Storybook

Macky55

0/10 just because I never post here, I am excluded from your story?

WHAT SENSE DOES THAT MAKE???

Now Im upset and sad and depressed and bleak and blue and ... hmm and Im blue da ba de da ba die (excuse my singing)

da ba de da ba die
da ba de da ba die
da ba de da ba die
da ba de da ba die
 

masterofwar101

You're in my story!

Once upon in a Country called The West or West was filled by lovely people.There was a young, and willing to learn adventurer by the name of Macky.He had heard of a group of wise monks of the skill of RP'ing.The main monk, by the name of Regal, or known by outsiders Lord Regal.His companions, MoW & Father Coram were the head teachers.MoW being the Role-Playing teacher of which Macky learned Drama, Grammar & Punctuation.From Father Coram, he learned things I do not understand, 'cause that's Coram, he's so un-understandable.

Macky learned everything, but still has not learned how to impress his master.MoW the true The One :D
 

Macky55

Master your writing is in a muddle, your knowledge is spilled as if a puddle,
You say you are the true one, but your grammar denies, for you said "MoW the true The One" don't tell such lies, for you know I am King and you just a page, unlike Galipus your stupid mage.

Let me enlighten you ,

Once upon a time in a far away land,Their was a large kingdom covered in sand, (some my call it a dessert) Well anyway, it was ruled by a tyrant by the name of Macky. who slaughtered and slayed any lacky, every Sunday he would get out of bed, and get his axe, ready to behead.

On such a day there was a sleeping bloke, and when he saw our king he did nearly choke, the king said, what is your name ? He replied sadly, "Master of War , I know very lame"
So the king said "I'm here to kill you," and then his cow peril replied, "Moooo", which means, then you will have to kill me too, so our handsome king lopped their heads, and ate peril for dinner and then went to bed. THE END
 
Last edited by a moderator:

Peril

Master your writing is in a muddle, your knowledge is spilled as if a puddle,
You say you are the true one, but your grammar denies, for you said "MoW the true The One" don't tell such lies, for you know I am King and you just a page, unlike Galipus your stupid mage.

Let me enlighten you ,

Once upon a time in a far away land,Their was a large kingdom covered in sand, (some my call it a dessert) Well anyway, it was ruled by a tyrant by the name of Macky55. who slaughtered and slayed any lacky, every Sunday he would get out of bed, and get his axe, ready to behead.

On such a day there was a sleeping bloke, and when he saw our king he did nearly choke, the king said, what is your name ? He replied sadly, "Master of War , I know very lame"
So the king said "I'm here to kill you," and then his cow peril replied, "Moooo", which means, then you will have to kill me too, so our handsome king lopped their heads, and ate peril for dinner and then went to bed. THE END

10/10 Epic

Moo......*coughnazicough* :D
 

pieboy12345

pieboy12345 said "Oh oh let me start I have a good one! It's the story of the shadow man of Creeky Lake:
Once in 1997 at Creeky Lake summer camp 5 people disappeared and were never found again. The culprit was never found but the people still believe that the shadow man of Creeky Lake took those people and still haunts Creeky Lake. After 1997 the camp was boarded up and abandoned. But the people believe that anyone who travels inside te borders of Camp Creeky Lake they too will fall victim to that shadow man of Creeky Lake. How did the shadow man come into being you ask? Well it happened back in 1987 a decade before Camp Creeky Lake opened for it's first and only year. A band of 4 campers went to Creeky Lake to spend the week camping little did they know they wouldn't last that long. 2 of those campers went off, after they pitched camp, to find done fire wood. By nightfall they still hadn't returned. They couldn't go out in the dark so they slept for the night and decided to go look in the morning. When morning came around they got up and went looking they found one at the bottom of a cliff...dead. He had fallen off, the 2 searchers were so scared they ran screaming back to camp. When they got there they found the 2nd person who went out searching for wood. Curled up in a ball her name was Christine and the man who had fallen off was her husband Chris. 'Chris' she whispered weakly still not showing her face. 'Dark magic he had book, summoned demon, scared him, jumped, got me' she cried. 'BUT LOOK AT WHAT HE DID!' she screamed suddenly lifting her head we saw it was being eaten by the darkness the demon had realeased. 'Now you will suffer!' She suddenly pulled a knife and stabbed one of te campers then herself. With just the one man left it was him and the demon. He was grabbed by the demon and the shadow was released onto him. 'Ahhhh' he screamed stabbing the demon in his last minute of life but the shadow curse had gone too far. He was eaten by the shadow all but his body. Now he wanders Camp Creeky Lake but he was put of heart and it wasn't him who took those campers it was the spirit of Chris the dark wizard who released the demon. His ghost walks the ground and true shadow man fights him he does scare the people away from the realm but not because he is evil because if Chris takes enough victims he can use his dark magic to come back to life and release the shadow demon again. And where is Creeky Lake you ask? In the middle of a spooky dark forest called:

