SevenWritez
New Member
Another short story from Creative Writing, but much smaller than Flames, and much easier to follow. We were told to write a diary of anyone. Originally I was going to make a parody of Jesus "NO ONE LISTHENS TO ME GUYTHS, IM SERIOUS HERE, I WANT TO THAVE YOU!" but my story-mode kicked in. This is only two pages, so it's a quick read. Hope you enjoy.
Murder, Murder
I saw her again today, and again she did not see me. That’s ok. I’ve been watching her for the last few days, really—ever since we met at the pumping station I knew she was the next one. Now, I can’t really say how I knew, but I just did. It’s one of those things you really can’t explain unless—as the saying goes—you were standing in my shoes. If it’s super natural, psychological, something, something, blah, blah, blahogical, I don’t know. But it was the way her eyes lined up with mine. There was a faint recognition of what I was, her eyes gave off that quick glimmering flash that roared at her sub-conscious something was wrong. I’m sure she didn’t sense a thing though, and that’s the beauty of it. The sub-conscious rarely makes its messages clear to the conscious, and in this day and age with how we’ve all been conditioned into the uptight keep-it-to-yourself type of personas, it’s very easy to discard what the other side of our brain tries to tell you. And again, that’s the beauty of it. I love my other side. It gives me everything I need, it makes me move on impulse, and—coincidentally enough—it’s what sent the vibe to my fingers to start writing. I’ve killed a few before her, about four or five I’d say, and still none of their bodies have been found (oh, the glee! The down-right suspense!), so while I should be moving with a bit more caution, I guess I’ll just let the impulse drive me. It seems to think on its own, and that’s fine. Besides; if they do end up finding any of my trophies, how would they link them to me? Who would convict the mute-boy who walks around town aimlessly kicking rocks into the street of murder? Well, some might, some would, but screw them. If that day comes I’ll deal with them, too. But now I suppose I’m just rambling, so I’ll close this note. My other side told me to start writing a journal, an entry-log of sorts, and I guess I’ve followed through with that. This is an introduction to the days ahead I guess. Let’s make it a game then. Let’s see if I can wrap this up in…two weeks. No, three. Three should be enough time to see where she goes, when she goes, and how she goes. That’s the most important part, I think. My other thinks so, too. Anyhow, the date is…ah…I need to go find a calendar. (About three minutes have passed, maybe more, maybe less—the counter is starting). Ok, this calendar hung up by the pump station says it’s March 5th. So, March 5th, 2007. Alright. Party time.
March 9th, 2007. (It’s sort of rainy.)
Yeah, read the little tab up there. It’s pouring down like hard, like real hard, like so hard that I’m suspicious of God’s will to control his bladder. This must be diarrhea coming out the front end. Jesus! It’s pomp, pomp, pomping outside my friggin’ apartment and I can’t even hear my own damn thoughts. What a pain. What a bother. Hoo-boy, yes sir, this sucks. But ok, that was my warm-up. Back to the plan. I haven’t written for the last few days because I had no real desire to, and as I’ve hopefully made it clear Mr. Diary, I only make love to you with my pencil/pen (oh my), when my other side deems it necessary. Hold on, I just called you Mr. Diary. Hey, I’m all for queers doing their thing, but I’m not part of the Rosie O’Donnell club, so let’s change your name to Mrs. Diary. Yeah…you like that, don’t you Mrs. Diary? Don’t play hard to get baby, you and me, forever and ever, to the ends of the earth…yeah. YES, WELL, BACK TO THE MESSAGE! I saw her again today at the pump, but this time she saw me as well, and oddly enough there was no sub-conscious flash in her eyes, which made me a bit disappointed. That is, after all, my bulls eye. Anywho, she smiled, said hi, and even though I could hear her perfectly, I kept up with the mute role and nodded back down with the most jackass-ish smile I have ever given. I remember tugging at the left side of my lips a bit and trying to bend the right corner down. I should go check myself out in a mirror some time…but I found some good information. I pieced it all together in my head. She always comes from West Lane Avenue and then leaves in the direction she was going. So now I just need to (or, let me say needed to, I’m just filling you in here, missus), figure out where she comes from and heads to. One reason I haven’t written for the last few days is because I was investigating. I took a gamble and decided she left from home and went to work, and thank you, give me my prize, I took the right direction. I headed down Left Avenue until the road finally split off into another road. Her car came from further down; she didn’t notice me, and the next day I hiked down a bit more until I came to another branch-off that led into another neighborhood. Surprise, surprise, she came’ah driven’. I waited till later that night, found where she enters to sleep (small house, really, small, boring neighborhood), and now have made my mark. But that’s all I’ve gotten done. Now I need to pack-up my equipment, find a nice little camp-out spot, and get my next trophy.
