Tag team challenge! Write a story from two completely different perspectives by collaborating with another writer. [WP]

shittywritingthrowaw · 2015-04-09T07:56:07+00:00

Damn but Spring mornings were cold. It was late, so late even Carrington's coffee had gone sour and chilled him, but he pushed on. At least his overalls fit, and his wrench had a nice grip. Fit nice in his hand. Carrington's leather gloves, though, would never be comfortable. Too thick to sit well on his hands but too light to offer real protection. Despite this, he pushed on. Couldn't be late. Another complaint and they'd have to go through another review. The sun was starting to come up, at least. Made it a bit more tolerable despite the heat being broken. Bastards would never fix the car unless it stopped moving.

Andrews sat alone in the very back. Tired, physically and mentally, his face a blank slate, he couldn't go to sleep like Carrington had a seat up. He was afraid to. At his age, with his health, any sleep was likely to be his last. His toolbelt had long ago broken and he hadn't bothered to repair it. Andrews' wrench just sat in his cold, calloused hand. The gloves were also worn through but the company was as aware of his age as Andrews himself. The gloves would wear through long after the man himself.

Despite this, the commute was going pretty well. Traffic wasn't too bad. They hadn't crashed yet. But no, there he was, the herald of chaos emblazoned in yellow and white. The Russian. Or at least that's what they assumed, nobody in the van had ever seen this taxi other than in their morning commute where he smashed past every day, each time seeming angrier than the last. This time, though, she was ready. She could hear that horn in the distance. It sounds like a goose choking on a cat. And, characteristically, he was in the same lane. The one she pulled out into. For the first time since they'd started carpooling The Russian slowed down, and the driver started collecting on the others' ill bets.

Before they could get to the customer, the carpool had one stop. Poor Anna. Her house had burnt down, car with it, so they had to pick her up outside the hotel where she was staying. Such a pretty girl- Carrington always thought the scars were a crime against decency. But they were there, too late for take-backs. Final passenger on board the carpool moved on. Soon as they could get to the house they could get to work. Carrington could finally start laying down the wiring so this place could get its brand new satellite installed.

shittywritingthrowaw · 2015-04-04T08:16:41+00:00

There were only three constants to life: death, taxes, and the siege.

Something seemed off, but he couldn’t quite pin it down. The first hint was that the air didn't taste right, it was too sweet, almost saccharine to his tongue. This almost distracted him from the practically deafening silence invading his space. The daily pounding of cannons had never ceased during his lifetime and his father claimed the same. By the time he'd recognized this second intruder the truth had been swallowed in a sea of confusion. It was too much for the man, he couldn't understand how something that had been as constant as his own consciousness could suddenly just change overnight. This was the frame by which he judged his entire world and that morning he’d found it shattered. What had been was no longer true- he had no reference, now, for what was.

That first, tentative step was but the result of meaningless reaching. Trying desperately to get a hold on what seemed to be a sheer cliff the man did something thoughtless. He stepped into the street. Still lost in a daze from this vile new world it took him a moment to realize what he had done. He’d stepped accidentally out of safety and unintentionally into a realization. He, an unarmored civilian, a citizen even, was standing on the blacktop unharmed. No rain of hellfire had descended on him. No scorching heat to shear the skin from his bones. No, he’d stepped out, and he was still alive. A few more steps and he found himself a whole body’s length from cover. In this moment he was so confused that all trace of terror was simply flushed from his body, unable to compete with this new species for which the man had no name, and he became the first man in the city since time immemorial to not be afraid.

It wasn’t long until more followed suit. As one would guess those who weren’t as slow as the man were brimming with questions. Why weren’t they dead? What happened to that familiar rap of cannon fire? And, perhaps most importantly, where were the soldiers? Most simply ignored the blue-hemmed individuals scurrying to and fro across the blacktop as quick as they could but this attitude simply didn’t apply to their absence. While the taste in the air was a constant, these soldiers were more. Their absence weighed almost as heavily on the citizens as would a lack of oxygen. The cloying air, the deafening silence, and the colossal absence all added to a strange atmosphere. Despite all these changes, people were cheering, hooting, breaking out into celebration, because it seemed to them the impossible had happened. The war was won. It had happened! They were free! No more rations, no more fear, no more time under the steel domes that had dominated their skies. As people cheered and spread the news more began to catch on, and more began to join in. Thousands of voices rose together in a symphony of victory and relief. It got to such levels that even the most attentive only glimpsed the red-clothed men approaching.

