I’m sorry. But I just had to rip SOMEONE apart. Basically, a girl goes berserk and kills off her parents, well, rather violently. Could be considered as a lot of violence, so I'd be careful if I were you. No strong language or sexual content.
My hand trembled, and the katana I was holding began to shake uncontrollably. There was no doubt about it – this was the sword that once killed my brothers, all five of them, and now it was finally mine. “Thank you,” I muttered to it, the blade still crusted with blood from that day 5 years ago. I brought the sword up to eye level, my heart leaping in joy as I stared at the bloody metal. “Thank you, mother,” I said, looking at the sliced up form that had once been the female who had raised me. “Now I can kill father, and send him to you. I’ll be free from both of you, after all these terrible years…”
I flicked the blood off the blade with a twist of my arm, a menacing smile beginning to creep across my face. “It’s time for some slow slicing,” I said, facing my father, who had been cowering in a corner of the dark room. I raised my sord, and despite his weak protests, sliced off his right cheek, exposing his ugly, yellow teeth. He screamed in pain, a bone chilling, blood curling shriek, and I laughed, cutting off most of his toes in the process. That only made him scream louder, and I cherished the beautiful sound of agony as it rang in my ears. I sliced off more of his flesh, severing off the little muscle that he had worked so hard to obtain, then kneeled down in front of him. “Oy,” I said, to bring him out of his world of pain. “Are you listening to me?” After a few seconds of t nothing but his ragged breaths, I gathered up his cut off flesh in my hands and stuffed them down his throat. “I said, are you listening to me?!?!?” I almost screamed, standing up and stomping on his face. I received a small nod. “Good,” I said, slicing his body cleanly and too. I walked away, eyes widened, a sort of maniac grin on my face, blood spattered on my clothes.
“I’m free….”
Summary: Someone dies. (stormy didn't write this, I, Moonstar did. [The summary not the story] And I don't know how to summarize it, since stormy obviously didn't read the rules carefully enough. Anyways.) Mild violence, no sexual content, no swearing.
I couldn’t control myself. I wish I had. The knife, slick and dripping with crimson blood, dropped from my trembling fingers as I was awakened from my maddened rage. Shock, pure, heart-stopping shock, yanked me hard out of the haze of fury, and laid before me the truth: That I was not anything but an undeserving, inhuman creature. He, a man I had not even known, was sprawled on the dirty cobblestone at the edge of the sidewalk, scarlet fluid pouring heavily out of the wound in his heart that had cost him his life. The wound that I had made. His face... oh, Lord, his face, an expression of something so heartbreaking and sickening at the same time that I wasn’t sure whether to collapse sobbing or to empty my stomach. The fear, the surprise, the disbelief, the confusion, the pure agony was something I would never forget for the rest of my life. His eyes now glazed over with the mist of death, his hair sticky with the blood pooling around him.
My body shook, and a strangled cry escaped my pale, chapped lips. I sank to my knees, and desperately began to search for a wallet. I needed evidence, proof that this man did not have a family, that this man that had offended my “boss” in the merest way possible had a wife, a son, a daughter. My hands touched worn leather, and I grasped the thing in my hands and tugged it out of his pocket. I flipped it open, afraid to see what would be inside. My heart plummeted. No, that was wrong. I did not have a heart at all, because I had killed not a man but a father. The picture in the wallet, faded, of a toddler with the same red hair and brown eyes as his father, with freckles, and a happy, joyous face. Next to the child, a young, beautiful dark-haired woman cradling the boy in her arms, her husband with his right arm around her shoulder, smiling at the photographer. They were so... jovial. So carefree. And I had robbed them of it. Now I had committed not one but three crimes: Murder of one man and the robbery of two more innocent citizens. I placed the wallet back into the man’s pocket and my hands fell limp, like the corpse before me, to my sides as I kneeled by my victim.
The streetlight from across the street flickered. Silence screamed in my ears, but even that could not shake me from the emotion pounding through my mind at the moment. The shock had gone away now. I knew what I had done. But, worse than that, I knew how I felt. I was sure that the man who ordered me to do this did not know this feeling. If he did, why would he order somebody to do it? Dreadful and terrible beyond explanation, this feeling of simply knowing that I had slaughtered a man I had not known, had not had a reason to kill, had not had an excuse. All this for two thousand american dollars. It was not enough. Nothing would ever be enough. Nothing could pay for what I had done.
