Horror
Created: Some time in '04Revised on: Not revised
Look out for: Blood, minor gore, and killer 8 year olds.
How the idea came to mind: Well, I was reading this fanfiction and all of a sudden, BOOM! The idea came to me. So I quickly wrote it down before the inspiration faded.
Rating: Well, I suck at ratings so I'll go with a....PG-13?
Summary: A young Photographer witnessed murder from an "Innocent Little Angel". What will she do to the young man? Why did she kill the man she murdered?
Quick A/N: I don't like this story very much, but I keep it up to remind myself how much I've improved...I DON'T LIKE THIS STORY AND YOU SHOULDN'T EITHER!
He ran as fast as he could, tried to get away from her, but it was too dark and she was too fast and small. He ran down that long narrow path of the ship that was pitch black. He had no idea where he was going but where ever it was had to be far away from that demonic...thing. He wasn't sure what to call it exactly, but what it appeared to be couldn't be so. Such a small, innocent looking girl covered in such scarlet shades of blood that matched her dress, a cleaver in hand, so many severed parts...and it looked...it looked..... He ran and ran, questioning whether he should look back. He decided that he should see if That Thing had stopped following him. It did, thankfully.
The man that was running for so long finally stopped behind some boxes, the ship's Cargo. He looked around himself and saw that he ran to the musty smell of the Cargo load. It was far too dark to see anything clearly and the fact that he dropped his glasses didn't help at all. Just as his vision adjusted to the darkness a little, his breathing returned, he thought how such a man of his status got into this. Ah yes, when he had to go under cover to find out about this "Innocent Little Angel" and why she was going to London.
"As a Photographer, you must have pictures of Miss Angela Dreams at her best. Or if you see something that might prove her as not so innocent. I have already gotten you a pass, be sure she doesn't leave your sight. Alright Damien?" said the Editor of The Paper, Mr. Jonathan Span. The Paper was a new newspaper that was going to make it's debut with only the greatest topic, Angela Dreams.
"Yes sir!" said the 25 year old rookie who's photography was of high quality.
This was Damien Ark's first job and he wanted to do his best. Angela Dreams was a new, young child who was very successful and very adorable. She had won the hearts of everyone with her smarts, her looks, and her high spirits. Nobody knew what her big role was, but she came from a very wealthy family. And she was going to London for some unknown reason, on which every newspaper wanted the scoop on. Despite the fact that she was very popular, her life was very private. All anyone knew about her was that she was young, adopted, happy, smart, and, above all, simply too cute for her own good. And Damien was the lucky Photographer who would be on the same ship as her.
And now here he was, hiding from That Thing. That Thing everybody loved. That Thing that was so menacing with that weapon and blood and... And worst of all, a satisfied smile. Yes, that was what it was. Satisfaction. He didn't have time to dwell on what he saw in that room with the girl and the man for, all of a sudden, lights had come on and there was a small little smile above him. That same maniac, satisfied smile.
"Dear Sir, what are you hiding from?" said a sweet voice that sent chills down Damien's spine. "It's only little ol' me."
Damien looked up to see that she was still covered in blood. The white lace that had rimmed her beautiful deep, scarlet dress had spots of blood red on it. And the blood on her dress seemed to darken it. Her little black shoes and long white socks were tainted with red, her long blonde locks of her that were kept in high pigtails with deep scarlet bows that matched her dress had spots of red on it. But her face was the worse. Blood was smeared and splattered all over her face and her eyes were filled with bloodlust. Her smile was wide, showing straight, white teeth. She no longer looked like that sweet, innocent child. No, this was a demon. A demon was hovering right above him. This Demon was going to kill him.
"Why do you tremble?" Mild curiosity was hinted. She looked herself over. "Oh, is it because I look like I do?" She gave a soft chuckle.
"You see, Daddy didn't listen to me. I warned him not to talk like that to me, that he shouldn't boss me around. But would he listen? No, he wouldn't. So, I had to teach him a lesson." She gave another little chuckle.