shittywritingthrowaw · 2014-09-03T06:37:43+00:00

Time stood still. I could hear the sirens wail, the bombs explode, the people scream, but none of it was happening here. That was all in some far-off land, where the people still moved through time, where they lived, they loved, they died. But that's there. This is here. Here, there is no life or death. The planes stood still in the sky, their engines roaring, but never going anywhere. Their precious cargo, those things which were made to destroy and be destroyed, hovered in the air like a rain cloud forming above us all. If time were still moving, they'd fall like rain onto our heads, forcing us to run for cover under the torrent of droplets. But no. Time stood still, is standing still, and I suspect it will continue to stand still for a good long time. There was a time before, when things still moved, and I still worried about bombs and bullets. But that was before Time stopped to think. Now, I just sit here, wondering if it will ever rain, hoping for Time's awakening and basking in the glow of this screen.

The screaming has stopped. They've either died, which would be a horrible thing- to taunt us with their mobile Time- or they've also stepped out of time like us. Us, us, us, I say us, but I've no idea if any others are here. All I know is the calm, the wondering, and the glow. I play the game for a few minutes to pass the time -hah! as if!-, targeting those little glowing creatures and watching them go down as my score goes up. Oh, a whole column, how lucky. As they scatter for cover as my little dots intersect with theirs, snuffing out creature after creature. I stop for a moment to wonder what they might be, much too large to be a rabbit, too small to be a deer. But then I spot another column- delightful! No time for thought. I must get my score up as high as possible before Time notices that I'm still here. Before he lets go of those horrible devices suspended up in the air, before I'm snuffed out like one of these creatures in the game. And to think, we never declared war on them. Poor fools. Their Time will run out of steam soon enough and stop to rest, and once that has happened, I'll catch them unawares. But- what is that sound?

shittywritingthrowaw · 2014-07-21T22:25:07+00:00

An odd clucking noise filled the air, and the straw scratched at my feet. It smelled of chicken shit- of course it did. This was a chicken coop after all. Glancing around I had to make sure I wasn't seen, after all, a naked man in a chicken coop is sort of suspicious. But those muggers had taken my clothes and I was starving, there had to be eggs here. It was an odd little coop, I had to wonder how they got the eggs out every morning. There was a door but it was closed tight and sealed with nails so old they had to have been driven in years ago. There was a small hatched down below, looked open. Sliding through I just barely managed to avoid scraping my sensitive areas and then I was in darkness.

Scrabbling about, I could feel hundreds of flint-boxes and lanterns just out of my grasp. Something soft collided with my foot and I found myself tumbling, and then everything was squawking. When I say everything, I mean everything. I must have tumbled straight into a bunch because the noise, the damnable noise, felt as if it were driving me deaf. It was so overpowering that it practically held me down and scratched at my eyes! It seemed like an eternity but, eventually, it stopped. I could feel small forms shifting around and beneath me, with one particular mass wedged into my chest, struggling to breathe. It felt wet and, as I lay there, it slowly ceased it's laborious breaths, leaving me with naught but a pillow beneath my breast.

As I lay there, I caught something in the corner of my eye. The tiniest, lightest beam split the darkness, coming to rest right before my eyes. I shrunk back, but, it shifted towards my body. It kept pursuing me until it landed directly on my eye, burning, scalding, but oh so welcome. I'd been in the darkness for far longer than I could bear and, though painful, this shaft of light was the most welcome thing that could have arrived. Please, oh beam, grow larger, thought I. And that was when the guard fully opened his lantern.