He did not scream when he was stabbed. I heard a sharp intake of breath, a gulp, and the thud of a body against stone. He gazed up at me with eyes full of fear. “Why...” were the last words he managed before his head flopped to the ground like a ragdoll. Why? Really, why had I done it? Of course I know why, but... why? I had no description of my motive. But I knew I would be punished for my crime. I was already punished, but it was not enough. I yearned for cruelty, to be tortured, to be so full to the brim of pain that my brain simply exploded from the intensity of it all. The country I lived in, unfortunately, was fair. They would not torture me like I asked. The only way was for me to give it to myself, the torment that I wished for. I picked up the knife. My grip was firm, now that I had a purpose. I raised it over my calf. I brought it down.
It felt like fire, ice, and electricity all at once was coursing through the calf. I relished in it, basked in the mixture of pain. As I pulled it back out, I moaned again through the pleasure of feeling the agony. I plunged it through my arm, the one hanging limply by my side. I saw the blade stick out on the other end. My head felt as if a sledgehammer was being brought down upon it repeatedly, over and over again like some sick sort of drill. I pulled the knife back out, and almost laughed from the pain I felt. For a second I was proud that I had felt more pain than the man I had killed. The pride disappeared in less than a heartbeat, and the blade had already gone through my stomach. I wouldn’t need to remember that face now, at least. That injury was too fatal. But wasn’t that what I wanted. Yes, yes, that was.
Again and again, I stabbed my own body until I got what I wanted: pain, filling me to the brim. I smiled a bloody smile, the sticky vermillion liquid flowing freely from my mouth. I had cut my tongue off, and it sat quite innocently on a pebble, sitting between me and the man. Here was the final blow. I raised the knife to my throat. I plunged it through.
The world was ringing. Why was it ringing? Oh, yes. I had killed myself.
The world was flashing, bright, neon lights into my eyes. Why was it doing that? Oh, yes. I had stabbed myself.
My body was twitching spastically, out of my control. But I had always been out of control.
The world was red with...
The world tilted sideways
My head thumped on the cobblestone
Vision fading
Ringing
Ringing
Flashing
Flashing
Then:
Fade
Black
Summary: A family gets killed. That's all I'm saying for now. Deaths may be a little disturbing, no language whatsoever, and no mature content, either.
Sunlight shafted through the closed blinds of the tiny cottage surrounded by a lush green forest. Outside, Mary and Tom Black were playing merrily, throwing a softball back and forth, laughing as they frolicked in the sun. Inside the house, Mrs. Black was sitting cross- legged against the creamy white wall of her living room, stitching up one of her husband’s black suit that had been torn in a small accident the previous day. The woman smiled to herself as she brushed a lock of long brown hair back behind her ear, and swiftly tied a neat knot in the thread, cutting the excess string off.
From the hallway, the telephone rang softly, and Mrs. Black stood up to go pick it up. She walked to the other side of the room, then through the white doorway that lead to the hallway. Stepping into the corridor, the woman gasped in horror and stepped back, clutching her face tightly. She put her hand down and blinked, confused. For a moment she thought she had spotted blood spattered all over the walls, but it had probably just been a figment of her imagination, for the walls were pure white once again. The phone rang again, reminding Mrs. Black why she had set foot in the corridor in the first place. She glided over to where the phone stood on a small table, and picked it up, holding the receiver to her ear.
“Black residence,” she said. “How may I help you?”
The voice that answered sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard. “Give me your money,” it said in a menacing tone.
Mrs. Black almost dropped the phone. “W-what?” she stuttered.
“You heard what I said. Give me all your money. Now. Or you die.”
By this time, Mrs. Black was a little hysteric, and she stumbled up the stairs to where she and Mr. Black kept their money, hidden in a small box at the back of their cabinet. She almost fell down the stairs, but regained her poise and walked back to the phone.
“I’m holding it right now,” she replied to the mysterious caller, trying to get the tremor out of her voice.
The voice sounded happy, like it was smiling. “Good, just good,” it said. “Now give me the money.”
Mrs. White’s hands started to shake. “Wh-where are you?” she stammered.
The woman was answered after a sort of maniacal laughing, and then there was a pause. “I’m right behind you.”