Damien couldn't speak. He was too shocked, too scared. He glanced at the hands at her sides. He was relieved a little when he saw that the Cleaver wasn't in the left hand, but he wasn't as happy when he saw her right hand. It held the black handled, blood stained cleaver that he witnessed murder from. He finally mustered the courage to choke something out.
"What- what are you going to do to me?" he said all in one breath.
"Whatever do you mean?"
He glanced nervously at the Cleaver.
"Oh." A quick giggle. "Are you sure you want to know?" An Evil glint was in her maniac eyes. "Because....I know I wouldn't."
He wanted to cough but was too afraid too. He choked the cough down painfully and cleared his throat a little. Damien nodded slightly.
"Before I do tell, I have a question. Why don't you try to defend yourself. I mean, I am only a child." She bent down to his ear and swiftly and softly whispered, "Is it because I am a Demon?"
With that said, Angela Dreams brought the Cleaver heavily and quickly down on his shoulder. A sharp, searing pain blinded his vision and he gave a yell of pain. The yell was barely heard over a child's laugh.
Angela Dreams snickered, chuckled, giggled, and laughed at the sight of the bleeding man, his head tilted, his eyes completely soulless. It was too funny, the way he looked, the way he acted, how he asked that stupid question of what she was going to do to him.
She took his chin and tilted it upwards so she could peer even closer at him.
"What did you think I was going to do to you, fool? Let you live? Or just slowly torture you? I'm a Murderer, a Demon maybe. Of course I'm going to kill you. I'll kill anyone who I despise or gets in my way to my sweet, sweet vengeance." She said quite happily. Then she frowned.
"Of course, I have a slight worry of being found out. But...." She gave a small smile. "Who would expect me?"
~Owari~...or is it?
Created: 11/26/2005-11/26/2005
Revised on: Not revised
Look out for: Bad words, sexual intercourse that doesn't go into detail
How the idea came to mind: The Writer's Forum on Gaia kicked me in the ass and said 'Write this down!' It was supposed to be something about a Faerie buuuut I went with this instead. It's easier and faster.
Rating: It's all because of that damn sex part....PG-13
Summary: Poor little Princess...The King has a Mistress, and the Queen is pregnant...
Once upon a time there was a grand, beautiful Princess who lived a grand, fairy tale life. Her Mother and Father loved eachother, loved the Princess, the royal pet. They lived in a wonderful Castle that was full of joyuous, humble servants that were so nice and fun to be around. The little Princess would play with them for hours every day, and they wouldn't mind. She had all the material items she could ever want. Her friends were so loving to her, playing with her and letting her be first in every game. She had so many friends that loved her, and in turn she loved them. Everyday was a Royal Engagement in her Mind's Eye. There were never any real problems, and everyone was always so happy.
One day, when the Princess was a little older and understood things better, the King went to work hard, just like he did every day. He said that he had to go rule over all the people as a King should. He came home later than was usual. That seemed to upset the Queen. For some reason it unnerved her. But, then again, now-a-days the Queen seemed unnerved alot. The Queen explained to the Princess that there was a little Prince growing inside her tummy, so the Queen was going to seem a little strange for a very long time. Because of this, the Princess just shrugged off the Queens uneasiness.
Then the King came home late again. The Queen got all nervous again. The Princess didn't care; paid no mind to it. Though the Princess was older, she was still so young. She was still unaware of the evil that was being brewed within and out of the Castle's walls.
For a pretty long while, the King kept coming home late. The Queen didn't seem to care anymore. The Queen and King didn't talk to eachother anymore, for some reason. The King explained that it was because the little Prince in the Queen's tummy was causing somewhat of a dillema for him. He said that the Queen was being a little touchy was all and that the Princess shouldn't worry about it.