Haunted Forest!

(By: pieboy12345)

(This was my first post on my ghost story thread. The beginnning and ending won't make much sense but just read the story. Note: Please rate based on the story not spelling or grammer because I haven't edited it yet.)
 

pieboy12345

And here's the prolouge of a new book I'm working on:
Prolouge
There will come a time in the distant future. A time of destruction, and death, yet also...renewal and life. At this moment the sun will die. At this moment 18 humans (9 of each gender.) will be transported to a far off world very much alike to Earth yet different in many ways beyond comprehension. This planet will be called Kratar. One of each gender will meet with the other based on interest in elements. Not of their own accord but of that of the unknown supernatural force that brought them there. This being will bring them together based on their knowledge of the 9 elements. Fire, water, light, shadow, life, death, and mystery. They will have no memory of their life on Earth only of survival skills and the elements. They will try to form a tribe called Harmony at the time of arrival known to them as Year One. The tribe will last for a mere hundred years when the leaders of the clans in the tribe have an arguement over which element was the most powerful. At this time the clans were the same as the elements they supported and were in their 3rd generation with roughly 20 members each. (All offspring of the original two.) At this time the Tribe of Harmony broke up. The Great War began, but only 8 tribes participate in the bloodshed, for without warning the Tribe of Mystery vanished without a trace and haven't been seen since. But when the war has lasted hundreds of years with no end in sight. A young member of the Mystery tribe ventures out of the saftey of his tribe sacred and secret domain with a mission. To end the war...
 

lafittejean

Lafittejean smiled, you know what I think I'll whip up a story... Now let me see here, ahh how about the monkey's maw?

There once was a little monkey, it was captured by a voodoo witch. The poor little monkey had its maw sawed off and turned into a keychain for the which's car. Of course before the monkey lost its maw it put a horrible curse on it, the maw could cast wishes. I don't really know how a monkey knows magic but the world works that way I suppose. Anyway the which drove off in her junky Plymouth Neon, as she drove some guy started tailgating her. It was very annoying. "Stupid man." She muttered to herself, "I wish he'd stop tailgating me. All of a sudden the airbags exploded and the blinded man barely missed the Neon before going into a swamp where crocodiles ate him alive. Well the Voodoo Witch thought that was a nice thing to happen and seeing as she didn't care for the man she didn't stop to help. Finally she got out at her local Walmart, she tucked the keys in her pocket and stepped in. She shopped and bought a bottle of wine and five kegs of diet coke. When she got to the cashier's checkout she was overcharged $53.67, adding to her already high bill of $1000.00. This made her angry and she muttered about wishing that all these stupid cashiers would go to a certain burning land. Suddenly one of the supporting pylons of the roof gave way and crushed all the cashiers. In the ensuing chaos the witch took the loot and drove off. She then went home and put the keys in her pocket, she then turned on the TV. Lately their had been a terrible droubt that had dried up the entire area. The weatherman said that there would be no rain for another week, as he had said last week. "Foolish weatherman I wish you were wrong." She said to herself. Meanwhile outside an awful flashflood causing storm appeared out of nowhere and started pouring water in the area. Because the witch lived in a hut on the bayou it was washed away in the flood, with her in it never to be seen again! After the flood there were rumors that right before the flood there were three terrible accidents, in the first one a man crashed in the swamp and when his cadaver was found the crocodiles had somehow ripped a monkey shaped mark onto him. Then after a Walmart partially collapsed killing numerous cashiers, investigation of the girder revealed monkey prints. Then right before the storm the clouds seemed to form a grotesque monkey...