Slowly, the lady turned around, eyes widened with shock as her usually soft amber eyes met wild red orbs that almost seemed to stare through her soul. Realizing that her life was just about to be torn brutally from her, Mrs. Black raced to the door and flung it open. “Run!” she screamed to her children, her voice cracking. “Run, and save yourse-”
But Mrs. Black never got to finish her sentence. As blood sprayed the courtyard of the house, Mary and Tom both stared in horror, as their mother’s head rolled to the ground, her body following it a few seconds later. A tall, thin man wearing a suit stepped out from behind her, holding a very thin broadsword about four centimeters wide, and about a meter tall. He was grinning maliciously, eyes shining with an emotion that neither two kids could read. The man padded forward silently, kicking the now-dead woman’s head towards her offspring, and they drew back in horror as he came to stand in front of them, sheathing his sword, and used both hands to pry the mother’s neck open, tearing her skin and showing it’s bloody contents. Tossing the head aside, the male smiled once again, and silently pulled out his sword again. In a flash of black, Tom and Mary both fell to the floor, both cut in half by the waist. Mary was dead in an instant, her life shooting up to the heavens to follow her deceased mother. Tom’s vision was now spotted with red and white, and he weakly raised his head, just on the verge of death. His eyes widened as he looked at the man towering above him, who was wearing a black suit, the black suit that his mother had been sewing just before. And then the world went black, leaving the man standing and smiling above the three bodies...
Sunlight shafted through the closed blinds of the tiny cottage surrounded by a lush green forest. Outside, Mary and Tom Black were playing merrily, throwing a softball back and forth, laughing as they frolicked in the sun. Inside the house, Mrs. Black was sitting cross- legged against the creamy white wall of her living room, stitching up one of her husband’s black suit that had been torn in a small accident the previous day. The woman smiled to herself as she brushed a lock of long brown hair back behind her ear, and swiftly tied a neat knot in the thread, cutting the excess string off.
From the hallway, the telephone rang softly, and Mrs. Black stood up to go pick it up. She walked to the other side of the room, then through the white doorway that lead to the hallway. Stepping into the corridor, the woman gasped in horror and stepped back, clutching her face tightly. She put her hand down and blinked, confused. For a moment she thought she had spotted blood spattered all over the walls, but it had probably just been a figment of her imagination, for the walls were pure white once again. The phone rang again, reminding Mrs. Black why she had set foot in the corridor in the first place. She glided over to where the phone stood on a small table, and picked it up, holding the receiver to her ear.
“Black residence,” she said. “How may I help you?”
The voice that answered sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard. “Give me your money,” it said in a menacing tone.
Mrs. Black almost dropped the phone. “W-what?” she stuttered.
“You heard what I said. Give me all your money. Now. Or you die.”
By this time, Mrs. Black was a little hysteric, and she stumbled up the stairs to where she and Mr. Black kept their money, hidden in a small box at the back of their cabinet. She almost fell down the stairs, but regained her poise and walked back to the phone.
“I’m holding it right now,” she replied to the mysterious caller, trying to get the tremor out of her voice.
The voice sounded happy, like it was smiling. “Good, just good,” it said. “Now give me the money.”
Mrs. White’s hands started to shake. “Wh-where are you?” she stammered.
The woman was answered after a sort of maniacal laughing, and then there was a pause. “I’m right behind you.”
Slowly, the lady turned around, eyes widened with shock as her usually soft amber eyes met wild red orbs that almost seemed to stare through her soul. Realizing that her life was just about to be torn brutally from her, Mrs. Black raced to the door and flung it open. “Run!” she screamed to her children, her voice cracking. “Run, and save yourse-”
But Mrs. Black never got to finish her sentence. As blood sprayed the courtyard of the house, Mary and Tom both stared in horror, as their mother’s head rolled to the ground, her body following it a few seconds later. A tall, thin man wearing a suit stepped out from behind her, holding a very thin broadsword about four centimeters wide, and about a meter tall. He was grinning maliciously, eyes shining with an emotion that neither two kids could read. The man padded forward silently, kicking the now-dead woman’s head towards her offspring, and they drew back in horror as he came to stand in front of them, sheathing his sword, and used both hands to pry the mother’s neck open, tearing her skin and showing it’s bloody contents. Tossing the head aside, the male smiled once again, and silently pulled out his sword again. In a flash of black, Tom and Mary both fell to the floor, both cut in half by the waist. Mary was dead in an instant, her life shooting up to the heavens to follow her deceased mother. Tom’s vision was now spotted with red and white, and he weakly raised his head, just on the verge of death. His eyes widened as he looked at the man towering above him, who was wearing a black suit, the black suit that his mother had been sewing just before. And then the world went black, leaving the man standing and smiling above the three bodies...