But she did, a little. She sensed something bad was happening. Though the Servants would still play with her, they seemed so solemn. They smiled, but then they would frown when she was looking away. She saw this out of the corner of her eye. They would whisper to eachother, which wasn't right, because there were no secrets within the walls of the Castle. Unless they were talking about a glorious surprise, like a party around Christmas time or a Birthday party. But it wasn't near any Holidays or Brithdays...Was this all because of the little Prince in the Queen's tummy?
One night, the Princess had a bad dream and went to the Queen and King's bedroom to tell them about it and be comforted. She heard noises coming from the room. She peered inside, the door was ajar slightly. She saw the King on top of some woman, who was panting and moaning. The King kept moving on her, to which she moaned even louder. The Princess thought that the King was hurting the unknown woman. But...the King would never hurt anybody. So what was he doing? She was about to come into the room and ask when the Queen came in through another door. When the Queen came in and saw what was happening, she started to yell words that the Princess had never heard. They were like a strange new language that had some english thrown into it. She referred to what the King and the woman were doing as 'fucking with this whore.' What was 'fucking' and what was 'whore'? The Queen seemed more angered at the King..But...No, that wasn't right. They loved eachother...Then the Queen started hitting the King. The woman (who was decidedly called a 'whore') ran out of the room. She knocked the Princess over while trying to escape.
What was happening? Was the Princess still having a bad dream?
Tears welled up in the little Princess's eyes as she watched the Queen and King beat one another. She just stood there in the open doorway, unnoticed by neither the King nor the Queen. The Queen was digging her nails into the King's face, making him bleed. The King pulled her hair, slapped her face. She pulled his hair, too. He bit her, she screamed. The Princess started crying out for them to stop, but they seemed not to hear her. They were consumed by so much hate for eachother that they didn't even hear their own daughter. Their own little Princess. The King started to hit the Queen's tummy. The Queen cried and said to stop, that he was hurting her and the little Prince. He didn't stop. So the little Princess, still crying, ran into the cross fire of the King's savage beating. His fists hurt so bad on her small chest and face. He punched her quite a few times before her face went numb and she could barely breathe. He stopped when he realized who he was hitting...
He stopped and started to cry. He held his little Princess in his arms and wept. The Queen wept, holding her little Princess too. The three of them sat there, holding eachother, crying....
~Owari~
Created: 12/29/2005-12/29/2005
Revised on: Not revised
Look out for: A little girlie with low thoughts of herself and a razor.
How the idea came to mind: It just did, is how...
Rating: A little girl cutting....PG-13
Summary: Rosie is thinking, and now she feels bad. OH, what now? A razor? OKay...
Rosalynn layed on her merrily decorated bed. It was soft, very comfortable. It had a blue blanket, and a blue comforter that had cute chibi-monkies dancing and playing. Her pillow was a regualr pillow that had patches on it. Her whole room was cute and happy. It was blue and pink; the bean bag chair was blue, the rocking chair blue, her walls and carpet pink, her dresser blue and pink. There was a full length mirror on her door. Her nightstand was pink, the lamp a gold color. Pictures were all over, on her walls, nightstand, dresser. In each one someone was smiling and the scene was a happy one. Even the way Rosie was matched the room.
That's how she came off. Soft, cute, happy. She was quiet, too. She didn't like to fight, so if she was insulted, she wouldn't let it get to her. Rosalynn was very submissive. She would bend to anyone's will if they asked. That was the main reason she was liked by those who knew her. But she didn't know many people, because she was always so shy. That's why most of her pictures were from the past.
Rosie was eleven years old. She was small, about 4' 5". Her hair was a honey brown and went to her soulders. Her eyes were black, though, instead of the soft brown she wished she had. She wore glasses, and wore clothes that were a bit big on her. She wasn't the world's most social person, though...
On her bed she felt empty. She knew the good life she had, despite everything that was going on. Her parents were headed into a divorce, her Mom was a prostitute and was addicted to crack. Her father was a pimp and sold the drugs. So her family was fighting for her; they didn't want her exposed to any of that. This was their opening to take her. Right now she was living with a foster family that had once housed a girly-girl, that's why her room was so cute. Rosie wasn't, but she kept her mouth shut about it.