Lafittejean and said, wasn't that scary?
 

David Schofield

A man says goodbye to his girlfriend.

John leaned back in his chair in disbelief as he looked at Melissa, she laid on the ground, a gaping wound from an earlier bite was drenched in fresh blood as she panted under the heat of the infection. "Johnny...” She gasped, panting more as she turned her head to look at him. "I think I'm going to die."

He quietly stood; pushing the chair away from his posterior as he carefully stepped closer to her, gently bending down at her legs as he smiled. "Baby, no, no. You're going to be ok.” He said, as he reached out and took her sweaty hand, he moved his hand over hers, and he caressed the veins in her wrist, hushing her with a simple “Shush.” as he held back a sniffle. He looked into her once vivid green eyes, seeing them becoming bland and lacking their once great contrast. He sobbed, letting a tear roll from his eye which only scared her more, as he crossed his arm over her breasts and pulled her to a sitting stance with him.

"Honey put me back down, please, it hurts." She moaned weakly, glancing down at her bite and back at him as tears seeped from her lashes.

"Ok baby, ok...” He said, and he gently laid her back down, caressing her deep, auburn hair with his hand as more tears rolled down the side of his nose. "God damn it...” He whispered, "God damn it...” As he looked at the wound again, grimacing as his many thoughts erupted in a cascade of sorrow and terror at what the future held.

"Baby..." She said, sobbing as she gripped his arm. "I love you." She whispered, letting out a simple whimper as she covered her face with her wounded arm, the tears on her face becoming tainted with her blood.

"Melissa. Whatever happens, I'm not letting you die like this, no.” He said, as he laid his head down on her chest. "I'm going to stay with you until the end, I love you, and I don't want to lose you.” He cried, breaking down as he buried his head in her chest, sobbing uncontrollably as she put her arm over him as if he were a child.

"No... Just don't worry.” She said, she began moaning a weak song to him, "Shush my baby, you are my word...” She quietly sang.

"Melissa, please!" John sobbed, glancing up at her face, he moved his body over, and he laid face down across her legs with his head resting on her chest, he pulled her shirt up and laid his head on her bare stomach, listening to it growl with hunger as she caressed his own hair. He sobbed, remembering the many times he laid his head on the exact same spot after making love to her on the late Thursday nights when he strayed from home to visit her. He remembered the many times his stomach would meet up with hers when they would join in pleasure, and now, it is where he rested his head, as she died...

"Shush my baby, you are my word...” She repeated, causing him to sniffle again, "Your momma's going to buy you a mocking bird...” She smiled, weakly drooping her arms over his shoulder. "If that mocking bird don't say a word, momma's going to put it in the frying pan..."


John chuckled, smiling as he sniffled past the tears, waiting for her chest to rise again as she took another breath for another line. She only moved her arm off of him, and her chest never did rise again. "Melissa?” He said quietly. He listened, and all he heard was silence. He kissed her on the chest, and a tear rolled off onto her skin, and he laid his head back down, and he nestled it into a comfortable position as he took several deep breaths, and he fell asleep on his dead girlfriend’s chest.

[spoil]I am also looking for a critique of this piece, as it essentially summs up my writing abilities in one short story. I need to know everything bad about it, even if I already know what's bad about it. I overuse adjectives, and I don't know how to change that just yet. I'd like to have advice on how to use differentiations in my adjective usage.[/spoil]
 

Peril

Well, David...it was, intresting, that's for sure....

There was a strange moment in the middle fo the story, when he lays his head on her stomach and it growls, that didn't really fit with the rest of the story. Also, there are some odd references to a bite wound, which are oddly reminiscent of vampires. Am I off the mark here?

Overall I would give it a 7, mate, it's not nearly as good as some of your other work.
 

KILLTHEHIPPIE

I'm with Peril. It's just not as good as some of your others. If you ask me, the ending is incredibly unrealistic. John's girlfriend just died and he's incredibly depressed, and he almost immediately fell asleep on her chest?

