs had we seen? How many names had we heard? They all burned up, burned up into the atmosphere in a changing of H to He.
It was in one of those armed embraces of Octavia that the call came through, the call that would end everything. For whatever this was, it was nothing compared to Lucretia. And the guilt would haunt him and me forever.
Curse us both, we didn't know.
Shadows come, but shadows are gone.
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Post by Biblically Accurate Angel on Jan 14, 2019 0:20:50 GMT -5
Innerspace
I look back on the first five stories in this set and it brings back some fond memories. "Space Race" was just one smackdown after another. A lot of it is dark, dark humor, twisted right out of my psyche and smashed down into words, and for all its sins, I'm really proud of it. I've laughed over it like five times now and it just doesn't stop.
"Back From The Edge" was a cool little look into the PIC. Nothing really more than that. "Inertia" was the start of a little string going through here about Man In Gold and the death of his wife. The story returns thrice more. "Faith" was a story about rape and how Kim got to where she was, and I'm very worried about how I tackled the issue, but oh well. Finally, "Solar Confinement" is about those Antarctic Colormen who are easily some of my favorite throwaway characters ever and I really didn't do them justice here. Oh well. I don't want to edit these stories for fear of ruining what there is.
Then I came back months later to write "Dreamstate", which is just a throwaway story about my in-game character's background, and "I Will Not Accept The Truth", which is just random warbling and a return to the Man In Gold story.
And now, tonight, I've finally finished this damn composition which I started half a year ago. "Inside The Machine", "Headswitch", and "Meltdown" are just random shit I threw down because I didn't feel like writing stories and instead made shit up. I am quite proud of "Octavia", though. The penultimate chapter to our little Man In Gold escapade. "Innerspace" is what you're reading right now and if you down like it then go to Hell.
Ah yes, but there is one more story to be told. Let's bring to an end the Man In Gold saga here, but leave him out of the equation altogether. Thanks for reading my warblings, it means a lot and I hope you got some amusement out of it. I know I didn't.
Peace out, and if you ever want to fly right into the sun, I'll be there for you. Because when the fireball's work is done and we are part of the nuclear one, the whole damn thing begins again. Our glory days have just begun, a fiery sideslip and we're done. I'll see ya Monday morning.
Anyway, I'm coming back.
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Post by Biblically Accurate Angel on Jan 14, 2019 0:21:04 GMT -5
Strange Death In Paradise
Lucretia awoke in a clouded labyrinth, with no windows, no lamps, no source of light... period. There was a deathly silence pervading in the air, and hallowed beings of nothingness danced around her. Her mouth was covered, her hands tied. The veil was drawn.
She heard something or someone entering this chamber of emptiness. Heavy breathing. There was a force, an anger, and yet control behind it. The being was moving. A clopping sound of feet - shoes, rather - on concrete was heard. By her. And no one else.
"Well, you've awaken at last," said a voice.
Lucretia felt chills run down her spine.
"Glad you're lucid to be present to your own demise." The voice was male, young... evil. Hands grasped her from behind, and suddenly the voice was right there in her ear.
"I'm sorry to be a pest, but I've really got nothing left cut out for me. You see, being an evil Colorman, I really can't do anything else except be evil, and damn do I do a mighty fine job of it."
He ripped off the tape covering her mouth. She couldn't even scream, the pain was so intense. She felt a knife pierce the back of her neck, then her chest, finally her arms. Cries of pain echoed through the chamber.
"That's it, my beautiful little butterfly," said the voice, dripping with venom. "Scream for me."
She choked on her own breath. Gasping for air, gasping. The man laughed. Gutterals mixed with high pitch in a chemical wedding of utter repulsiveness.
"That's more like it," the voice said. "I can't wait for Goldilocks to hear about this. Take that! And that! And that!"
With each shriek of diabolical delight he stabbed her again and again. The robes that tied her down came loose, but all that happened was a fall to the ground in agonizing pain as blood shed upon the ground, on the walls, the crimson room.
The man looked deep in her eyes, which had adjusted enough to be able to make out her assailant. Man In Black grinned as she shut her eyes and commended her spirit to that which lay beyond.
"Thanks for the laughs," he said. "It's been fun, but you really should be going. Ta-ta for now!"
The last thing she saw was blackness. In her mind she heard the tearing of a veil.
Then the knife slit her throat open and blood spilled freely down, bringing an end to the life of Lucretia Criddleton.
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