I'm dead. Really dead. Not in the "there'll be a twist at the end and I'll be saved" kind of way. Just dead.
Surprisingly, I don't mind all that much. It's much calmer out here in the abyss. There's a strange peace that comes with being nothing. Or, rather, not being. There is a difference, you see.
Because I am not, I am able to not be wherever I like. And I am not in the middle of everything.
While I was alive, I loved stories. Stories were incredible things. I would look for them everywhere-- music, movies, books, newspapers,...
The cannibals were behind bars strong enough to keep lions contained. They were the newest attraction at the zoo. You could hardly see past the sea of people to what was inside the enclosure.
Up! I demanded.
My father put me on his shoulders so I could see. There were four. A mother and a father and two children who were too small for me to tell if they were boys or girls.
The mother smiled at me in what I thought was a friendly way, exposing teeth that were sharp and wicked looking. Her face had two long streaks...
The fat girl at Kentucky Fried Chicken touched my forehead with the palm of her hand. Her skin was oily and she had pimples. There was a green fungus growing on one armpit and I knew that when she was in junior high, she played the trombone. But I let her touch me anyway.
"You are not where you belong," she said. "You are not doing what you are meant to do."
"What am I meant to do?" I asked. "I know it's not to be a porn star because that would mean getting laid and that is something I...
story by Monsterbat, typed by mom:
"Sit up, please."
She sat up, her hair gleaming, her eyes glistening. She'd gotten these for free since she had gotten the deal. Show one picture of yourself in the magazine, get one physical therapy session free. She said, "You aren't very qualified at this; are you?"
Another arm got wrenched off. "Oops, sorry."
"You know what, that's it. Even if I'm a zombie, I have some rights. And if I hadn't eaten the court, I'd take you to one." Blood started dripping from her lips.
"Why don't you make a zombie court," he...
There wasn't much more he could say. At this point they had been arguing for hours and it had slowly spiraled in to complete silence, neither one willing to say the first word, to break the ice (again) so to speak. Both facing away from the other, arms crossed. Defiance. Why is it that sometimes adults can act like children? Children are masters of the silent treatment. Then again, children are just that - children. It means so much more when it's your partner refusing to talk. And you not wanting to 'lose' by talking first. That's all it is...
How do you tell a child that it's over? How do you explain in short, fleeting moments that they have reached the end?
I was always so proud of this child. I hadn't known her for long, but when we found her, she was like a celestial reminder that good remained in the world and that we always have something to fight for. She brought us a reminder of innocence in our darkest and most twisted days, and for that I will forever be thankful.
I had loved watching her grow up. She would tell me tales of imaginary people...
100 feet away Mulder knew the Sasquatch was waiting. This was it, the moment of truth.
Jonas, the new field agent crunched towards him, dry twigs breaking the silence, seeming oblivious to the gestures from his superior to stay still. The shrilling of his cell phone ruined the whole operation.
'Mulder, you know that it couldn't have been what you were hoping.' Scully's eyes told him everything he already knew. He was on his own with this certainty.
His sources were trustworthy.
Next time he would go on his own time. And even if he did find solid evidence he...
Oh look at the house. It has snow on the roof. Santa will be mad. How is he supposed to get down the chimney if there's snow on the roof. Wait a minute. There's no chimney. Guess Santa will have to break into the house instead.
But gol, I think we should make sure all the roofs are clear of snow for Christmas Eve. I mean, them reindeer can't enjoy snow all that much.
So anyway, Santa Claus has a disease that makes his hair fall out. He kind of looks like this: O But he has a head on...
It was tragic. He'd just been gathering cotton for his sister's dress, just like she asked him to. He'd gotten tired, and made a sort of bed. The bear had smelled his dog treats that he always kept in his pocket, and decided that the entire package would be tastier. the bear had taken him in his claws, then realized that it's victim was still breathing. So it'd thrown him against the tree, then started ripping out his intestines. When his sister found him, he was a bunch of bones. The only thing left was his heart, purer than anyones...
In hindsight, the solution was obvious. I had gone through all the facts, interrogated every suspect, and analyzed all possible theories and evidence. I had them all assembled in the den of the immense estate. Lady Distala was a nervous wreck, nibbling her lovely filed nails and shivering slightly, though the room was warm. "I am aware that all of you know that a crime has been committed in this very home, a mere few hours past. Mr. Edward Leston was found murdered in the back garden at around two o'clock. I have asked all my questions of you, and...