All in all, I'd give it a 6.5/10
 

Lord Regal

Well-Known Member
Your descriptions are amazing as always, but I do agree with KiTH and Peril...the aforementioned areas were rough, and I agree with the fact that your other works have been much more powerful than this one.

7/10 is what I'd give it.
 

David Schofield

Well, to explain the bad parts and the lack of aforemention, It is essentially the height of a perilous loss. The girl has been bitten on the arm by a man who is essentially a zombie, and at first, it wasn't even for this site, but instead a different zombie-based game site where there is little restriction on details. Initially, I planned to just parody a romance scene of a man saying goodbye to his girlfriend. I began writing with just the aforemention of a simplistic and understandable scenario, but I quickly developed the characters to where they seemed to have been mentioned a million times before. I put no work into any earlier portions because I saw no need to. What was at hand, was in arms grasp, and the only point of such a short story I wanted to post. As you can see around the end, it becomes more passionate and sad. As I thought of the scenario, I had become sad, I felt a love for the couple even though they were fictional; and before I started sobbing I just wanted to cut off indecently. More explained here soon.

To explain the significance of Melissas' stomach growling; I used my own experience, and the experience of what her and John's postion would be. I know that from laying my head on the stomach of a girl; I would be able to hear her heart beat, and any growl of her stomach. Because Melissa is turning into a zombie, she is naturally becoming hungrier, as her appetite becomes more ferocious. John is calmed by laying his head on such a warm area of the body, so naturally, it's a good position to lay as more heat is likely to radiate; yet it is also where you would hear such internal sounds. The significance is her increasing hunger as the infection takes hold.

To answer/respond to Kith, John's mind may only be able to cope with such a loss by crying, and thinking back on the good times, and as such. You are right, I could have lengthened the portion with those thoughts of John and with those sadnesses, but I would have had to lead up to him falling asleep either way. If my girlfriend died right beneath me; I'd sob for about an hour, and not want to leave her until I couldn't take being in the presence of her existance anymore. If it happened to me, I'd go through it, then just go to sleep, lieing to myself that I'm dead too, and then eventually wake up at some point and walk away... Or fight for my life... Also if I made it too long; she'd have to turn into a zombie at some point, but if he is falling asleep on her, it is a much better cliffhanger because she either kills him as he sleeps, he stays asleep on her and she either retains some humanity of some sort not wanting to kill him, or she only trys to kill him when he wakes up like in Zombieland with Columbus-Miss 406.

Now, is it better than some of my works? With minor tweaks and my Russian ingenuity, I can shape it into something that is massively better than my other works, and an incredibly decent Novelette, perhaps even better than the novel I am writing at the moment.
 

Lord Regal

Well-Known Member
Now THOSE details help make me make more sense of it. The only thing I still disagree with is the falling asleep part. When my mom died, I couldn't sleep well for a month, and I still haven't gotten my sleeping pattern back to normal yet. That may just be my specific style of grief, but going off of my experiences, I just don't see it.

I raise my earlier rating to an 8. The new details help me make much more sense of it.
 

David Schofield

Got me another story.

MEN'O'FIVE



An old blue ‘69 Ford F-150 pulled up to a large, two-story Grocery store, stopping a few dozen yards away in the dusty parking lot, the passengers inside well-prepared for the excursion. Very few windows lined the buildings outer walls, and it seemed to have been deserted for quite some time since the incident of the outbreak.

Five men stepped out of the vehicle, two with pistols, two with semi-automatic rifles, and one with a shotgun. One with a rifle took point, leading the others to the glass front door of the store, and he kicked it open, gun at the ready for anything that might just pop out of the dark.

“Morrison, I’m going to check out the upper section of this crap-olla.” Nash jokingly said, racking the bolt-carrier of his modified civilian AK-47 assault rifle back as he pointed it towards the staircase, he switched on the flashlight mounted on the leapers front rail system, and he began signaling two other men armed with pistols; Mason and Johnson, to come along. Mason wielded a Glock 17 with a convenient light attached to the bottom rail, and Johnson carried a Springfield GI model M1911A1, the sights a dark grey hue, hardly visible in the dark lighting of the stairwell. It was a poor choice for where such close indoor combat with any mistake literally translating to a fatality. “You take Wilson and clear the basement, if you up, we’re all screwed.”

