I'll write you a story



I lit my last cigarette, taking eigth matches to do even that while leaning on the brick wall next to the Shaman. I wanted to call this joint my local bar, but who was I kiddin', I lived six blocks from here, and now after spending pretty much all of my paycheck trying to score with just one ugly, desperate bitch and failing even at that, I decided to lighten the mood by walking all the way home down Fleet Street. I threw the empty pack away, aiming at the trash can a few feet away from me, waiting for the satisfying ruffling sound as it flew in, but it never came. After a short while standing in the same spot, swaying around like a windmill in a hurricane, I realized I had just dropped the pack on my feet. I was too fucked up to try and pick it up, so I decided to move on. This city has a cleaning crew for a purpose, any way.

I think I was three block down the way, my legs getting tired of the trudging and leaning and my mind getting agitated by the happy taxis driving past me, when I realized I could take a small detour around 6th, then cross the alley-way down to Hershel Avenue, and come out near Molly's - only a short walk home from there.

And I did, after pissing on some asshole's Mercedes, he he he! Autobahn this, you pissy dick. I stumbled around the corner of the 6th, reaching the trodden chainlink fence that I could swing under to get to the alleys. There was some weird plack hanging on the fence, with big and bright black on yellow text, but I couldn't focus on what it said, almost making me hurl just thinking about it. As I ducked under it, hearing it clang down behind me, I could hear the sounds of a racket from the alley. I closed in as silently as I could, readying my piece, releasing the safety ahead of time.

I creeped closer as it started raining like crazy, wetting my whole being, as the sounds of violence were growing louder with each step. I saw a few shadows dancing on the walls, painting me a mental picture of a large fight. Still drunk, it was hard to concentrate on the figures and situation on hand, but as I thought I would have to take action to save someone, the adrenaline started kicking in, closing out the whole picture and helping me focus on the details. Three, four, no, five persons were ganging up on one, maybe two others, them being held down on the ground and beaten with fists and kicks, furiously. The shadows reflected on the wall were very bright, reminding me of bright, white fog lights from my SUV. That's when I heard one of the victim's a woman, a girl maybe, scream.

"No...! NO! Please, please don't! NO!"

That's it. I said a Hail Mary or two, not sure, feeling the urge to piss and shit my pants from the excitement, not knowing what I was in for, but I fucking bounced up, turned the corner and yelled

"FREEZE MOTHERFUCKERS DON'T NOBODY MOVE HANDS UP SHOW ME YOR HANDS"

They all became a bit silent for just a moment, being surprised by someone they weren't expecting.

"The fuck is this?", one of them said. He was tall and black.

"Hey... hey, what's up, who are you? take it easy, man", another one said, rising up to his feet from the downed girl, who was now silent and looking at me, begging me to save her.

"DON'T YOU FUCKING MOVE MOTHERFUCKER COCKSUCKER OR I'LL FUCKING BLAST YOU LET THE WOMEN GO NOW"

The tall one put his hands up, I could only see his silhouette now as he was in front of a bright gas light, fueled by a generator humming on the corner. These sick fucks... how far are they taking the rape and snuff video game in this sorry town?!

"I SAID DON'T MOVE YOU FUCK OR I'LL KILL YOU RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW LET THE WOMEN GO"

I was shaking, seeing everything in slow motion, unable to see clearly because of the booze in my system, but somehow being able to move my body with amazing reflexes, reacting to anyth

"I'm sorry, sir, you are interrupting our sh--

I had no time to think and I shot three times as I turned back, firing at the man who had appeared behind me, splattering his head all over the alley walls, parts of grey matter bouncing from the nearby dumpster and hitting me in the face. The others started shouting.

"What the fuck, Jesus fuck! God fuck no!"

Some of them ran away while the tallest one ran towards me with full speed, shouting obscenities and swearing he would kill me, so I reacted faster than I could think, blasting four rounds in him and swerving aside as he almost fell on top of me, twitching now in his death throes. One of the girls was lying down on the ground, sobbing like a maniac and I approcahed her.

"Hey, hey, miss, lady, listen, it's all gonna be okay, okay? I'm gonna call the cops and..."

"Get the fuck away from me you fucking lunatic! No, no, nonononononon I'msorryimsorryimsorrypleasepleasedontkillmepleasepleasedontdoitpleaseletmegopleasepleaseplease..."

I couldn't understand what was going on, so I lowered my gun, and looked around. Wait a minute. Something wasn't right. The flood lights that I saw were connected to a large truck in the back of the alley, hidden from my view earlier. Most of the windows that seemed broekn from afar were actually cardboard paintings laid over the brick wall, and as I looked up slightly, I could see that the rain was coming from some kind of large pump truck, hanging over the alley. I turned around baffled, hearing the sirens coming closer and illuminating the whole alley-way in red, white and blue, shouts from officers emerging from their vehicles telling me to put down my gun, some kind of civilians running away from the trucks, with headphones and walkie talkies, one of them dropping a claffboard almost in front of me, running around in some sort of panic. I looked down at the board.

THESE STREETS ARE GAME

ACT IV

SCENE VII

TAKE 11

I heard the officers approaching me, looking at the two dead bodies in the alley, shot to shit, when I saw the camera on the opposite side of the alley, it's red light blinking, recording the event for the whole world. I looked at the camera, trying to focus on the lense and the absurdity of the whole situation.

"...huh?!"

 
first time you ever sharted your pants while flirting with a hot chick who happened to be your teacher, and then you found out she was actually your third cousin

 
come_at_me_bro.jpg


 
(I'm sorry folks, this one will probably be really, really fucking sick, I assume. You were warned!)

Rick Donaghue approached the main lady of the Gala evening with a surpisingly pompous attitude, throwing away the thoughts of possible rejection, and all the already happened rejection for the last three hours in the Stanky Leg Lounge, browsing through pretty much every single female patron without any success, intimidated by his blind and wheelchair-bound brother who had been, literally, rolling the ladies in and out of the little boys' room, looking more spent than when trying to climb up the world's most slanted wheelchair ramp in front of the club. He guessed it was forth the effort for Tommy, but he had put on his best Hawaiian shirt, with palm trees and all, shining away buoyantly in the blue and green themed discotheque. The lady of the night noticed him, and he knew he had to give it all he got.

"Well... hello there, precious. If you don't mind me quoting the King, baby, I just can't help falling in love with yoooouuu."

At that exact moment as he uttered the words, he felt that he shouldn't have said it. 'Hi, how are things', or 'My name is Rick, nice to meet you, what is your name' would have sufficed. But he had blown it again, and in his mind despaired and gave up ready to call it a night as he turned away from the woman sullenly, when he felt a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his place.

"Now now, handsome, you can't just act like the King and walk away from a lady, now can you?"

Ricky felt flustered, blushing visibly as the precious hand turned him back around, at the same time signaling for the bartender for two more drinks, for her and... myself?

Now that he could see the lead lady of the Gala up close, he realized two things, one of which he said out loud.

"Wait... aren't you Ms. Huxtable, from my Ancient Architecture class? Room 306 on Wednesday afternoons?"

The lady looked swooned for a moment.

"Well, Mr. Donaghue, I don't know how to take this, as a form of flattery or ignorance, as I have been beckoning for your eyes to call on me the whole night as you prowled through this bar, looking for prey like a silent hawk in the night. Is your noticing me as your professor a bad thing... or a very bad thing.

Ms. Huxtable removed her Mardi Gras -style glasses, gnawing on them playfully, while Rick watched on nervously.