March 15th, 2007. (Got to make this quick)
Well, the little gal was much feistier than I gave her credit for. She’s—hold on, she’s trying to be clever.
Murder, Murder
I saw her again today, and again she did not see me. That’s ok. I’ve been watching her for the last few days, really—ever since we met at the pumping station I knew she was the next one. Now, I can’t really say how I knew, but I just did. It’s one of those things you really can’t explain unless—as the saying goes—you were standing in my shoes. If it’s super natural, psychological, something, something, blah, blah, blahogical, I don’t know. But it was the way her eyes lined up with mine. There was a faint recognition of what I was, her eyes gave off that quick glimmering flash that roared at her sub-conscious something was wrong. I’m sure she didn’t sense a thing though, and that’s the beauty of it. The sub-conscious rarely makes its messages clear to the conscious, and in this day and age with how we’ve all been conditioned into the uptight keep-it-to-yourself type of personas, it’s very easy to discard what the other side of our brain tries to tell you. And again, that’s the beauty of it. I love my other side. It gives me everything I need, it makes me move on impulse, and—coincidentally enough—it’s what sent the vibe to my fingers to start writing. I’ve killed a few before her, about four or five I’d say, and still none of their bodies have been found (oh, the glee! The down-right suspense!), so while I should be moving with a bit more caution, I guess I’ll just let the impulse drive me. It seems to think on its own, and that’s fine. Besides; if they do end up finding any of my trophies, how would they link them to me? Who would convict the mute-boy who walks around town aimlessly kicking rocks into the street of murder? Well, some might, some would, but screw them. If that day comes I’ll deal with them, too. But now I suppose I’m just rambling, so I’ll close this note. My other side told me to start writing a journal, an entry-log of sorts, and I guess I’ve followed through with that. This is an introduction to the days ahead I guess. Let’s make it a game then. Let’s see if I can wrap this up in…two weeks. No, three. Three should be enough time to see where she goes, when she goes, and how she goes. That’s the most important part, I think. My other thinks so, too. Anyhow, the date is…ah…I need to go find a calendar. (About three minutes have passed, maybe more, maybe less—the counter is starting). Ok, this calendar hung up by the pump station says it’s March 5th. So, March 5th, 2007. Alright. Party time.
March 9th, 2007. (It’s sort of rainy.)
Yeah, read the little tab up there. It’s pouring down like hard, like real hard, like so hard that I’m suspicious of God’s will to control his bladder. This must be diarrhea coming out the front end. Jesus! It’s pomp, pomp, pomping outside my friggin’ apartment and I can’t even hear my own damn thoughts. What a pain. What a bother. Hoo-boy, yes sir, this sucks. But ok, that was my warm-up. Back to the plan. I haven’t written for the last few days because I had no real desire to, and as I’ve hopefully made it clear Mr. Diary, I only make love to you with my pencil/pen (oh my), when my other side deems it necessary. Hold on, I just called you Mr. Diary. Hey, I’m all for queers doing their thing, but I’m not part of the Rosie O’Donnell club, so let’s change your name to Mrs. Diary. Yeah…you like that, don’t you Mrs. Diary? Don’t play hard to get baby, you and me, forever and ever, to the ends of the earth…yeah. YES, WELL, BACK TO THE MESSAGE! I saw her again today at the pump, but this time she saw me as well, and oddly enough there was no sub-conscious flash in her eyes, which made me a bit disappointed. That is, after all, my bulls eye. Anywho, she smiled, said hi, and even though I could hear her perfectly, I kept up with the mute role and nodded back down with the most jackass-ish smile I have ever given. I remember tugging at the left side of my lips a bit and trying to bend the right corner down. I should go check myself out in a mirror some time…but I found some good information. I pieced it all together in my head. She always comes from West Lane Avenue and then leaves in the direction she was going. So now I just need to (or, let me say needed to, I’m just filling you in here, missus), figure out where she comes from and heads to. One reason I haven’t written for the last few days is because I was investigating. I took a gamble and decided she left from home and went to work, and thank you, give me my prize, I took the right direction. I headed down Left Avenue until the road finally split off into another road. Her car came from further down; she didn’t notice me, and the next day I hiked down a bit more until I came to another branch-off that led into another neighborhood. Surprise, surprise, she came’ah driven’. I waited till later that night, found where she enters to sleep (small house, really, small, boring neighborhood), and now have made my mark. But that’s all I’ve gotten done. Now I need to pack-up my equipment, find a nice little camp-out spot, and get my next trophy.
March 15th, 2007. (Got to make this quick)
Well, the little gal was much feistier than I gave her credit for. She’s—hold on, she’s trying to be clever.