Rosie was more advanced than needed. She acted way older than she really was, because of her background. She spent most of her life online, parading as a fifteen year old. Nobody would ever know she was eleven unless she said she was. She didn't even look her age. She actually looked about thirteen or fourteen, but she still went with fifteen. Lately, though, she was actually feeling depressed. It was because of the way she thought.
She always loved to think. Not with her brain, but with her mind. She wasn't very smart when it came to Mathematics or Geography. But to hear her talk about God, which she didn't believe in just one, and about the economy and marketing was absolutely amazing. Because she had opinions like that, she was bound to explore further. She started learning about death, created theories, looked for more- that was one of the reasons kids didn't talk with her much, she was too much for them. Then she started observing how others around her acted, took note on their lies. Now, regular day Pop and hip-hop no longer did it for her. There was nothing in it. So she started listening to harder music, the kind with more feel in it.
Before she knew it, she had crossed over into the dark side, masquerading as the light side.
Thoughts of the past events flew to and back in her mind. The people around her seemed to be abandoning her, leaving her stranded. Those online who seemed very happy talking to her all of a sudden stopped. No matter how hard she tried to talk to them, they would ignore her. It hurt her so bad. That was quite a shock on her part. Normally, she wouldn't care. As emotionful as she appeared, she couldn't really give a damn. The only time she would actually truly care was when she read her books. She cared more for her fiction books than her family and friends. But now...Her friends were gone. She didn't have any in real life, since she didn't see why she should make any. She was going to move on to somewhere new after a few months anyways...And her family seemed not to want her. Before she lived lived with her Foster Mother she lived with her Aunt and Uncle and Cousin. Her cousin liked having her around, would always treat her like she really was fifteen. Rosie admired her, so whenever her cousin would get mad at her for no reason or start hitting her, she would suck it up. But, when it came time to vote whether Rosie was to stay or not, they all voted no.
She shed not a tear. She sucked it up and took it like it was nothing.
Oh god, she felt so horrible. Was it something about her? What did she do? She did her best to keep everyone happy. It was her presence, she thought. It had to be. She was bad luck. She wasn't fun to look at. She was too soft. Nobody wanted her. Nobody. She didn't blame them. She was a horrible person.
She reached into her dresser, took the bible that her Foster Mother had her keep in her room. She'd placed a razor in there, and she got it out. It was wrong, the thing she was about to do. But...She had to drain the poison out. Her blood was poison, it had to come out. It was her filthy, sullied blood. It was cursed. It kept her alive, and not one single soul on Earth wanted her alive. They said they did, of course. Who wouldn't to a little girl? She knew the truth, though. Everyone hated her.
Just as she was about to cut, she stopped. What if someone came in? She got up and locked the door. Then she turned on her music, remembering she would cry sometimes and would always make noise. Rosie would say 'Ow', 'Oh, God', or something along those lines. She turned on her Radio which served as a CD player as well. In it was Gwen Stefani's latest CD L.A.M.B. Rosie really did like Gwen, so it was a good cover up. Also, she couldn't do it with actual sad music playing. She didn't need to pity herself, she was nothing. She had no right to live. So why have that kind of music? She turned up her Music as loud as when she did whenever she was talking on the phone with someone, which was pretty loud. Only about an hour or two later would her Foster Mother tell her to turn it down or turn it off.
Rosie went back to her bed and pulled out something from underneath her bed. It was a white bathrobe with stains on it. All the stains were her blood. She always did it with her robe on so the blood wouldn't ruin her bed or the carpet or anything else. First she took off all of her clothes. Her shirt, shoes, underwear. Everything. Rosie needed to pick places that no one would see. She then put on her robe. Little Rosie had so many scars and faint marks on her. No scabs, though, because she always picked them off. She chose a spot right above her fore-arm and started cutting.