The thing that Rick didn't say out loud was that he had shit his pants in the last five seconds. He knew the reason, as he slowly turned his head around to see his brother Tommy, glancing at him, lifting a small bottle of blue liquid in his hand, shaking it and mimicking a bad bowel movement while laughing away heartily with his seven female groupies surrounding him on the dance floor.

Goddamn it. He had been set up since the beginning, but as he felt the loose shit run more and more into his triple-layered jeans able to hold the backdoor package in for a good while, he didn't regret pushing his dickhead brother under the school bus eleven years ago. Fuck you, Tommy, he thought, when he felt someone grabbing his ass, and squeezing the mobilized feces located in his underpant area with a half-frim, half-loose grip.

"Now, Mr. Donaghue, how on Earth did you know that I'm a scatophile, or a corpophile if you will? Mmmm.... I can feel the hot shit shooting out of your ass, and I want to taste it... NOW!"

Ms. Huxtable surprised me and started pushing me towards the bathroom in a fevered passion mode, with my crippled brother looking on in confusion. I was pushed into the Men's room and she locked the small lounge's bathroom locked behind us.

Before I had any say in the issue, I could feel my bowel emptying some more, when she pulled my pants down and started gorging on my shit, half-watery, half-stiff, with sprinkles of two days worth of tortillas all over. She pushed her mouth against my hole, slamming everything she could inside her mouth, swallowing and slurping my feces like through a straw until it was all said done. I didn't know what to say. She kept licking at my backthighs, tongueing all little specks that she wasn't able to gorge down, until she stood up and started washing her mouth and hands over the sink, gulping on a mouth water bottle she had inside her handbag.

Weirdly, I had never felt so clean after taking a dump. I looked and reached around and saw that even the parts of my pants I had soiled before were now diamond clean, almost sparkling and smelling as fresh as the summer night.

"H-how did you do that?"

Ms. Huxtable gargled the mouth wash and spat it out with a splash and winked her blue eys in my direction.

"Boy, we scatos have our secrets."

She reached over to kiss me on the mouth, with small spreckles off my last night's leftover paprika wrap still hanging under her lip in bowely form, and I dodged it in disgust. She seemed to understand, and instead of forcing herself over me, gave me her card, with her personal cell number on the back, smeared with a lip pattern - formed from shit instead of lipstick.

"Give us a call when you're feeling... dirty."

She left the toilet as I pulled my pants up and walked out, eerily eyeing the other guys who were holding their bladders in as they waited for us to emerge, some of them looking absolutely scared after hearing the noises of what just happened inside. I stumbled out with my head spinning, as my brother stopped me in my tracks.

"Ricky! Where the hell have you been?"

I couldn't really tell him what had taken place, but I wanted to brag anyway.

"Well, let's just say that me and MS. Huxtable got a bit.. intimate, if you know what I'm saying..."

Timmy looked shocked.

"Dude... bro! Are you fucking serious? She... Anne, professor Anne Huxtable, she's family! She's a third cousin! Don't tell me you really... oh God, fuck you Ricky, you dirty bitch! Don't expect any sloppy seconds from my girls any more!"

Timmy wheeled away while I stood there, drunk as a motherfucker, or cousinfucker to be correct, but I didn't feel bad at all. How should've I known? These things happen. And it wasn't like I impregnated her or anything, she just... she just ate my shit. Wow. Someone ate my shit. Only now Ricky realized how powerful it felt. Someone to become such a low lifeform, to eat another human's shit, and passionately, ask for more, crave for a little diarrhea to wash the bigger chunnks down with. He looked arounf the room once more, looking at all the chicks who had rejected him, all the hot bitches circling around his brother as he seemingly explained to them that his brother had fucked their cousin, and their teacher at that. At this point in time, Ricky certainly didn't give a literal shit.

He ran out the door of the lounge, seeing Anne climb into a cab. Wait, he shouted to her, and she held the door open in the desolate night as he hopped into the cab. She looked him in the eys and they squeezed each other's hands, and the cabbie turned back to them.

"So, where are you going?"

Ricky looked at his teacher and bloodline sharer, and exclaimed loudly:

"Somewhere shitty!"

 
Hahaha, it came out pretty much like... diarrhea, I guess!

Anyway, correction: brother wasn't blind, I wrote it and forgot about it.
 


The motor was pretty much running on empty, so I shut it down. I pushed the airboat into the nearby tall grass, growing from underneath the age-old swamp. I readied my rifle and machete, grabbing onto the half-rotten tree and climbing up onto a safe-looking branch to spend the night in. As I found one sturdy enough to hold my weight, I assumed the position, laid my hat over my eyes and prepared for forty winks.

I woke up to a gnawing sound from beneath, lifting my precious hat and seeing a familiar sight below. Three alligators were inspecting my boat, rummaging through any of the food remaining on the boat's visible parts, mainly the bow and the stern behinf the large rotor. It was wasn't like this was a new situation to me. I placed the machete between my teeth, balanced just right, and dropped on the deck below. The evolved gatorts hissed in fright as I shook the boat during my landing, jumping on top of the first one in the bow, stabbing at its heart with a fierce thrust. I jumped back up, faced with a large reptile walking on two feet, upright like us humans, but too clumsily for a veteran hunter as myself to even skip a beat. I dodged the vermin of the swamps with a quick sidestep, kicking at its invisible groin, but still hittin' the spot, causing it to start heaving on the ground and losing its focus, as I stabbed its elongated head with my big-ass knife.

I turned towards the last one, trying to hide itself behind the boat's rotor. Silly goose, you. I flung my ammo belt on the clutch, switching it to Reverse, and swang towards to step on the gas. The gator, dumb as they came, saw me through the grating and tried to attack me through the swinging blades.

Silly gator, trix are for kids.

It splattered all over the swampland, bloodying the environment enough for me to have to move on. I looked at the one I ha bagged with my machete, stuck to the airboat's floor. Finally something to bragain with. I backed up from the tall grass and began my traverse through the wet lands, bow towards Barrow Creek.

I landed not two hours later onto the well-guarded pier. The guards, Jim and Cal at this hour, waved me welcomes as I attached myself to the wooden harbor.

"Well, well, looks like Marco got 'imself a treat!" Jim shouted.

"Now would you look at that... a live gator! I haven't seen one in captivity in years!" Cal exclaimed.

I rose from the boat along with my captive prey - a real gatorkin, still alive and kicking, with the ability to talk still intact, not having its gyllcords cut out. I dragged the beast with me, struggling as it were, and slammed it into my treasure pen, along with a few lizards and frogs. I removed the machete from its slimy nozzle, throwing in some antibiotics for good measure.

"Frogs, lizzies, treat him well, he's your new companion, and if something happens to him - you best be worried."

I walked away from the wooden prison, leaving the other amphibians to care fpr their own, but I could feel the gator's gaze burning in my back, and I glanced back at him while walking forwards.

"...enge....ull ....ge"

I couldn't quite make it out, but unmoved I walked towards the bar and bistro of the only local lizard-free municipality, Man Town. I always thought the name could have been more clever, like 'Sapiens Haven' or 'No-Scale Zone', but I never brought it up. I walked in under the great sign, saluting the guards in the process and entered the Lagoon Saloon.

As I came in, the house was full. I heard some people shouting for my name, but I was a famous one in the here parts, so didn't pay no heed, unless I heard a voice worth recognizing. In this case, one rang out to my delicate ears. I sat down on the barstool, waiting for him to sit near.