“Alright Nash.” Morrison said, chuckling as he looked down the sights of his Beretta Cx4’s Holographic sight, the light attached underneath the barrel clearly outlining everything he pointed it at. Wilson pumped a new shell into his Mossberg 500. “Radio me when you’re sure it’s clear.” Morrison said, “Me and Wilson are going to close up the windows after we’re done, we expect you to do the same.”

“Don’t worry comrade!” Mason laughed, “In soviet Russia, windows close you!” Johnson was the lone man to chuckle at Masons ill-conceived joke, and after an embarrassed shrug of defeat, Mason took point as the three men climbed up the stairs. Morrison and Wilson vanished down the hallway.
Mason steadily climbed the stairs, and as soon as he reached the top of the flight, he scanned the corner with his Glock 17; the light beam flickering as he cautiously glanced back and forth. The shelves of the second-floor of the department store appearing nearly vacant of food and supplies. The store seemed to be the victim of multiple lootings. “Hey, Nash, do you see that?” He asked, pointing towards the bare shelves, “this place is ghost.”

“Well I’m sure there is something here, maybe some poor sucker got his ass bit off when looting it.” Nash said, walking up into the room with Mason, Johnson close behind. “Johnny boy, you’re getting the privilege to cover the stairwell, if someone comes up, blow their balls off unless they got a gun.” He looked to Mason, “You cover me, take my back.” He said, “I’ll take point.”

Mason shrugged in agreement, “Works for me.” Nash walked ahead of him, and he followed close behind, making sure Johnson’s area was safe, he pointed the flashlight behind him to see the bare walls, he seemed safe and sound.

“I wish the damn power was still on.” Mason said, as he scanned back and fourth at the different obstacles they left behind them, weaving into the aisles of shelves, seeing nothing but emptied cans of food and the occasional bag of trash left behind by someone deserting the store.

“Don’t worry, there’s got to be something somewhere.” Nash smiled, holding the AK out in front of him as he scanned another aisle, and then, he heard a light sob. “Now what in the is that?” He asked, quietly pacing toward the area of the sound. Mason quietly kept up, and kept watch of the area behind him as he followed him through the aisle.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Nash said, smiling, as he pointed the gun and light at someone.

“What?” Mason asked, glancing over at what Nash aimed at. A girl, no older than 23, was sitting crouched on the ground, crying.

“Well would you look at that,” Nash said, “what do you think?” He asked, his voice deeper as he concentrated down the lined up sights.

“It’s a witch.” Mason chuckled, waving his Glock down to his side, the flashlight illuminating the blood stained floor.

“We ain’t playing’ left for dead, so what I’d like to say is we see if she’s human, if not, then we get to play who makes her smile most.” He grinned, an evil crack in his face.

“No, bro, you’re going to have to play that game by yourself. Zombie syphilis ain’t on my menu.” He smiled, taking another step, which landed his foot right on top of a tin can, crunching it in a crispy sound.

Suddenly, the girl turned around, letting out one more sob. “Are you here to help?” She asked, her voice raspy with fear, as she turned her body, revealing the dead corpse of a young man her age where she had been mourning.

“Hell...” Nash sighed, pointing his gun slightly away from her.

“There goes your plan, bro.” Mason chuckled, playfully popping him in the chest with his shoulder. He turned to the girl, and walked ahead of Nash. “It’s ok, yes, we’re here to help out, but can you tell us if there are any more survivors or anything here?” He laid the gun on the counter, the light aimed on them as he caressed her shoulder, looking down at the dead man. She was younger than he was, and he was 25, Nash and Morrison were at least 28, Johnson was around 22, and he did not ever figure out how old Wilson was, but however much, couldn’t have been past his late forties. Either way, he did not look at her like someone to save, more like the bride of a lucky man, whoever that might be in the group. Then she answered him.

“No, we were the last two of a big survival group out of Florence, him, and me. I loved him, but I had to do it.” She sniffled, pointing at a hammer lying on the floor across the room.