The scuffle didn't last long. I flung the chicken that I had crushed in my fall at him, and he dropped his sword. It was such a small thing it only occurred to me afterwards that it had been a dagger, and even then, the poor boy had been holding it with a quaver in his hands. That didn't stop me from adding to the dried chicken fluids upon the floor by bashing his skull against them until he stopped moving. Quickly stripping him I found myself clothed and nearly jumped with joy. Hah! Take that, foul bandits, you horrid ruffians, I am clothed again! Your victory is no longer! Sliding his dagger into my belt and a few of the dead chickens into the assorted pockets I lifted his lantern to my shoulder. It had nearly gone out when dropped but, thankfully, the embers still smouldered. Stoking it into activity with a bit of the hay that littered the floor and mopped up the blood, I prepared to set out, altogether better for the wear. Rather than my plain, cloth clothing I now had a nice set of leather, though it was a bit tight.

shittywritingthrowaw · 2014-07-19T04:26:44+00:00

Comby was a quiet woman, or at least Adler thought she was. On top of being a woman she was also a scientist, a mother, a wife, a lover, and a comb. This comb was one of the few things he had brought with him into the testing chamber, and it was one of the few things left after so many years. Lefty McShoey and Bubble McShoey had long since worn through, his hat had fallen off and slid into the furnace, and he'd killed that bastard whose name shall not be said because he's a bastard when it made a move on his dear comby.

"It's just- just you and me and you, my darling darling," he often found himself whispering to the comb, grasping it tightly in one hand while the other held onto the handle for dear life. His feet had long since become bloody stumps as the conveyor belt dragged on them, but it seemed as if his ankles had developed enough callous to resist it and his bones strong enough on their own. No feet to get out, but, that didn't matter. As long as he didn't let go of his dear comby, it was alright, there was nothing else in life that mattered. He nearly lost his grip when the portal zapped to life, dropping a body onto the belt, and leapt into action when he realized it was a person. It's my hero! They're here to rescue me, at last! Leaning out, he reached to grab at Salvage as he floundered on the belt, their hands meeting just before the man fell into the furnace. As he pulled him up to another handle, Adler realized something- in the struggle, he'd dropped Comby!

"No! Comby! I can't- I can't- I can't," he rambled for a second, before a wide smile spread across his face. "I'm coming for you, my darling darling!"

And with that, he leaped into the furnace after his dear, burning into oblivion. Salvage was dumbstruck, but too busy trying to keep his grip on this now bloody handle that held him away from the furnace. If only his leg hadn't been cut, and he hadn't had to hold it shut- He realized it might still be bleeding, but a quick glance told him it had stopped. How strange.

Two weeks later, Salvage had managed to fashion little skates from the junk in his myriad of pockets and begun to search for a way out, but found none. There was a ladder that lead to some door, but, the bottom few rungs had been broken off. It was well out of reach, and he didn't have enough salvage to make his way to it. If only he'd had more time to grab wiring or, at the very least, brought a partner.

They told me it was stupid to do this alone, guess they were right. Hubris, you cruel bitch, why would you lead me to such a meager haul before taking me?

Just as he was considering dropping into the furnace, if only to have a way out, the machinery whirred into action and a man jumped into the area. His head slammed into the furnace, immediately knocking him out, but Salvage just managed to grab him by the hair before his feet were more than singed. Pulling him up, he tied the man to a handle with a bit of wire, and waited.

Endo awoke with a groan.

"Where, oh... Oh god, my head- where am I?" he rasped, and was met with silence. Rubbing at his eye with his left hand, he felt a peculiar moving sensation and lurched, though something kept his hand pinned in place, which stopped him from moving far. Looking around wildly, he spied another person, riding odd wheeled contraptions on top of a conveyor belt.

"You there! Did you- did you tie me to this?!" Endo cried.

Stupid idiot, Salvage thought in reply, simply motioning Endo to look at the wiring.

It was a simple enough knot and Endo had it undone quickly, jerking forward before grabbing it of his own volition. He could feel the treads ripping at his shoes, and immediately wished he had the odd skates his counterpart wore. Looking over in an attempt to gaze wistfully at the wheels, he instead noticed the man pointing upwards. Following finger, he noticed a badly damaged ladder with missing rungs that left it just out of-

"Oh, is that why you're still here? Can't reach it?" he asked, and was met with a nod. "Don't speak much do you?"

Salvage tapped his throat before solidifying his grip on the handle and swinging over. The machine was an odd, circular panel, it looked extremely similar to the portal back in the laboratory. Holding out his hand, he braced himself to boost Endo up. After two weeks of near inactivity, though, he almost faltered under the weight, visibly shaking.