"Marco Gazallo, well isn't this a pleasure? Out for only a few days and rumors say you already brought in a live gatorkin? That's a feat, a real feat, if you ask me, anyway."

I turned my head left to see Don Tyroid, babbling on about my conquests. I showed him my hand, lifting up three fingers, and quicker than I could say "Much obliged", I had two brews and a shot of crocradish in front of me.

"Hmmph... now isn't that nice, Mr. Don. One could think that there was a reason for this kind of unexpected hospitality towards a lone, rogue hunter?"

Tyroid didn't blink an eye, sleazy as he was.

"You see, Mr. Gazallo, may I call you Marco? Alright, I'll take that as a yes, well, there is the matter of seeing the price of the prize you brought in today."

I swigged down my drinks in under a minute, burping away. I looked at the vice chief of this village straight in the eyes.

"And what's it to you, huh? Ready to by yourself a gatorkin as a slave, even against all regulations?"

The man was taken aback by the accusation, squirming in his sweaty suit.

"On the contrary, Mr. Ga.. Marco, I have a proposition for you. here, this is for you, straight from me and the mayor. I'll see you later... Gatorman."

The Tyroid man walked away briskly, leaving me with an envelope, crafted from the finest crocodile skin available, Diamond Dust Duckadile. I whistled the barkeep for a small knife, cathing it between my fingers and gently ripped open the glue from the hughly expensive envelope, revealing its contents as I threw the knife back at the barkeep, missing him and gaining a bullseye on the dartboard behind him. I chuckled, and drew the paper from inside the precious container. It read, in cursive:

Mr. Gazallo,

during your latest trip, we have heard that you have brought back a fine specimen with you of the Gatorkin tribe. Our information sources point out that this specific gator in hand is Prince G'Jaw, a high ranking representative of the Northern Bayou Gators.

We, meaning myself and the city council, believe that your bounty is a precious one indeed, one which we could use not to sell, or bribe nor prevent any actions from aggressive and vulgar gatorkin or their more spiritual crocskin brethren. No, we could use him to our advantage, to use his knowledge of the surrounding areas and tribes to form a plan of attack, to use their information and surmisingly their lack of it to our battle for victory over the reptilian race.

SWe ask you to escort G'Jaw onto the southernmost borders of our held territory and harness his knowledge to aid us in the war effort. How you will accomplish this, is up to you.

Should you accept this mission or not, this message will self-destruct in thirty seconds after it has been opened./i>

"FUCK!"

I wished to grab hold of the envelope but knew it was a lost cause, and threw the whole thing behind the scabby pool table. It set on fire in midair and exploded with a loud bang, echoing across the bar. As the patrons started to look in my general direction, I had already exited the place of business, heading towards the docks.

I came back to the cage, as the moon was boiling over me, reflecting bright, but meek rays of the sun onto this night-filled Earth. I saw the bones and husks of devoured amphibians and lizards thrown out of the cage. I knocked on the wooden bars, beckoning for the Prince to step forward into the light.

He was definitely a fine ewxample of gatorkin, a truly spectacular example, now with his maw wrapped with bandages from his devout, but now demised helpers.

"Lack of respect against other scale and roughskins, I presume?"

The alligator rose up, standing on two feet, as tall as three men, still held with specially designed hand and jaw cuffs, barely allowing him to speak.

"Human, you may have ambushed me with silly tricks, but yours was but a stroke of luck", it hissed as it walked closer to the cell doors. "Why, you seem to be but a humble servant of the cause, to fight against us, without even studying why or how we evolved so quickly to this point to... to take your role over the so-called humanity what you advertise all around. You have never really even heard us out, nor have you wanted to, and that is why I despise rogue fucks like you the most."

I started laughing out loud, bellowing as it sprang out of me.

"Ha ha ha! You sure are a lively one, Mr. Blueblood! OR Coldblood? Killer? Man-eater? Hey, I got nicknames all around ringing in your ears for our special little trip."

G'Jaw was confused.

"Trip? What on Swamp are you talking about?"

I shot the gator with a mild tranquilizer, something enough to get him on the airboat without a large hassle, opened the gate as he slightly fell forwards. I guided him by the scales onto the boat, still keeping the handcuffs on and fastening both his tail and legs to the rotor's fence, but releasing his neck from any grips. He started to come to when the engine started up and I reversed the boat out from the docks, waving away at the new guard shift.

The gator seemed shocked.

"Wh--where are you taking me?!"

I turned around to face the scaly prince, smirking away like a bastard.

"Where are we going? Well, that's whole 'nother story to be told!"

I pushed the throttle and let the rotor whisk the airboat away onto the swamplands, with just me and reptilian prince to keep each other company for days to come.

 
Ahaa, okay.

Well, I hope they serve you pancakes once in a while in the asylum so there's at least something sweet in your life :)
 
write a story about your trip to new zealand and activites that you get up to in wanaka make it similar to the david lesh and b devines gillahouse edit
 
Just caught up on all the stories, and the amazement continues. I have nothing to say, more than:

Zombie-apocalypse. Love. Rivalry. Guns. Badassness.

You know it's was bound to happen.
 
when I'm really, really bored I will come back to this thread

but for now all those words scare me. Yikes
 


I walked briskly through the street of New Orleans, hearing the disjointed trumpet blows blaring in the distance. A Stumbler appeared before me, catching my musky, yet manly scent in the air and turning towards me, literally dropping its jaw from its hinges as it drooled over my sight.

I took a small step back, lowering my chic sunglasses to get a bead on the fucker. It had to have weighed at least 300 pounds before The Strike, leaving its slobbering husk parading the post-Mardi Gras streets contemptly, searching not for beads to give, but for flesh to take, and gnaw on vehemently. I resigned my gun into the holster after a small moment of pondering, and reserved my iron bat from the belt fitted around my shoulder, grabbing it tightly as the fuckers lunged, or more likely lumbered towards me, giving me ample time to load up my swing and bash the fat piece of shit in its cranium, blasting the rotting grey matter all over Bourbon Street. Ghastly, I thought, when I turned around to find the biggest Stumbler I had ever seen behind me, staring down at me like I was a Sunday's buffet fill of bacon and I had not time to reac

The lardass was kicked in the head from the side, sending it flying through the nearby restaurant's window, effectively slicing it in two as the large shards fell down. Camille, my nimble assassin, always a welcome sight when in a pinch. She spit at the Stumbler and walked over, waving her hips like in a runway show, giving me the red card on male arousement in zero point two seconds. She grabbed me by the shoulder, pulling me in for a wet, hot kiss. As our tongues departed, she lowered herself to her heels and let our her sultry voice.

"Now wheeeeen the Stumblers be coming into toooown..." she sang in the echoing streets as I continued:

"...there ain't nobodyyyy to show them 'rooouund..." as we finished in a duet of perfect harmony:

"...as we cock our trusty shotguns and we readyyyy our riflessss, we aaaaare the partyyy, to welcome new arrivaaals!"

We laughed and hugged, both completely aware of any sudden movements around us, and started walking down the street like nothing bad ever happened to the world. Camille asked me a difficult question.

"How many people do you think you would have offed if you had become a dead one here in New Orleans?"

I honestly couldn't say, but answered by courtesy.

"...fifty-seven. Most of them old folks, of course, but as you know, dear, I am in a hell of a shape compared to these lumbering lardasses, so I think my kill count should be in the tens at in any case, without any bragging, even."