“Florence?” Nash asked, lowering the rifle to his hip as he looked over at Mason, “I thought that place would be safe?”

“Damn, I’m sorry you had to lose your boyfriend.” Mason frowned, crouching closer beside her and caressing her long, blonde hair across her ears.

“No, he was my step-brother.” She frowned, “He went crazy, it wasn’t even the bite that did it, he just lost all hope, even tried to kill me.”

“Listen, we need to know if there are any of those zombies in here, we can talk about this later, when we regroup with our own team.” Mason said, as Nash turned around, shining the light down the aisle.

“No, maybe the basement, but not here or the first floor.” She said. “My name’s Tasha, by the way.” She smiled, wiping a tear from her eyes.

He grinned, and then shrugged. “It’s ok; we do not need to get on that much of a personal basis. What’s your last name?” He asked her.

“Staten.” She said, quietly. “But please, if you ever want to, call me Tasha.”

“Ok, Tasha,” Mason smiled, “do you or him have any guns? And where’s the rest of your group?”

“We didn’t have anything but the hammer, and everyone...” She paused, sniffling as she took a breath. She wrapped her arms around him, and buried her head into his chest. “They’re all dead. Whatever these things are, they aren’t just crazy people, something changes them, and I don’t know what.” She sobbed, as he regretfully wrapped his arms around her; a violation of one of Nash’s four rules of conduct; don’t get personal. He looked back at Nash, who in the dim luminescence of the flashlights had a look of sympathy, for once.

At the sight of the squad leader’s approval, Mason hugged Tasha tighter. “It’s ok.” He said, as he ran his hand down her smooth back, the blood stained green sweater smooth to touch. “We’re going to get you to safety, but we need to know a little more about where your group died at, and if they had any guns.”

“They died somewhere outside; I don’t know how far, all I know is there were six of them, not including Bobby and me. Like, 20 of those creatures tore them apart. My cousin was in that group, and he’s really strong, but they took him down like...” She broke down into a whimper, and he just held her.

“It’s ok.” He repeated, caressing from her hair down to her back with his hand as he whispered, “Hush,” into her ear, as gently as possible.

“Hey, since there ain’t any up here, I’m going to go check on Johnson, then get on the radio. Pretty damned suspicious that there ain’t been no gunshots.” Nash said, Mason just nodded, and at that, he parted from Mason and Tasha.

“I love you.” Tasha said, quietly, as she looked up, teary eyed at Mason, still clinched onto him. “We’ve got to get out of here.” She said, “I’m afraid that they may break out of the basement, please, we got to get out of here.”

“What do you mean break out of the basement?” Mason asked, surprised by her raw emotion.

“Bobby and I, we, we locked a whole bunch in the basement.” She said, “I don’t know how many, but, I’m not sure how much longer the door can hold.”

“Damn it...” Mason said, “I’ll be back.” He said, quickly clutching onto the Glock as he stood up. He almost got started en-route to the stairwell, but a feeling of shock overtook him, and he looked back down at Tasha. “Follow me to the stairwell, there should be two guys, if they ain’t there, run out the door as fast as you can unless there are a bunch of psychopaths in the stairwell, I don’t see why there would be because I ain’t heard nothing, but if there are, just run like hell.”

“Ok.” She said with approval. She stood, and took his hand. He winced at first, but a smile crossed him, and he started down the aisle in a trek towards the staircase. The Glock light flickered as he aimed it, but then it balanced out, and he continued walking, making out two figures standing still at the stair case.

“Guys?” Mason said, as one of the figures quickly glanced over at him.
“What?” Johnson asked, leaning back against the doorway to the staircase.
“Thank god.” He muttered, and then he looked at Nash. “Any word?” He asked.

“Still on radio silence, they ought to have reported in by now.” Nash said, looking down the sights of his AK once again as the beam of light shone down the stairs.

“Well, just found out they had locked a whole load of them in the basement, I’ve got a feeling that we’re going to have to pack up and haul ass here, pretty quick.” Mason said, frantically jittering as he slapped the light on the Glock, trying to prevent it from flashing anymore.

“Well, I guess we can...” Nash managed, before he was interrupted by the radio’s abrupt call to life.