Summary: A young man, probably in his twenties, invades a factory with his gang, only to find the enemy gang, and recalls his last moments living on this earth.... Mild violence, no mature language,
I couldn't do anything, nothing at all. I crouched in the shadows of a rack that towered over me, watching as the enemies killed my allies – my comrades one by one, each, falling to the floor in grotesque positions, some in separate pieces, and blood spattered onto the cold stone that was the factory floor. Sitting in the darkness, all I could do was stare, as my friends each left the world, their lives taken brutally from complete strangers, our unknown enemies.
My eyes widened as I saw their next target – Belse Walker. Not only had he been in the same squad as me, he had also been one of the best friends I had ever had. We had gone on several missions together, he attended my wedding and I went to his. We had been the best of friends. But something about seeing him like that, helpless, drugged, tortured, and gagged, sparked something inside me. I couldn't just sit here, healthy and conscious, waiting for my turn to die! Slowly, I rised out of the darkness, raising my AK-47, screaming. All heads, even Belses turned to look at me. He looked at me with eyes of worry, even though the mere action of pulling a face probably made his muscles scream in agony. I took a deep breath, and started to fire like crazy, hitting everything in sight. But of course, shots made by the mad and psychopath me were useless. As the ring leader of the gang reloaded his pistol and pointed it at me, I was only thinking one small thought: I'm sorry, Belse. There was a loud bang, a pained gasp, and then the world faded away, in a mixture of white and red, then finally black...
I couldn't do anything, nothing at all. I crouched in the shadows of a rack that towered over me, watching as the enemies killed my allies – my comrades one by one, each, falling to the floor in grotesque positions, some in separate pieces, and blood spattered onto the cold stone that was the factory floor. Sitting in the darkness, all I could do was stare, as my friends each left the world, their lives taken brutally from complete strangers, our unknown enemies.
My eyes widened as I saw their next target – Belse Walker. Not only had he been in the same squad as me, he had also been one of the best friends I had ever had. We had gone on several missions together, he attended my wedding and I went to his. We had been the best of friends. But something about seeing him like that, helpless, drugged, tortured, and gagged, sparked something inside me. I couldn't just sit here, healthy and conscious, waiting for my turn to die! Slowly, I rised out of the darkness, raising my AK-47, screaming. All heads, even Belses turned to look at me. He looked at me with eyes of worry, even though the mere action of pulling a face probably made his muscles scream in agony. I took a deep breath, and started to fire like crazy, hitting everything in sight. But of course, shots made by the mad and psychopath me were useless. As the ring leader of the gang reloaded his pistol and pointed it at me, I was only thinking one small thought: I'm sorry, Belse. There was a loud bang, a pained gasp, and then the world faded away, in a mixture of white and red, then finally black...
Yes, I do have some rules for this blog:
- No doing anything that acts for racism. (Aka, wiping out a race, or having races going against each other)
- No using political figures, celebrities or any other people who you might get sued for killing, even if it is in a story
- I don't mind language, but see the part for language in the second part of this post
- Don't copy other peoples' (especially other authors') stories!
Posting rules:
- When you post, write only the title in the title line
- Before you write your story up, write a short summary in italics
- After the summary, tell if your story has mild violence, a lot of violence, a little violence and etc. Also say if there is strong language or not, and whether or not it contains sexual content. This is for the sake of fellow bloggers, so please do this!
- There are series on this blog, based on what the stories are about. Please put your published story in ONE serie, or create another one. The series are listed under the gadget in the sidebar. When you publish one story, put the series it is in, followed by a colon and then the title of your story.
Example:
Summary: A young man, probably in his twenties, invades a factory with his gang, only to find the enemy gang, and recalls his last moments living on this earth.... Mild violence, no mature language, and no sexual content.
STORY
The End
That's about it for rules! Hope you enjoy the stories on this blog!
These are our wonderful death writers, all unique in their own special ways....
Moonstar/Shiina
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Thirteen years old, normal looking Asian, quite sexist, and hates the world. However, I still live because of friends. (Blogger friends, real friends, Facebook friends, etc.) I don't particularly like writing, it's just that I wanna get my feelings out there. Plays violin, sucks at almost everything else. Is a super sadist as well, by the way. If there's one thing I like to do, then it's be with friends. And role-playing. Don't say anything, because to me, role-playing online and writing are two different things, one is awesome and one is not. How I write depends on my mood, so beware for emo-mode days! I'm also a major otaku, so you might see some anime plans that will probably never get published or produced. Also has a number of other blogs >:D |
WhenDarknessFalls
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| I love to write bloody and depressing scenes, sometimes that are violent, overly descriptive, or slightly disgusting. That's one of my favorite genres, mainly because it shows how the world is. I'm not the best writer, but I do love writing and it is something I'd love to improve on. |