She scoffed at my answer, hitting me in the stomach for good measure, as we continued our way across the desolate, post-Katrina streets towards our temporary safehouse, just down Rue de Monde.

She entered as I locked the fence up, with three sturdy locks, and I turned around to see her having opened the blast door-like shutter ahead of me, obliging as I entered before her with a tiff of the hat. She slammed the shutter down as I sat next to Callum.

"Well, well, if it ain't the true Survivor, eaten any maggots lately? Or shark balls?"

Camille laughed out loud, sending the ripples of her voice across the refurbished building and drawing out the other Mates from their rooms. Ronan raised his pants, buckling his belt as Shalia appeared behind him in the nude, hugging him and teasing us other men, most in relationships, as the round-a-bout whore of the Horror Holiday Inn. Trevor acknowledged my presence, throwing a beer in my direction from the second floor, not for a second doubting my ability to catch, but as I reached for the bottle, a quick and strong hand appeared before me and snabbed it from my reach. I heard a loud sizzle as the bottle opened, and three loud gulps as the liquied vanished into his stomach, giving out a mighty bellow as he smashed the empty beer against the wall, sending the shards down into the large, slowly but surely acrued pile of glass.

He sat beside me, raising his feet on the table in front of me and Callum, disgusting the girl with his behaviour.

"Well, well, if it aint' the untrue Survivor, picking up lint here and there just to save the day. Tell me, Garreth, when's the last time you brought anything useful to this community of... outliers?"

Camille came to me, hugging my upper torso, glaring furiously at Morduth, the only piece-of-shit hardrocker in the town of smoothing jazz, rhytm and blues. I knew she had feelings for him, some at least, hopefully only on a sexual level and nothing deeper, as I had made her mine, but it didn't stop this burly, ginger who was an apparent God of rock, to try and throw stick between my wheels at every opportune moment. I pushed her away and leaned towards the giant douche.

"You do understand that most of the electricity here goes towards your obsolete hobby and feeding the amps you so richly assume to be your property instead of sharing it with us lowly... survivors?"

I saw Callum react at this comment, but I didn't mean to startle or disrespect him. The only guy from New Orleans who had won a Survivor show and a million dollars, was now shying away from any real contact between us other people, pushed to choose survival in a dreaded town like this. I put on a stern face for Morduth.

"You may have come here from Norway, but before this all went down, I didn't see you burn any churches, or nut up for anything that would have made a difference here. So, I suggest you shut the fuck up or raise a real issue before I go on another scavenger hunt to supply your silly little role playing bullshit!"

He stood up, grabbing his 9mm as I cocked my Magnum behind my back and hoisted right in that fucker's face. None of us made a move or a sound, with Camille tremling behind me, unable to make a simple, affectual decision between two Alpha males, and Callum hiding his head under his hands against the table. Ronan emptied a .45 round in the air, penetrating the roof and causing us to turn around to him.

"Kids, you are a but a piece of the puzzle. You may be athletic, able to sort yourself around the fat Stumblers of deep-friedn Orleans, but how would you fare in a bigger and less broken town, say, the size of Dallas? Would you be able to make it, there, in the city of athletes, both male and female, healthy as hell and nimble as... Norwegians."

He was still buckling his belt, holding the pistol far too close to his rpivate parts without readying the safety, as he continued down the stairs, sharing his elderly wisdom.

"What we have here right now is paradise, or at least that's what I assume. Imagine the Wall Street masses, filled with superfood and pure nutrients until the day of reckoning came before us, hunting down any and all surviving humans

with deadly efficiency, burning their overtime not on caviar or fine wines, but on your trepid innards, munching away, without a worry of gaining weight or losing positions in the business world!"

He came to the landing, turning around the swiveling staircase and continuing his sermon.

"What about San Fransisco, then? We've seen their ability to climb hills and gain entry to even the highest towers built by man before the broadcasts cut off. Imagine those re-deads, would they gain power in their legs from climbing all those hills, navigating the tram routes, could they outrun you as you became fatigued, while they would hunt you down and feast on your flesh like the Earthbound hippies they were, camping in their Priuses, waiting for the right moment to strike at their brethren. Well, what about you, what about us?"

Ronan slicked back his long, ginger hair, fluttering down his pale, Irish shoulders before he put on a suave shirt handed to him by the resident lady of the night, holstering his gun under the tuck.

"After seeing New York fall, and after escaping from LA, do you really have any reason to doubt my words anymore? The words of someone earning the nickname "Rugged" Conan O' Brien? Do I look rugged to you, gentlemen? A lanky, redhead freak, somehow surviving all the odds and living until this day? No. I worked hard to survive", he said while aiming a friendly nod at Callum, flexing his gigantic biceps before us as his crimson sideburns danced furiously next to his beard. "I took initiative, and I earned that name. I might still be funny, but right now, I am serious as fuck. I'll have no more of this gangsta bullshit in this house ever again, is this understood!?"

We all nodded in unison, as Morduth scowled at me, ready to retreat in his special sound-proof chamber, as Co... Ronan pushed him down onto the small stool.

"Sit."

He looked at me and Camille.

"All of you, sit."

We gathered around the large, crescent-shaped table, with me and Camille explaining today's events and Trevor writing down the information for the inventory. Suddenly, Ronan slammed his white fist on the table.

"It's not enough. You all know it. Those slobbering fat fucks, they were the only risen ones in any city that I actually saw diving in grocery stores, filling their rotting stomachs with candy, pastries and potato chips over fresh meat, us, walking by unsuspectedly. Meaning", he exclaimed sarcastically "...that our nourishments are running dry, no doubt about it. But there is a way."

Ronan stood up, holding his hands behind his back and walking circles around the mahogany floor of the old inn.

"Seven miles from here. There's a drugstore called McCathy's. A pharmacy of sorts, filled wall to wall with useless trinkets and you'd be damned to even find any isle with some Aspirin on it."

We all looked at each other, staring away silently as Camille clenched my hand in hers, as Ronan continued.

"...beneath that shop, is a possible treasure trove for us. The owner was a real nutjob, a clear tinfoil case. I made jokes of him often during my show's run, and I know for a fact that he has a bunker underneath the pharmacy, filled to its edges with food, water and other supplies to last him, and only him, fifteen straight years."

What Ronan told us couldn't have come at a better time. We needed any possibility for survival, and we were going to take it. Among the Stumblers, what could really go wrong?

"Morduth, Callum, Camille... and Garreth, you will be the search party. Here, thekey to the armory, stock up on anything you need, but remember - any extra baggage might lead to situations you aren't ready for! Don't you forget that. Leave when you must, and I wish you the best of luck."

As we locked and loaded the needed artillery, weapon belts her and there, I saw Callum shaking at the thought of venturing outside once again, while Morduth was applying eyeliner and more white facepaint in the corner, simultaneously assembling and disassembling his assault rifle without even looking at it, the whole process over and over taking mere seconds. I looked at Camille, equipping herself with loads of grenades and handgun ammunition, while I grabbed my trusty Magnum, swooned over it, grabbing a sawed-off shotgun and a hefty aomunt of shells into my backpocket while taking all the Mag clips I could find. I motioned for the group to go outside and no less than a minute later, Camille had pulled the heavy shutter down.

I looked at everyone one of them, all both shaken and stirred by the past and what was about to go down, each of us unable to see our fates laid before us like a house of cards ready fall down at any given moment. I turned around and opened the three sturdy locks, letting my crew past and shutting the fence behind me.