“Wilson to Nash, Wilson to Nash, over.” The radio cackled.
“Thank god, listen, just heard there was a bunch trapped in the basement; get the hell out of there.” Nash yelled as he pressed the speaker button on the radio.

“We, we know there are zombies.” He replied. “The door’s busted down, something got out, either a whole lot of little something, or a whole lot of big something, whatever it was, it don’t seem to be here anymore.” He finished.

“Well hell, head on out A.S.A.P.” Nash said, “It just ain’t secure, we ain’t taking no chances.”

“Fine, fine, we’re on our way, over and out.” Wilson ended, and the line went out.

“Well, that solves that problem.” Nash said, “I’ll take point, Mason you get rear. Comprende?” He asked.

“Loud and clear.” He chuckled, and they started down the staircase, guns trained in all directions, as they descended back to the first floor. The radio hissed once more, and then it ended. “Hope that wasn’t them dying.” Mason said.

“It probably wasn’t, Wilson would ‘a got off a few rounds before then. I’m sure Morrison would have shot too.” Nash said, reaching the bottom, as he strafed around the corner with his sights tame and lit by the lighting of the sun outside the front doors. He saw Morrison and Wilson rounding the corner, and in relief, stopped as Tasha, Johnson, and Mason caught up.

“Figured you guys were dead.” He cackled, proudly raising the rifle over his shoulder.

“I almost pissed my pants when I saw that door.” Morrison said, holding the Beretta Cx4 in a similar stance. “But, uh, anyways, whatever was in there, it’s gone now.”

“Weird.” Johnson said, as he looked at his Springfield GI, caressing the sights as he waited for more action.

“Well, we don’t want to stand around and wait to be eat, so lets go outside, it’s a warm, sunny day.” Mason smiled, as he opened up the door.
Morrison looked at Tasha, “Who’s the girl?”

“She’s Staten, but she likes to be called Tasha.” Mason smiled.

“Well, we can’t be sure she hasn’t been bitten, so why don’t we do a strip search?” Morrison giggled, Tasha smiled in a polite way, thinking well of his joke.

“Nah, if she’d been bit, she’d have turned by now. She was forced to resort to killing her step-brother, so give it a break.” Mason said.

“Alright, man.” Morrison said.

Mason walked out the door, Tasha followed close behind, along with the rest of the group. They stepped out onto the dusty parking lot, looking around, the truck sat still, and all was quiet.

“This is damn spooky.” Nash said, “Come on you cowards, where are ya?” He yelled. The wind was the only reply, and the parking lot didn’t even stir.

“We had a pretty good haul today, so let’s keep it that way.” Wilson said, patting Nash on the shoulder as he pulled his keys from his pocket, and headed towards the truck.

“Haul?” Tasha asked.

“He means we found someone else, it’s not just men of five still alive anymore.” Mason smiled. “Now, can you tell us where your group went down? We might be able to salvage what they may have left behind...”
 

KILLTHEHIPPIE

That's a pretty good one. My main concern is how quickly Tasha falls for Mason. Also, I really don't get this line:
“We ain’t playing’ left for dead, so what I’d like to say is we see if she’s human, if not, then we get to play who makes her smile most.” He grinned, an evil crack in his face.
Does that mean he has a zombie fetish or something? A zombiephile? :blink:

Other than that, I'd give it a 9/10
 

David Schofield

That's a pretty good one. My main concern is how quickly Tasha falls for Mason. Also, I really don't get this line:

...

Does that mean he has a zombie fetish or something? A zombiephile? :blink:

Other than that, I'd give it a 9/10


Left for Dead is a videogame. In the game, there is a zombie character called a 'witch' that crys forever until you decide to torment it by shooting it, getting close to it, or shining a flashlight on it. It's really dangerous. But Nash jokes that "We ain't playin' left for dead" so he's basically saying that she isn't dangerous... or something of the like.

As for zombie fetish; it's up to your interpretation. The way I see it is too complicated to explain and involves math. Nobody likes math. And yes, he was thinking of... :rolleyes:
Anyways...

