Patrick

Trogdolyte

Omnipresent

amoeba

Just as the baby was metamorphosing into a red blob of undefinable shape...Jimmy woke up, his alarm clock jarring him from his dreams. It was the third night running that he had this dream, always advancing further and further. He turned in bed, contemplating another fifteen minutes of sleep, or the cold shock of a shower to wake him up now. He opted for sleep. Even the cold shower failed to fully wake him and he stumbled down the stairs to find his breakfast (jam on toast) already waiting for him. His father must have already left. It was summer, and while Jimmy could allow himself to set his alarm clock for eleven in the morning his father still had work to do. Attacking his breakfast with all the hunger a thin ten-year old could have he wondered what he was going to do today. His thoughts were sent astray by Tabby, his father's jet-black cat jumping up on the table, sniffing the milk in his mug.

Mynx - Tony 1st lynching Tanuchan - Bruce Katzaniel - Ms. Loretta Sorensen Lord Panther - Thomas Venefyxatu - William Johnson 1st wolf kill Hjolnai - Lokriad Have fun lynching.

The night started out relatively calm. The stress and pent up tension of the day however did not find any release. None of the guards had been able to go home as those from the night-shift had not been able to go on duty. Fatigue was taking its toll and more than one guard had been seen falling asleep at his post. It might have been fatigue, or deliberate reasoning that left some of the cell doors imperfectly locked. More than one figure walked the asylum during the night where he did not belong. When a scream pierced the night, shattering the illusion of calm none of the guards rushed to investigate. After all, screams were commonplace during the night in a house of the mad. What they found however made them immediately raise the alarm. It took three minutes of the phone continually ringing for Deputy Warden Higgs to disengage from his wife's loving embrace, cursing whoever called him to the high heavens. Less than a minute later he was in his car. What greeted him in William Johnson's cell made him throw his delicious supper up. ------------------------------------------- "Did you see what was written on the wall?" one of the guards asked another a few hours later as they sat sipping coffee in the guardroom. "In his own blood?" "Yeah...whoever killed him had a fucked up sense of humour. They wrote 2 + 2 = 5!" The forced laugh was their way of trying to relax. Unbeknownst to them Chaos walked the walls of the Asylum that night. ------------------------------------------ When the morning came the lockdown was finally lifted and tired guards were relieved from their posts by the next shift. A few decided to stay on however. They were the dayshift after all... OOC: Venefyxatu - William Johnson has been killed by the wolf. Chaos has exchanged the roles of two people. These two people shall receive a PM with their new roles. It is now dayphase for about two weeks.

what?

theory

global mess-up

fat

Scene 3 "I love you," he whispered, afraid that lifting his voice would shatter the illusion of privacy they had. The airstrip was filled with soldiers, each saying goodbye in his own way to his loved ones. War was a constant in the Empire, but never did its impact lessen. He gave her a fierce, almost painful hug, unspoken emotions transiting in a simple, almost bestial gesture of longing. "Before you know it I'll be home." He gave her a last kiss and turned to go towards the spacecraft. He could not resist turning back and blowing her a kiss. Inwardly she trembled. The war had not been going well and she did not share his optimism in his own indestructibility. It broke her heart to see him going, knowing that he might never return. And even if he did, he would never be the seventeen year old boy she had once fallen in love with. War always changed people. She had seen its effects on her father, who had returned just six months ago, after more than four years on the frontlines. They had called him one of the lucky ones, one of those who had survived. She was not sure whether he had been lucky. He sported no visible scars, no bodily wounds, yet ever since returning he had been different from the father she had grown up loving. He had turned to drink, like many veterans of the far away campaigns. Drunk to their very bones was the only way these veterans could forget the horrors of war, the only way they could find temporary solace. Her mother had died while her husband was in the war, a debilitating disease taking her in less than a month, in no way enough time to say goodbye. If anything, it had been the final nail in the coffin her father was slowly building for himself. It had hit him harder than any of the horrors he had seen at the front. His slow descent was now only a question of time. She had slowly come to terms with losing her father. He was now barely the once proud man she had known. But she could not bear to lose Paul. He was just eighteen, and already he had been conscripted, yet another victim of this mindless violence. He had been the only one keeping her going. "I love you," his words echoed, a strand of hope she clung to desperately. He did not turn back again before embarking in the troop transport, seeing her pained expression would have been too hard for him. She hugged herself, hungrily taking in that last glimpse she got of him. Even if he survived it would be months before he would be back. She vowed to try to dig her father from the bottomless pit he was putting himself into. She needed an objective if she was to stay sane.