The sun had begun to rise, shining the bright yellow light upon our faces, as I started to hear the trumpets sounding off in the wind, echoing across the abandoned streets of New Orleans. I looked at the map given to me by my redheaded mentor, and grimaced.

"Boys... girls... it's time to sing the blues again."

We hustled off into a brand new, post-apocalyptic day.

 


Keeping watch on the hot tin roof and staring into the distant river, set aflame by the glorious sun setting down in the distance, he thought about how he got into this mess in the first place.

The deterioration had already started in his country, unknown to most of the citizens as they mourned the recent Oslo Metro Strikes, and the similar attacks that had taken place all over the Western world, taking thousands of lives in the blink of an eye. Along with the suffocated victims, the gas used in the acts of terrors seemed to be spreading some kind of viral presence, akin to a slightly rising threat of a man-made pandemic.

He remembered sitting in the back of the police truck, hands and legs cuffed onto the floor as he was hurried to the transport plane, driving along the secret military passages under the airport. He had sat there for a good twenty minutes until they had finally ascended back to the surface, and he could hear the gripping of the smooth, perfectly level surface of the runway tarmac. The armed officer had sat facing, dropping the act of a hard-ass only to cough loudly once in a while, spitting mucus on the truck’s floor – he had looked very pale. They had come to a stop and he was pulled out of the moving pen.

He could clearly remember the smells of that day. The heat from the ground reminded him of the smell of burning coal, reminding him of the blaze of Fjjurdkall; the powerful stench of the jet fuel and airplane petrol, bringing him back to the burning of Stranoppen; the musty smell of the poorly-kept hangar, similar to one he had been hiding in for days after torching the great cathedral of Vattnerel. The officers had pushed him along, towards the large cargo plane rolling into the massive hangar.

He vividly saw the agent’s face in his mind and tried to think what exactly he had said.

“Now then, Mr. Thomassen. I do apologize for removing your precious makeup, but I do not think you would want to enter the facility you are going to on American soil with such a pretty visage…”

He smirked, remembering what he had answered him.

“My name is Morduth, you suit-wearing, Washington-reaming, rat-race saluting, corporate whore.”

One of the cops had hit Morduth in the back of the head with a flashlight, and he could still feel the bump hidden under his hair, touching it gently on the hot roof. He closed his eyes again, thinking back.

“Ha ha, I see, the Satan worshipper has a mouth to speak with, and with a perfect American accent to boot! How cute, Mr. Thomassen”, the suit had said before continuing his annoying little speech.

“Isn’t it a bit sad for you, though? All those years, murdering animals, sacrificing them to your Dark Lord, turning over tombstones and disrespecting the memories of so many who were once loved, not to mention burning down precious churches all around the beautiful countryside of your Nordic land, eluding arrest since Day One. Yet, here we are.”

The agent had perched forwards with his hands behind his back, taking a mocking posture.

“Here we are, indeed, because of a silly little copyright violation, a sick and twisted Black Metal song that you downloaded without permission, enabling us, from the glorious world state, to use whatever means necessary to track you down and get us an extradition warrant in no less than three days. Thank SOPA 2016 for that, Mr. Thomassen. Just think for a second, think, what the very devout inmates of God’s Holy Penitentiary will do with a pretty little church burner like you. Take him away; I’ll come and say ‘hi’ before we touch down in Virginia.”

The three officers had dragged him into the plane’s cargo hold, all of them now coughing and wheezing along the way, looking weary as hell. He was then locked up into a sort of animal cage or travel container inside the spacious hold, barely big enough for him to fit in, when one of the guards had smashed him with the butt of his rifle. He blacked out as the plane took off in flight.

He came to when the suit had sprang into the cargo hold, as he realized his other eye wouldn’t open, drenched close by dried blood. The suit looked terrified, and his clothes were torn and his face bloodied, as he quickly shut the bulky door behind him, grabbing whatever he could to jam the doorway with. He had still felt a bit delirious, unable to make anything of the situation at hand. He had seen a large wound on the man’s shoulder, right where the suit had been ripped, and it had gushed blood all over the cold, rusty floor.

“No, no, no, my God, my God! It hurts, fucking hell, it hurts…Well, Mr… Mr. Thomassen, it seems we have a bit of a dilemma here”, the suit had said while stumbling across to my cage, holding up a set of keys and unlocking the cage, beckoning me to turn around to unlock my cuffs. Right when he did, he had swung at him, hitting him square in his face, knocking the man down.

“Waiwaiwait! Don’t! I need you! You’re free to go, okay? Just help me! The crew, the guards, they’ve… they’ve all lost their minds! They… oh Jesus Lord in Heaven… they attacked me, bit me, they… they tore the flight attendant to pieces! At…they started eating her! My God… I have no idea what’s happening here, but you have to help me, save me!”

Back then, he didn’t really believe what the suit had said, so he looked fiercely in his eyes, with the stare of an ice-cold killer, shaking him in his torn suit. He remembered grabbing a fire axe, or a fire extinguisher maybe, from the plane’s wall, moving the debris aside from the door and tightly gripping the handle, pushing it down as it opened.

“No! You idiot, don’t!”

The door swung open and he could see the bloodbath before me – ripped torsos, body parts and guts all over the seats in the tight personnel area which lead straight to the pilot’s deck. It was a horrific sight back then, even to someone like him, used to satanic rites and gore. Two of the guards were trying to knock open the pilot’s door, trying to enter the cabin, just then breaking through as he heard the pilots scream in agony, sending the plane in a downward spiral, almost making Morduth hurl. He had little time then, but it seemed even less now in his memories.

Turning back into the cargo hold, he was faced with a new revelation – the suit was now one of them, and coming straight at him with a horrifying expression, torn and twisted into something he could have only described as unsatisfiable lust. But lust for what, he had thought, before swinging the weapon in his hands and caving the suit’s head in with a single, deadly blow.

The plane had felt weightless as they were dropping speed at an alarming rate. He had sprung to the end of the cargo hold, grabbed open a package from the wall he assumed to be for parachutes, proving to be right. Attaching it firmly, he had slid down to the cargo bay’s door and hit the large red button, causing the wind to start blowing through the space as the gigantic door creaked open.

He thought about if he had been scared back then, and came to the conclusion that he definitely wasn’t scared.

He had jumped out and pulled the chute quickly, looking on as the plane dropped closer and closer to the ground, finally plummeting into the moonlit Earth with a devastating explosion, powered by the massive amount of jet fuel, as the flames had created a large pyre in the silent fields, arousing his pyromaniac side as he landed safely not two miles away from the crash.

The fire illuminating the surrounding area, he could see he had landed in some kind of swamp, and had seen a silhouette of a nearby town, beginning to walk towards it with determinate steps.

“What’s on your mind, goat eater?”

Garreth startled him as he woke up from his hazy daydreams, swiftly snapping back into the present.

“…nothing.”

“You know, I just mean, you looked like you were deep in thought. I was sure that a guy like you wouldn’t be capable of deep thought”, Garreth teased as Morduth rose up as the first rays of a new day shone across the river bend. He had completely lost track of time.

“Okay then, farm boy, how about we get going before I bash your face in?” Morduth answered while clamoring for his gun. Camille and Callum woke up and dropped down from the roof after the two, and they took the last few streets down to reach their destination.

Garreth smiled while patting Camille’s behind. “Welp, we’re here!”