She closed her eyes and drew in a sharp breath as the razor sunk into her warm flesh. She brought the razor across a little bit and bit her lip as she did it. She took the sleeve of her robe and pressed on it. Then she started pinching on her cut, saying "Get it out, get it out...Come on..." Tears welled up in her eyes, but she dared not to let them fall. She chose another spot on her inner thight, far, far up. Far up enough where people wouldn't look. God, that's where it hurt the worst. She ended up opening another cut in the process of the new one. Tears came down fast at the pain. She was crying hard. "God, make it stop. Stop, stop..." she sobbed. But then something in the back of her mind told her to shut up, this is what she deserved. Then she went for the bottom of her foot. She almost screamed at the top of her lungs.
She applied as much pressure as her shaking body would allow her to on the cuts. She'd have to rinse them off. She cleared her throat and left her room. It was near bath time anyways, so her Foster Mother wouldn't care.
"Sammy..?" she called down the stairs.
"Yeah, babe?" replied Sammy.
"I'm headed for the bath, 'kay?"
"'Kay, you do that. Change into your night clothes."
Still crying, Rosie gathered up her things. On her way to the bath she pinched herself, telling herself to shut up, to stop being an asshole. She ran the water and made it too cold. She got in and shivered. She cried harder and reached for some toilet paper to blow her nose. Then she deliberately burned herself. The bath water was turning red.
There was poison all around her now. All around. It freaked her out, scared her. No, no, no. No more poison, she was trying to get rid of it!
Eventually, Rosie gave in. She was poison. She was deadly, unwanted poison. Avoided and hated by all, yet intriguing. Good only for nothing.
~Owari~
Created: 2.4.03-2.5.06
Revised on: Not revised
Look out for: Teenage boys TO THE EXTREME!
How the idea came to mind: For a while now, I had an idea about a teenage boy realize that he's a sadist and is a necrophiliac. This story didn't turn out that way, though, so...But that's the basically how it began.
Rating: >.<....PG-13?
Summary: Jacob is very obsessed about the twelve year old named Gina. That crazy necrophiliac...
Quick A/N: Please, I am not insane or crazy or any of that nonsense. Shut up. And I don't like this story a whole lot. It sucks D:
Two distant voices sang in merriment and in unison, weaving melodic notes that danced about the area with joy. They seemed to welcome him, urge him to engage in the joyous singing that rang. He wanted to, oh how badly he wanted to, but a cat who always grinned was in his way. He wished that it would move so he may venture forth into and through the woods to where he desired to be most, which was near the two voices that beckoned him. The cursed cat would not move, though. It's grin from ear-to-ear showed it's obvious amusement in torturing the poor child.
"Oh, please, Cheshire Puss, I must get to the party! I need to, or else...or else..."
At his words the cat frowned immensly, its pleasured look in its eyes showing anger. The cat hissed with its rear end up and vanished. First, its grin vanished, then its eyes, then its outline of its body, leaving only the strange coloured hairs, which had fallen to the ground with a splash and evaporated. With the bizarre grinning house pet out of his way, the young boy tried to run towards the music that made him long for the company of those who were singing it. For some reason, though, he found that he could only skip. He soon gave into the oddness of his skipping, for he wanted the music. He noticed nothing on his way to a small cottage; he didn't need to bother with the scenery when something that was much more important was at hand.
As he got closer, he could make out some of the words that were being sung and heard his own name. He got closer still, the small white coattage was within sight, and heard more words. It was perfectly fine, the lyrics were, yet they somehow posessed something disturbing. They coaxed him forward, while his instincts told him to runaway. But he couldn't. He had to get the the cottage.
The scenery changed, the cottage did, and the singing did. Everything was black, with invisible maggots burrowing and bursting up, causing melted red roses to erupt from the maggots previous spot while the maggot burrowed again and burst again. They repeated this process over and over, sometimes fading then getting stronger. The cottage was black now, and bigger. The straw roof was green and dry, and the chimney coughed out red powder. The singing was faster, and completely disturbing now. Various songs were sung in short periods of time about the young boy setting fire to rabbits, forcing cyanide and sticks down peoples throats.