Tasha falls for Mason so easilly because she is #1. Horrified and looking for someone to help her, she killed her brother that she lived with for most of her life for christ sake, and she was afraid she was going to die. You too would be scared out of your mind and would cling on to anyone who gave you hope if you were in her position.
 

David Schofield

New one.

I was initially going to post this on another game fourm site; but the site glitched and is going ultra-slow, so I decided I will post it here.

It's called, "The Spectacle of a New Christ" and it, as with much I am posting here, occurs in a post-apocalyptic zombie fearing society.


Here be it.


A man on a podium looked down at his crowd; his face was weathered and torn with months of dust, his eyes were blistered from the rancid heat and stenches of the undead, his mouth was chapped and swollen from the dry climate of the powerless city. The prophet rose his arms, as he closed his eyes to the sky. The crowd of spectators below him cheered in glee as a stream of raindroplets fell from the sky, hitting them and the man at their helm. In a joyous glee, the equally weathered survivors gripped at one another, hugging and crying at eachother with compassion as they cheered the rain the new prophet had predicted. Couples stripped down to breasts and chest, some making love carelessly in the street, others quietly isolating themselves to corners where fewer people inhabited. The mans predictions, one at a time, had come true. He gripped at the microphone as he prepared to make a speech, hoping that the crowd would hear him over the incoming downpour.

"My children;" he yelled, "fear not what the zombie race can do to you; fear what you can do to them!" His statement made several of the more brutish spectators cheer. "You are those chosen by the lord to survive, and you are the only ones that can exact vengance against Satan, by killing the nameless beasts that burden us at our gates, at the doors of our homes, and in the bodies of our fallen friends."

"Amen!" One of the men cheered from the audience.

"The sinners will be fired upon, and their final blessing will be a hailfire of flaming arrows, errupting in a furious display of anger from the barrels of our metal dragons!" The prophet yelled, raising his M1911 pistol into the air as the crowd cheered, the downpour erupting just as he fired off a single shot from the .45 ACP handgun.

A lone man stood silent in the audience. A look of contempt and apathy on his face, ignoring the monkeyshines occuring in the audience, and the ignorant who believed this man. He quietly made his way to a dilapidated Cadillac Escalade; its white paint still showing brightly as he planted his boot on the rear tire, and began to crawl onto the rusted roof. He glared at the man who appeared as a prophet, and with a roaring voice, he yelled with little struggle, "This man, is a false prophet!" His loud echo quieted the spectators, and the prophets kind and gentle expression wore away quickly with a look of anguish.

"Who dare insult my likelihood?" He said into the microphone, "Am I not the bringer and taker of the rain? You have inflicted this society with idiocy, young fool!" the rain slowly coming to a halt as he slammed his fist on the podium.

"You hide behind artificial rants, and you keep yourself well maintained on a clear track to hell." The nameless man yelled, gripping his stetson hat and tossing it to the hood of the body of the cadillac. "I grow weary of these monkeyshines, it is time to prove whom has the actual power." He yelled, as he pulled a detenator from the pocket of his jeans. "Look to the sky, you inflicted by his ignorance may wish to reconsider his false image, and see him as he truly is." The man said, as he pressed a button on the detenator. Several large explosions went off in the distance, and the downpour of artificial rain slowly stopped. "Look to the skies!" He yelled again.

"Fool!" The prophet yelled, aiming his 1911 at the man. "You corrupt moron!" He yelled, preparing to fire a shot. But he was too late. The unnamed man quickly drew a Colt Anaconda from under his vest; and he had fired six shots in the blink of an eye, each of them striking the false prophet in the chest, he fell backwards off of his stand and to the crowd below.

"My lord and heavenly father, please be merciful to the troll's soul." The man said, and he waved his gun back into his vest, and he leapt down from the cadillac as the crowd of spectators watched in awe as the man left the square.
 

KILLTHEHIPPIE

Zombies, gun violence, prophets who gain followers by making bigger explosions and everybody porking in public. Sounds like my kind of world :D

Still, the story seems pretty rough and, well... short. As it is, I'd give it a 6.5/10, but you could probably get it higher by expanding and elaborating it.

Now that I think about it, you could probably tie it in with the previous story.
 
Top