No Stumblers in sight, they stood in front of McCathy’s, wishfully thinking that a real jackpot waited for them in its dark, desolate foundations.

Callum looked worried. “It’s bigger than I thought, like a Mega-Mart or something.”

Morduth grabbed him by the shoulder, shoving his demonic features his face and hissing in his ears.

“Well, you’re a big boy, are you not? …how bout you go in first?”

Callum seemed terrified at the thought, but readied his snub-nose as they surrounded the entrance, peering in, seeing no movement, as Callum hesitantly opened the door into the clinical-looking aisles of the foreboding pharmacy.

 
i want a story about the day when you realized hair was starting to grow on your back and you were gonna be a human Sasquatch unless you got laser hair removal and then the laser procedure mutates you similar to how the spider in spiderman infected peter parker and then you can add your own flavor to it.
 


I was looking at the posters on the wall, framed with sultry wood. One of them read "If you want to walk like an Egyptian, you have to shave like an Egyptian!", showing a picture of a muscular, yet feminine man, with a wad of hair rising from his miniature man thong, shaven in the shape of a pyramid. Another had a more of a science fiction feel, in black and white, saying "Anus: The Final Frontier. These could be the voyages of your cherished woman's curiosity, but to achieve this, you must shave where No Man Has Shaved Before", coupled with superimposed pictures of a few naked guys flying across the galaxy. Dear fucking God, make this quick. A nurse opened the waiting room door gently, calling my name.

"Destivo, Roger."

I sighed in relief as I sood up, trying to ignore the other twenty-or-so hair removal propaganda posters hanging on the walls as a testimony that guys actually did this stuff for pure pleasure as well. Me... I was here out of necessity.

I was lead through the interestingly long hallway, filled with fluorescent lights and some sort of diplomas filling both walls, growing in size as we walked up the viridian pathway, wheh the nurse came to a halt at a brown door, possibly made from some other expensive wood I didn't recognize. The nurse knocked on the door and began walking away, but before I had the chance to ask her what I should do, a male voice called for me to enter, and I turned the handle pushing in and entering the lass brightly lit room.

It was more like a study, actually, with all sorts of weird books that I couldn't really recognize, wasn't really a book-kinda guy, but I could recognize some of them by the pictures on their covers, especially the ones on the large, wooden desk - there were a lot of books filled with pictures of creatures I remembered from when I was a kid, like bigfoots and phoenixes, and those horses with the horns, whaddaya call 'em... Then, the doctor rose up from behind his desk, taking off his glasses and shaking my hand.

"Doctor Arand Pashvil, at your service. Please, Mr. Destivo, take a seat."

I sat down on the soft and comfy chair, feeling right at home. "Roger... Roger will do just fine."

Dr. Pashvil began putting his glasses back on while shuffling around some papers, but halted for a moment to check if what I said was sarcastic or not, seemingly pleased that I was being honest.

"Ah, excellent, Roger. But time is money, as they say, and you are here because of a problem. I am aware of your... want and need for this procedure, but may I ask, Roger, what is the cause? Does this run in your family?"

I wanted to think long and hard about that one. I wasn't really a thinking kind of guy, so I just went with something.

"Well, I've heard that it's herida... hedire...he.."

"Hereditary? Passed on in the family?", Pashvil chimed in.

"Yeah, that's the one. Heard it happened to my pappy and grandpappy, and his grandpappy, but I don't know about no cause, really. Just happens when we get old enough. Gets kinda hard to get by, and irritating when it's like... like you could just go all day without a shirt in the winter because the hair warms your back all the same. You know?"

The doctor flicked his glasses, rising up to study my back, asking me to lift my shirt.

"Yes... yes. Well, you are here now, this is a common issue and as such, very, very easily dealt with!"

The doctor smiled and asked me to follow him into the adjacent room, and as we walked through the door, it was like entering one of those spaceships I saw in the posters in waiting room. Pure white, really... sterillo or something, and I was asked to take of my clothes, and lie down on the operating table, shaped in the form of a body, which was pretty neat, actually.

I lied down as the doctor and two nurses entered again, this time with masks and gloves. Pashvil ducked down a bit, staring at my face.

"Are you sure you don't want anything else to be dealth with... somewhere else... problematic, maybe? This is full-body operational machinery."

"Naah... I'm fine, thanks, doc", I answered and shivered as I thought of pyramids and asses free of hair. The room's lights blinked for a second, and a humming sound filled my ears. The doctor spoke to me from behind the glass, talking into a mic.

"Now, Roger... this might sting just a little bit. Microsurgery operation #2598/45/11-0 is underway, patient Destivo, R. full back hair removal, ready to spool in 3, 2, 1...

That's when the pain hit me, oh man, it was terrible! I once took a small tattoo in my thigh as a young kid and I thought that was harsh, but this was at least twice as bad. For a momentIt was more than a tingle, and the pain grew immensely, and I felt like I was fading away into a faraway land.

I was bouncing over pink clouds, dancing across rainbows that filled the heavens, jumping from island to island, all floating in the sky, dashing across big holes to find my footing once again, gaining speed as I went on, with my legs clanking under me and I ran and I ran when I saw a star, bright as the sun, waiting for me to taste it's shining light...

I woke up in a sweat, with my brain jumping around in my head, as I realized I had gotten home. My back was absolutely killing me, and I tried to reach over with my head but couldn't so I softly touched it with my hand. There was some kinda wrapper on it, probably to protect the wounds or something. I felt like I had to piss so I head down to my bathroom for a tinkle.

The light switch flicked, the light was out again, need to change that bulb. But I knew my way around my own sacred place, walking in the dark room with prefect precision and raising the lid to take a post-operation piss. It hurt at first, like I had held it in for two weeks, but as I emptied my bladder, I felt lighter and lighter, with my mind focusing on the gentle feeling of relief again. I opened my eyes and realized the bathroom was full of light. Huh? I looked at the ceiling, no, still out. What the heck, a bright light illuminemating the whole area, and it seemed to come from just over my head. I shook myself clean quickly, and rushed in front of the mirror. What the flying fuck?!

There was a horn growing out of my head! Right there, outta my forehead! And it was shining as brightly as the sun itself! What the hell wa... what the fuck!? My teeth, m... my teeth feld suddenly weird, heavier than usual, and harder, too. Still in shock, I went towards the mirror, reflecting my teeth and face, only to see that all my teeth were metallic! And my face seemed to be turning grey and dark with each second! Oh my fucking shit! I heard a loud bang at the door, with someone knocking like the sky was falling down.

"Roger! Roger! Mr. Destivo! Are you alright! PLEASE LET ME IN!"

I ran to the door, trying to look through the dooreye but hitting the horn on it instead, deciding to open the door. Dr. Pashvil stood there, sweating like hell, along with his beautiful nurse companion.

"Please, Roger! Something went terribly wrong! Please, let us come in!"

I still couldn't get used to my teeth, and I felt like I was hearing some kind of noise, or song in the back of my head, but iwas really distant. The doc couldn't stop shaking, but tried to explain what was really going on.

"Mr. Destivo... Roger... do you believe in mythical creatures?"

I remembered the books from his desk the other night.

"Not exactly, doc. Old wives tales, children's bed time stories, they're just there to teach morals and stuff, right? Not like santa is real, is he?"

The nurse bowed her head down in shame, on the verge of bursting into tears. The doctor regainined his composure.