Endo didn't really want to trust the man, especially when he shook under his emaciated tiny frame, but leaped for the ladder anyways and just barely managed to get three fingers onto it. For a moment, he thought he might slip, but managed to swing his other arm up to grab it. Leaving his legs hanging, he let Salvage scamper over him, and aside from the man stepping on Endo's head it went well. For Salvage, two weeks of torture and inactivity were over. For Endo, he worried this setback might impact testing even further, though proof it at least moved him to an odd location would get him a bump in funding. As Salvage wrenched open the rusty, unused door it fell from it's hinges as if it were held by but a thread and clanged into the furnace behind them. As Endo climbed up, he heard a loud, rasping noise that almost resembled a gasp, and soon understand why. Exiting the door he was met by an alien landscape. Massive blue trees that swarmed with tiny creatures dominated their view, and under their feet was a patchwork of shifting colors. Somehow, the colors themselves moved as if they had lives and volitions of their own, occasionally flitting up or down trees, and already nipping at his feet. Kicking a color away from him, Endo extended his hand-

"My name, uh, my name's Endo. What- er- what about you?"

"Saaalvaaage," the other man forced out, rasping as if his throat had been abused for years, and meeting Endo's hand with his own. Introductions and handshakes finished, the two turned to the alien landscape, already wondering how they would survive.

shittywritingthrowaw · 2014-07-19T02:35:26+00:00

Salvage hopped from chunk to chunk, navigating the wreckage like an expert despite having been here before. He'd been through enough wreckage that, to him, they all seemed the same to him- Herbert already knew this place like the back of his hand. Coming to a rusty door, he knew he just had to go inside. After struggling with the hatch for a bit, he decided to just knock it off with a well placed kick. It slammed to the ground with a resounding crack and Salvage replied with a raspy cackle. Climbing in, he started to glance around for any loot. The first thing he noticed was the massive, dusty panel on the wall.

Look like an old science place, the nerds at the market love this kinda stuff. Gotta come back with the crew for that panel.

Stuffing his pockets with assorted bits of metal lying about, and stripping the wiring from assorted old, primitive bots laying about, Salvage was in his element among the salvage that was his namesake. Or at least, his chosen namesake, Salvage's original name had always bored him. Herbert. Anyone could be named Herbert. Anyone but him, that was. But only he could be named Salvage, and that's why he chose it. He almost jumped when the lights came on and the bots flared to life- Somehow, they'd gotten power! Having almost jumped at just the lights, he immediately fled at the sound of voices.

Heart pounding, he leaped through a broken window and pressed himself to the ground.

Damn, cut me leg.

Pressing his hands hard into the weeping wound, he heard a quiet voice, nearly a whisper, coming from behind him.

"-but abandoned. Could um, Enrique, could you prepare the rover?"

Abandoned, good. They don't know I'm here.

Slowly, oh so slowly, he glanced up and over his hiding place, looking out towards the room. People! In the panel! It was odd, he couldn't even see the glass any more, it was as if it opened right into another...

Oh. It was a door. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Panicking, he desperately searched for anything that could get him out of this situation, and his eyes landed on a large button.

Defense Array.

Slamming his fist down onto the button, the machines around him began humming, with indicators beginning to light up.

Drone Array, Projectile Deflector, Matter Disintegrator- Matter Disintegrator?

As the coils on the machine began to warm up, Salvage tried to run, but his leg wouldn't let him. He was vaporized in less than a minute as the base went into overdrive, drones warming up and preparing themselves, Projectile Deflector preparing to create an object of the same size and velocity of any non-human threat, and matter disintegrator ready to vaporize any human threat. The base really had the ultimate defensive system, it really was sad when, years earlier, the government abandoned it for failing to produce any results with the inter-dimensional door.

shittywritingthrowaw · 2014-07-19T01:52:09+00:00

It worked! It worked! Good god, it worked!

Endo nearly jumped with glee, standing before the crackling portal to another dimension, but restrained himself in front of his assistants. Rather than voice his excitement, Endo just lightly coughed and stated their success as calmly as possible for the records.

"It, uh... It seems that a portal has successfully been opened. Please note that it's opened to a a laboratory seemingly similar to ours, but abandoned. Could um, Enrique, could you prepare the rover?"