Scene 2 A ten-foot high stump was all that remained from a once majestic tree. At its height it must have been at least seventy feet high, with branches stretching a hundred feet in each direction, but a great storm, of which there had been several in the last decade had cut the glory of the tree short, tearing its trunk in two. The welcoming shade the great tree had once offered was no more and migrating animals no longer paused to rest under its branches. The stump overlooked a winding curve in the road. Traffic was almost non-existant, limited to a lumbering cart or a speeding car every now and then. It was a backwater trail, not even paved with concrete, a bare step up from the trail made by animals during long centuries. Yet it was here that the convoy would pass. Calling it a convoy did not really do it justice. The Emperor was always accompanied by at least three dozen vehicles, several exact replicas of his own, diversions to make any assassination attempt much harder. It did not discourage the lone sniper lying in the tall grass in the shadow of the stump. He had been waiting there for almost twelve hours, barely moving. He was thirsty and hunger drummed against his empty stomach, yet he did not move. To move was to risk being seen by the aircraft circling above, beyond the cloudcover. Patience was one of the first lessons taught to aspiring soldiers. Patience to wait until the perfect moment for action was a virtue hard to achieve. Truth be told, the chances of successfully killing the Emperor were minimal. Even if the right vehicle was found, the windows were most certainly bullet proof. At least that was what those who had sent him thought. They considered his mission a suicide mission, an attempt to rattle the great ruler's defences, more smoke than fire. He knew better though. He had always been capable of predicting the consequences of his actions. As when a stone was thrown into a pond and produced a ripple, he was able to predict the ripples his actions would cause in the lake of the future. He knew that if he were to move just a foot to the right the imperial sniper positioned on the opposite hill would notice his movement and kill him. And he knew that if he fired a shot in a quite precise angle, the bullet would smash against a winshield and the miniscule fragment detaching from it would slash the Emperor's jugular, while he sat quietly sipping a bottle of expensive wine on the backseat. These were things he knew. What he did not know was what chain of actions he could accomplish that would see him evade capture. That was a door that had closed long ago. The convoy came into view and he pulled the trigger, long outside the range where any sniper would have taken a shot. Even as the bullet exited the chamber he was certain that within a minute the Emperor would be dead. All that remained now was to stay alive himself. He was optimistic. He always had been. After all, he knew what his actions would bring, all that remained was to choose those with positive outcomes.

garden

Scene 1 The temperature slowly rose and after a minute or two the smaller twigs caught fire. The flames leapt to life, gently licking the larger pieces of wood. The fire did not belong in this great hall of marble. The floor stretched as far as the eye could see, solid marble with no discernible motif. On the two sides of the long chamber two identical rows of massive pillars held the ceiling. There was no visible light source, indeed the light seemed to come from everywhere, for there were no shadows that tainted the smooth surfaces. A solitary figure sat on the throne at the end of the long hall. Full-body armour hid his features. The black plates fit almost perfectly, not leaving a single inch of skin visible. A two-handed sword, almost seven feet in length lay at his feet, almost as if it had been thrown there by hands that no longer cared. The flames caught the big blocks of timber and leapt up, lighting an area of the chamber. The pile of corpses atop the logs would soon catch aflame, filling the air with a foul stench. Blood stretched along the floor as far as the eye could see, and reached almost manheight on each of the pillars, silent evidence to the violence that had been visited on this sacred room. Thousands of bodies littered the halls, all positioned in grotesque poses, death having come swiftly to most of them. The figure on the throne smiled, recalling the battle. They had underestimated him and it had proven to be their downfall. A whole civilization wiped out, its last remnants hiding like rats in a hole, awaiting the death they knew would come. The sweet scent of burning flesh slowly filled the throne room. Soon the heat would become unbearable, especially covered in metal armour from head to toe. Yet the solitary figure did not move. He did not remove his blood-stained armour. He did not run. He waited silently, an ever-present smile behind his helmet. The great hall had been constructed centuries ago, slaves piling stone upon stone, corpse upon corpse. For each pillar, hundreds of workers had died, their bones now part of the foundations of this great edifice. The fire would twist and melt the stone, fierce in its intensity. A fitting tomb for a civilization. A fitting tomb for the man who had torn the civilization down. None alive knew his reasons, none could ascertain why he had destroyed a once flourishing people. Yet destroy he did. He lost a piece of himself in the mindless killing. A small fragment of sanity with each killing blow, yet another step towards madness for each innocent killed. The fire slowly turned into an inferno, a cleansing that would burn away all remnants of a people. The solitary figure leant down and lifted the sword, then leaning heavily on the steel blade stood up. Traces of blood on the blade shone brightly in the light of the fire. His helmet clattered to the ground, revealing a face that could have belonged to any farmer, any merchant....to anyone. The heat was almost unbearable, almost as if the stone itself were lending heat to the fire, willing itself to collapse. A last, sad smile touched the warrior's features before he fell to the ground in a clatter of metal armour. Just another body next to thousands of others on the funeral pyre of a civilization.

Quite often I have ideas...which don't connect in any way, or fragments of a story, which I don't yet see how to connect and don't write for this reason...well, I've decided to actually write them. Posts in this thread most often won't have any connection between them, they'll just be random scenes stemming from random ideas, mostly short, possibly sometimes long.

Earth

split

fillet mignon

french cuisine

roadkill

bitch

river kwai

kitten minion

Wyvern

pleasure