He turned around, still skipping, and was stopped by a gigantic maggot. It was transparent and had the arms, tail, legs, and head of the cat from earlier. It grinned from ear-to-ear and purred, swishing its tail from this way to that and reciting poetry of the young boy.
"A boy named Jacob owned a puppy
He loved it from the start
But a neighbor boy saw him
Cutting out his puppy's heart-" sang the cat, but was cut off by an incessant buzzing.
Jacob moaned at the thought of getting up and getting dressed. His room was dreadfully cold, and he was snug and warm under his three blankets. He also had to brush his teeth, eat breakfast, wash his face...He really, really didn't want to get up and do all those bothersome things that readied him for a long day of sitting in a seat that numbed his butt and learn virtually nothing. He didn't mind school all that much, but it truly was pointless.
Two minutes later, he decided that he had to get up since his Mother wouldn't let him miss a day of school ever. One day, he coughed out blood and his Mother said that she'd take him to the hospital after school. Moaning while getting up, he threw his blankets off of himself and grimaced at the sudden coldness that hit him full force. He groaned and quickly gathered up his brush, clothes, and back-pack and headed for the bathroom. There was no way he was going to actually undress and redress in a room that felt like Winter. After he dressed into a long sleeved white shirt, a short sleeved black shirt that said 'I have no Boobs, don't look here', a Happy Bunny jacket, and loose jeans and brushed his teeth, he stopped to look at himself in the mirror.
Jacob was five feet and ten inches tall at the age of sixteen. His eyes were blue and his hair was blonde. His body was lithe, tan, and delicate. He was a social boy and treated others with respect; including his enemies. He got along with almost everyone. Of course he had his faults, like he was lazy and had to have things a certain way. People said that he was also very weird. He knew this, but he knew that he showed very little of that weridness in him. His way of thinking was more disturbing and messed up than they all thought. He loved to talk about death, and he loved to hold conversations with himself. He liked to be hurt, and in turn hurt back. Though he was a virgin, he seemed a little sex obsessed. He hated to love, hated to feel, and hated people and himself.
It was nearly time to head to the bus stop, so he got his shoes and was ready for school. He didn't know anyone from the bus stop, seeing as nobody cared who was who. So he had time to himself before the bus came and he had to board it with loads of other kids who were probably out of it or grumpy. Looking at the ground, he tried to remember his dream. All he could remember was that it had something to do with Alice in Wonderland. He was currently reading the book and loved it, so it was easy to remember what it was based on. He couldn't really remember much after that.
The bus pulled up and all the kids somewhat slowly boarded it. Kids did not like Monday...He sat down in the middle of the bus near the window. He slouched when he sat. He looked down at the floor and started to mentally review all of the words he needed to learn for the voabulary quiz he was supposed to take. As he was reeling through them, a thought struck him: Necrophilia was something he learned on Friday, but it wasn't one of his vocab. words. Necrophilia was a strange thing. How could anyone have sex with dead bodies? Weren't they usually decayed? Yes, they were indeed decayed. Unless they had JUST died. Jacob supposed it wouldn't be too bad if the body had just then died.
'Would do a dead body, as long as its no older than an hour...Wait, no. No I wouldn't...' he thought.
For the rest of the while, Jacob just sat and enjoyed the silent ride on the bus. When he got to school, he scoped out for his closest friend, Nick. Nick probably wouldn't be at school, though, because he had an appointment for something. So he stood in front of the doors to the school, thinking only of the most beautiful girl he had ever known. Her name was Gina, had short red hair, vibrant green eyes, and had a nice figure for a girl her age. She lived a block or two away from from Jacob and was four years younger than Jacob, which made her twelve. Her voice wasn't shrill, he guessed that she was a B cup, and didn't act her age. She seemed older and looked older as well. He often found himself masturbating to thoughts of her.