"Roger... there's... there is some truth to these creatures", he said while staring at my glowing horn, my metallic body growing in size constantly and my hands, which seemed to be turning into hooves.

"Roger... do you believe in unicorns?"

I didn't have time to answer as he continued his explanation.

"Our lab, is special. We are able to remove body hair from men from anywhere on their bodies with 100% precision, but it comes at a risk... a risk we cannot tell our customers, or there would be none.

I neighe... I asked what he meant, craving metallic hay.

"Unicorns... were real, once. But our company was able to clone them, and create new, improved versions of them, harnessing their powers! We can use their powers of laserdom to remove our customers' plight for a better life, but... you are not the first one to experience this terror. Roger... I'm sorry to say, but..."

The song, it was clearly a song, I could hear it louder now.

"...you are turning into..."

My body started spasming, as the size of my midrift multiplied, growed both in size and in stature and my legs elongated into strong and muscular metallic appendages, clanking on my hardwood floor. The horn on my head above my face, it too greatly becoming longer, shone as brightly as the afternoon sun. I knocked the doctor and nurse over as I dashed out of my apartment window, exploding the wall and glass in the air, dropping down into the city with immense speed.

"...Roger... you're turning into... a Robot Unicorn..."

I flew down uncontrollably, when I saw a man on the corner, kidnapping a baby from its stroller, leaving the mother stranded and calling for help. I felt my newfound powers go stronger inside me, waited until I was at the correct level - and dashed! I dashed forwards mightily, leaving behind a flash of a rainbow, catching the childnapper instantenously, knockin him over into the dumpster next to the donut-eating cop, and dashed back to the hooraying mother. As I sprang into the sky, I could hear the cheers I left behind, as a new superhero was born, but I had another calling awaiting me as well.

I flew deep into the clouds until I saw the desolate floating islands, and my first, looming star ahead of me. I neighed loudly, springing towards my goal, with sky dolphins hopping beside me, welcoming me home.

The song rang inside my ears, inside my whole neing, now clearly as a voice from God above:

"Open your eyes I see

Your eyes are open

Wear no disguise for me

Come into the open

When it's cold outside

Am I here in vain?

Hold on to the night

There will be no shame

Always

I wanna be with you

And make believe with you

And live in harmony harmony oh love..."

 
Great stuff Mike-O, this thread is a great time-killer in class. Heres my premise:

Your sitting in your room on NS when all of a sudden the window explodes and your room is raided by a special ops/swat looking team...
 
Absolutely fantastic! Question time: How long does it usually take to make one of these stories?
 
The shorter ones are just around fifteen minutes or so, but I think the longer ones, like the Polar Bear story, can take up to an hour each, bit more, bit less, depending on what else I was doing at the time and if I was close to ending it and decided to add something else in the middle, having to revamp stuff.

But fuck me, this is fun. Mind you, I'm not correcting or spellchecking these in any way, so there are some ridiculous errors, but it's raw and quick.

 
Good shit man, You come to out of a blackout state and to your horror your in a gay bar on tighty whitey night. Someone at yout table says "Grab the next round dude."
 


My parents were out for the night and my big sis was getting hammered at her friend’s house. I promised not to tell about her “bad habits” if she left as soon as our folks were gone so I could have some private time for myself. Unfortunately, our family believed in love and cherishment and togetherness, hence not equipping any locks on any doors of our house, leading to a lot of close calls for me when I heard someone heading up to my room in the attic, as I was… doing my thing. But now, I had ample time to indulge in what I loved most in the world. I put on my wardrobe, fired up my laptop and my favorite browser, landing me on my homepage - NS.com.

It felt only like minutes, but hours had passed already as I had typed away furiously. The moonlight hung silently in my room, brightening my room just to show the posters on my walls and all sorts of skiing equipment stranded across the room. Just then, I heard a loud sound of a rotor coming above our hous. A helicopter? I stood up and walked down to one of the small, round attic windows when a blinding light shone in my face. I lifted my arms to cover from it as I heard the attic window explode in my face, feeling the shards of glass and wood flying all over as a large man in commando gear rappelled through the window, knocking me on my back with his boots.

The kick in the chest caused me to lose my breath, but that wasn’t my biggest worry at me moment. Two men dressed in SWAT-like clothing were pointing the barrels of their assault rifles right in my face.

“Stay down, you little fuck! Johnson, is this our guy?”

The other one answered from under the balaclava.

“Who else could it be… I mean, look at this sick motherfucker and what he’s wearing.”

They saw me lying on the floor, decked out in all my skiing gear – goggles, headphones, bandanna, my jacket, multiple tall tees down to my knees, saggy snowpants and boots. I gulped and tinkled in my underwear as the guy who knocked me down leaned over to his shoulder-embedded walkie talkie.

“Zero-zero-theta-niner-three, we have the Thug, I repeat, we have the Thug, please respond, over.”

The radio hissed and crackled back with an answer.

“Roger, five-two-six, prepare for instant extraction, over.”

The one called Johnson kneeled down and attached my legs with one of the three ropes hanging from the window, as the other one pulled twice on his own and was rapidly pulled back up out by the window and into the ominous night sky. Johnson put a sack with a hole for breathing over my head and I could hear and feel it being fastened shut with some kinda tape. I felt him tug twice on the rope tied around my boots.

“This might get a bit bumpy, bitch. Too bad you’re not wearing a helmet!”

I was pulled across the floor with crazy speed and as I was hoisted up through the window, I banged my head against the sill and Iii-i—

I startled as I woke up, with my head killing me, as the bag was lifted up from my eyes and the sudden intrusion of lights blinded me for a sec. When I got used to the lights, I could focus my eyes and noticed I was sitting in large room on a chair beneath a tall, wooden desk. Suddenly my mouth was taped up from behind with duct tape, and I tried to scream, with no voice coming out.

“Honorable judge residing, all rise!”

I was lifted up by my neck, choking me for a second as I saw a man in a judge’s cape and those silly little British wigs walk into the room and sit behind the tall podium. He grabbed a file from in front of him and banged his gavel.

“Please be seated.”

I was pushed down by the head, smashing my back in the chair, Jesus fuck… The judge peered down at me and began his inquisition.

“Charges on trolling NS - creating aliases daily, claiming first in every thread or news piece, how do you plead?”

I tried to answer, shouting from under the tape, muffled completely.

“Charges on wrongful skiing attire – putting fashionable clothing and hivemind opinions ahead of functionality and even despicably wearing said attire indoors, how do you plead?”

I was trying to grab a bite of the tape with my teeth, but couldn’t, bellowing muffled sounds in to the courtroom.

“Finally, charges on not learning the proper way to ski before entering a terrain park area repeatedly over the past two years, how do you plead?”

My own screams echoed inside my head, to no avail.

“I sentence the defendant to real skiing, on real mountains, effective immediately.”

He banged down the gavel.

“Court dismissed.”

I could hear the roars of the crowd behind me and caught a small glimpse before another hood was draped over my head. Bearded, scruffy men, some younger than they looked, dressed in practical ski wear and equipped with beacons and shovel, munching away on granola bars and celebrating another victory over our kind. TGR. Those sons of bitches. I was hit on the back of my head, first once, but I didn’t lose consciousness, but then I felt ano

As I came to, the blades of a chopper were whirring and blowing wind and snow in my face, as it lifted off from the ground, descending quickly to the clouds soaring near the peak of the mountain range. I looked around and saw a pair of pow skis, a small survival kit and the gear needed for this. I looked down the steep face, as if I had seen my own death. But I still had a chance to prove them wrong and live another day. I clicked, took a deep breath and jumped down in the deadly, challenging chute.