'She's got nice skin, too. Nice and pale...I wonder...if her blood is shiny. Her blood would would compliment her pale skin. She'd be lying on a deep red satin couch with black silk pillows, nude, with heels on. One leg propped up on the arm of the couch, the other pulled up a little. Green eyeshadow, black lipstick...Her eyes would be lustful and looking at me, all the while she'd be trailing her blood from her thigh to her breasts...' Jacob thought, lost deep in his own world. He felt lost in his world, and left it when someone nudged him to go inside.
All throughout school, Jacob tried not to think about Gina and succeeded. A few times thoughts of other girls with knives creeped into his mind, but they eventually went away thanks to friends interrupting. Only until he got home did he think about Gina. He thought about the noises she'd make when touched. He thought about the look on her face when it would be her first time...He thought about how much fun it'd be to hurt her. To hear her squeal and beg for him to stop or continue hurting her. His Mother wasn't home, so he gave a small moan at the wonderful thoughts.
When it came 3:00 PM, Jacob got ready for a walk. He knew that Gina would be coming off the bus soon, so he was going to walk down to her bus stop and run into her. He'd been doing this for a while. Today, though, he felt like something would actually happen. He rounded a corner just as the bus had come and Gina had gotten off of it. Jacob's head was down and he was pretending to be in deep thought. Turning her head and taking notice of him, Gina yelled out a hello to the young boy. He looked up and smiled a greeting to her.
"Going on another walk?" Gina asked as she approached him. Her voice was somewhat soft.
"Yeah. You want me to walk you home real quick?" Jacob asked her. Ever since he'd first started taking his walks he'd always walk her home.
"Yes, please."
She didn't live very far from the bus stop. The whole time neither one of them said a thing. They never really ever did. The occassional how are you would pop up, but nothing that really sprung out into a full conversation. Jacob couldn't manage it, because whenever he was around her he would just look and imagine. That was all he could really do, since he was afraid that the younger girl would reject him if he told her he liked her. So, they always walked in silence. Jacob walked the young girl to her doorstep, then turned to leave.
"Bye," he said.
Gina lifted up the potted plant and waved. There was no key under it, and there was supposed to be one. She frowned and started to look around for her key; after having no success at all, she tried the doors. They were locked, of course. She let out a frustrated moaned and sat on her porch steps. Jacob stood, watching the short episode. He walked up to her, already forming ideas in his head, and sat next to her.
"Did you check your pockets?" he asked.
"No," came her reply. "No pockets." She stood up and spun a little bit. Her arms were held out, and it was true. She was wearing a pink skirt with a white ribbon on the side, black boots, a black long sleeve shirt, and a pocketless Fall Out Boy jacket.
"Oh...well...If you want, until your parents get home, you can come over my house."
"Sure. I never get to really spend time with you anyways."
He smiled, feeling so happy that she accepted his offer, and she smiled back. She was so innocent and beautiful that he felt like hugging her as hard as he could. He got up and she followed him. She stayed behind him a little bit, like a stray puppy following someone she liked. They entered Jacob's home and hung up their jackets and took off their shoes. Jacob noticed that her socks had frogs on them. How cute.
"Would you like anything to eat or drink?" he offered.
"No, but thank you anyways." she replied.
They sat down on the couch, waiting for eachother to talk first. Neither knew what to say. Gina was taking looking at his home; Jacob watched her out of the corner of his eye.
"Hey...You....Um..."Jacob started to say.
"Yeah?" Gina asked.
Avoiding eye contact, Jacob mumbled a little, "You...I like you. Alot."
Gina looked at him, a smile on her face. "I know. I like you too." She sounded so cheerful and happy.
'I own her heart...' he thought happily.
"But..." she began. "I love someone right now...."
"...What...?"
"I like you alot, I mean it. But I don't love you..."
'No...I own her heart, not someone else...'
"I'm sorry, Jacob..."
"That's okay..." he lied, "I didn't act sooner..."
He got up to go to the kitchen, getting something to drink. As he opened the refridgerator, he spotted the knives on the counter. He looked at them longingly. He owned her heart. He should, anyways. It was all because he hadn't acted sooner. Well, he would act now and forever own her heart and the rest of her. He picked the sleekest knife of all the choices. He had to do this right, or else she'd never look as good. He decided he'd smother her, then proceed with what he needed to do.
Setting the knife down on the counter, he sat nonchalantly beside her, holding a pillow. Their eyes met and held for a while. His blue eyes gazed deep into her exotic green eyes, and he saw straight into her wonderful soul, convincing him that he needed to do this.
"Can...Can I atleast kiss you?..." he asked in a whisper.
"I'm sorry, but I don't love you... I can't...."
"Okay..." he said, raising the pillow and pouncing on her. She kicked and screamed and clawed at him. As the seconds went by her struggles grew weaker. Finally, she ceased her resisting and went limp. It was done, he had smothered her. Now, all he had to do was own her heart and keep her forever. And he knew just how to do it. There was an old building that used to be used for meat stoarge. It was still cold, and he could keep her there. He dragged her outside into the shed, onto some tarp, and began retrieving her heart. All the while telling her stories about love, recited her poetry like the poem by Edgar Allen Poe called 'Annabel Lee'.
That night, as Jacob was in bed, he realized how necrophiliacs could do what they did. The bodies were just alluring, calling out to be taken. They were totally submissive. He also remembered what his dream was, and now knew what it meant. This was meant to happen, he was meant to own Gina's everything. Nothing could break them apart.
~Owari~
Created: 05/22/2006
Revised on: Not revised
Look out for: Just a chick dying.
How the idea came to mind: I'm in wood shop now, and at first I was nervous because of the machinery. But then I got over it, and started thinking about how much it would suck for an accident to happen.
Rating: Just a small graphic paragraph, but still....PG-13
Summary: Saw dust, smudged goggles, dizziness. All sure signs you shouldn't be in wood shop.
She always felt nervous around the loud and dangerous machinery used in her fifth hour class. The smell of saw dust combined with the noise of the machinery, the knowledge of it's ability to kill, and the blurred vision her crappy goggles gave her made each day nervous and made her feel dizzy and somewhat nauseous. Of course, she'd never said anything about the blurred vision her goggles and dizziness for fear of being scolded for her attempt to escape participating in Wood Shop. They would accept her being nervous, that was understandable. But not her being naseous and dizzy. If she were to complain about the sight her goggles gave her, her teacher would tell her to either wash them or select a new pair. The problem with that was that she had the last pair of goggles, and those were horribly smudged with paint.
"Hey, Anne. Focus a little bit, 'kay?"
She jerked her head at the mention of her name abd looked around for the one who warned her. Glancing left, right, then in front of her, she concluded that the one who said her name was to remain anonymous. Focusing on her work now, Ane tried to hold her breathe as the aroma of saw dust floated up and lingered at her nostrils. Without knowing it, she exhaled, then inhaled, and winced and gave a few small coughs as the nauseating smell she disliked so much invaded her nose and overpowered her sense of smell.
Before Anne knew it her stomach was churning a bucketful of vile vomit that threatened to erupt from her mouth. Her head started to lose weight, it seemed, and filled with air. She felt dizzy and once more she cursed her impossible goggles and the smudgy vision it offered.
"Aaaaaaaah! Oh my God!" a girl shrieked at the top of her lungs. Several of the kids looked in the direction of Anne, staring in shock and horror. The teacher stood there, watching the blade go in and out until it slowed so terribly slow and finally stopped.
There was Anne, eyes closed, with the blade of the electronic saw slicing open her forehead and face. Hot, thick blood blotched the area around her and pooled from her head. The blade was covered with bits of brain matter.
Everyone screamed, and most began to cry.