 
You can drop the gay bar storyline if you want, but can you guys picture these guys ripping it up on skis? haha, do you remember that scene from Inception where the dude is like riding switch and still shooting people?
 
threads. and have you ever considered making a collection of the short stories that you write and making a novel? that would be sick
 
(Left gay bar out, combined ski racing and these killers.)

Alphonse took a deep breath, swaying on his heels and edges, waiting for the sound to push him off. He swayed, nervously, gripping his poles and planting them in the felt-like surfaces on each sides of the starting gate. He flicked his tongue around furiously, knowing he could make this run count. He was second last to go, with a -1.18 lead on the final skier. He had this in the bag, hoping the last guy just missed one edge here and there, or couldn't catch up with his own, raggedy style on the icy course ahead.

BLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

The harrowing sound rang in his eras, as he perched forwards, putting all his weight on the poles, and pushed forwards down the Giant Slalom course, with his coaches shouting obscenities behind him, tagging him for the win or else. He tucked down and felt the grip take place on his right edges as he leaned into a turn. He could hear some of the course attendants routing for him, it was his home race after all. He puckered up and took long, sleek turns to the right as the track narrowed. It was his home mountain, and he knew every single nook and cranny of every single run. Although the course advisor was Slovenian in this case, and a real bitch at being a Slovenian course advisor, he knew what he was doing, propelling himself for a small bump in the upcoming meters, launching him over a long hill and landing him on his left edges, carrying on the speed like he never left the ground.

He was closing in on the final flags, the last leg of the race which he, in his mind, had already conquered. A final bossty bump that threw him at the landing gate ahead, almost throwing him off balance, but he kept his cool; this was his life after all. He ran through the finish line, spraying the on-lookers with his massive snowcloud, and hearing the cowbells ring in the evening storm. The fog started laying down just after he finished and ejected one of his skis to show for the cameras.

-4.78 seconds.

A new World Record on this course. At least for now. He had no certainty, other than wish for the best. He looked at the gigantic screen, picturing his archrival, Theodore, in position. The callous beep sounded and he wa son his way. And Alphonse waited, waited, until it was too late. He heard a storm approaching fast, pushing in the sleet and dreary fog. Within the storm and down the mountain, two figures emerged.

Alphonse held his breath as the potential World Cup Champion, unable to see his opponent's movements, overtakes or mistakes via the on-site camera; he could only listen to the announcers and see his time ahead of the last man coming down diminish by the milliseconds as Theodore turned and crouched to gain time over him.

-2.56

Alphonse sighed.

-3.14

Alphonse scrathced his hands together.

-4.57

It was the last interval. Alphonse put his hand together and begged the Gods above to let him win. Just this time, let him win over Theodore, the Thunder Cheetah of Alabasta. Just.. this... once..

Theodore crossed the finish line in a blinding flurry, almost flying over Alphonse, careening into the crowd uncontrollably. He looked up to the screen.

-4.77 seconds.

Alphonse rejoiced, shouting and hollering and jumping in the air, finally defeating a dreaded foe. He knew he had to rub it in Theodore's face, so he clicked into his skis and half-ran and trodded into the audience amidst the thick fog, only to hear a deafening scream. Something wasn't right. The screams, both of male and female participants became louder as he ventured through the spectator's area where his nemesis had fallen into. Was he hurt? Possibly, he did fly in at a high speed. The screams got louder, and he saw the reason why.

There in the snow he lay, bloodied as a corpse on Thokve's Day, slanted pecuriously on the snowbank - decapitated. His head was nowhere to be seen, until he sensed something flying in his general direction. With his honed skills, he dodged, only to have the object hit the woman in front of him with full force. It bounced off, knocking the woman out and flew into the silvery, foggy sky above him.

It was Theodore's head, face distorted in agony. He heard the clanks behind him, peering through the fog.

One of them was amazingly large, big enough to fill a whole hospital hallway on Bjergon, grabbing innocent spectators, tying nooses around their necks, firing the other ends to the FIS structures around him, leaving them gasping for air and ensuring slow, mournful deaths.

The other one he could hear from a distance away, slicing through bodies in his way, like a seared katana slicing through bamboo, leaving his innocents foes incapacitated or simply, dead.

They both appeared before him. Then he understood. Theodore wouldn't have won, that's why he was killed. These... things, they only wanted the best. They wanted the champion to die beneath their finishing touch. He wouldn't give them the pleasure. He grabbed Theodore's dislodged head in his grip.

He swerved around, faced downhill and began running away from his assailants.

He was blasting down the hill as fast as I could, not knowing the route ahead. The hours he had spent practicing and imagining the swift curves of today's course left him wondering, along with the pressure of feeling two men skiing behind me, killers, dressed in impenetrable armor and donning weapons that would only offer him a swift death if he took even one wrong turn down his home mountain. But the fog was getting to him, and he could hear those things, coming closer, all the while slaughtering people that got caught in their way, slicing through or hanging them from tree branches along the runs. He had to devise a plan to survive, and he had to do it now.

Su... suddenly he saw the answer to the conundrum before him, glowing in neon colors ahead of him. He had to act fast.

RIP and Grinder were sliding down the mountain, filled with rage, an unspeakable emotion driving them towards destruction and debauchaery, wihtou any clear way to explain it.

They had seen a man, quicker than them, fly down the mountain, conquer it, and they had felt jealous. They had looked at each other, taken the top gondola up and donned their deadly defensive gear while readying their ultimate weapons. No one could stand before them and live. No one was better than them.

Or so they thought.

A bright orange sign appeared in front of them, telling them to slow down inthe slow area. Behind the sign, a man clad in orange and red came out blowing a whistle.

"PPPFFFTTTT!!! STOOOOOPPP! You're going too fast in the Slow Zone!"

RIP and Grinder slowed down to a halt, unable to understand what was going on, lowering their weapons as their prey was not in sight.

"Boys, boys, boys, you don't want your passes clipped, do ya? You went waaaaayyy too fast here to be allowed in down t the lodge with your passes intact! You'll never ski here again, no matter what you're after!"

RIP moved forward, but Grinder limited his movement, and nodded for the Ski Patroller to continue.

"Thank you, son. Now, the only possible route, and way for us to be civil about this, is that you duck that rope to your left, just like I told that other fast fellow just before you to go through..."

R and G peered to the right, seeing an orange rope on the left side of the run, swaying in the wind, thinking how their opponent must have gone there. They readied their weapons, shouted in anger through their battle armor, and ducked the rope.

The immediately fell closer to 500 meters and died on impact in the jagged rocks below.

The Ski Patroller removed his hood, revealing himself to be Alphonse, the faster racer in the world, outsmarting even the deadliest of assasins under the turns of his edges. He grabbed Theodore's head from inside his coat, smiling at him, hanging it by its hair.

"I finally won, you know. I finally did it. Only for you to have died before you could acknowledge me. Forgive me, my... my... my friend."

Tears rolled off his face as he threw his best friend's, his olders enemy's head into the valley ahead, only to be blasted asunder by the ragged stones below. He shed his tears, knowing that most of the people above him were dead, but he began skiing down, down for some kind of celebration.

In any case, today, he was the fastest skier in the world.

 
Write a story about Zues. Him wanting to create the perfect skis. The perfect boots. The ways he uses his powers to create these items. Use creative names too.
 
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