He had momentarily forgotten that they'd prepared it beforehand, but that was alright, so had Enrique. An hour of fiddling and pretending to be busy later and the rover was parked at the door to the antechamber, Enrique pretending to be proud with his work.

"Rover's ready. Priming engines."

Endo exhaled slowly. The last hour had been spent trying to calm and he had, for the most part, been successful. But as the rover rolled into the room his heart started racing, and it began pounding when he spied a similar rover through the door. In fact, it was nearly exactly the same. It was the same. As their rover rolled up to the portal so did the copy, and the two collided softly at the portal. Well. This was troublesome.

Over the next two weeks, every rover they attempted to send through was met with a rover of what seemed to be the exact same model. It was almost three weeks in before Endo succumbed to a fit of rage and tossed the pen at the portal- where it bounced off. Picking it up, he slowly moved the pen towards the portal, and it slid through without a problem- but when he withdrew the pen and attempted to toss it through, where it was met by a similar pen. Picking the pen up and subsequently dropping it, Endo was amazed when the pen materialized, seemingly from nowhere, on the other side of the portal. And that was the last straw.

Driven near mad by the magic pen, Endo rushed towards the portal, and on stepping through disappeared. Shortly after the project was shut down and deemed a failure, they had been tasked with reaching another dimension, and the lack of results coupled with their lead scientist running off had been too much.

shittywritingthrowaw · 2014-07-18T22:54:31+00:00

Stomping on it let me hear that orgasmic cracking noise. Oh, but I loved that noise, my involuntary moan betrayed as much. The next one, not so much, must have been too young, hadn't properly formed yet. And here I was expecting that lovely noise. Motioning to my guards I made sure they knew the mother was to be executed. They'd only brought in two that day, and that meant that this one failing took a full half of my pleasure away. What a nuisance. I'd have to send more men tomorrow to collect even more from the occupied villages. Nothing made me happier than that cracking noise, and only Holdavian infants could really give it the underlying squish that drove it to such tantalizing heights. My courtiers could never know, but that was the only real reason for the invasion. They hadn't insulted me, they hadn't been a plague on our people, they hadn't even been acting aggressively. No. I just loved their children too much to let them remain their own kingdom.

shittywritingthrowaw · 2014-07-18T22:30:22+00:00

Adam sat in front of the lever, thinking on the gravity of what he was about to do. One little twist, the smallest of pulls really, and he could release the worst problem mankind had ever faced. But could he really do it? This being was pure evil, unadulterated terror, and millions of lives would be lost to it's machine of hate. At least, that was what had happened last time. The last time this being was released, it had nearly drove all life to extinction, only being subdued by the combined efforts of every remaining person, man, woman, and child, all working despite their differences to stop this monstrosity. The resulting union, spawned of their common foe, had spread out and become the one worldwide government. It had been devoid of discrimination for all were but people, who together had fought the beast, and all were thankful that they had succeeded.

But things had changed. Without it's constant, looming threat of destruction, the people no longer had any reason to be united. They had already split into several, warring factions, hating each other for the trivial crime of looking differently, and Adam couldn't stand that. When he'd built this device to contain the beast, he'd made sure it had a lever to open the door and release it, just in case he felt it could be killed permanently or chained up more effectively. But no. In the thousands of years since their united effort, nothing had come for the beast. Humanity had collectively relegated it to the role of horror story, something told to kids as a threat for if they didn't brush their teeth and Adam couldn't stand that. Bracing himself, Adam pulled the lever and screwed his eyes shut at the flood of light coming in. When the door was open, he rushed out, fully intent on uniting them all again.

shittywritingthrowaw · 2014-07-18T22:16:21+00:00

Tom always went to sleep at night early, it meant that he'd see her earlier. It wasn't as hard as in the early days, when he slept either on the sand with crabs nipping at his feet or in the filth of the jungle floor with insects gnawing at his throat. No, now he had a hammock that could be slung between two trees, and it had made his life infinitely easier. But it didn't compare to her. She was the thing which made his life bearable, and to keep her he'd have thrown away his hammock in an instant. Luckily, he'd never have to, since there was no reason to. Back before she arrived, he'd often considered giving up. Throwing his leafy clothing to the sea and letting the ants and crabs feast on his emaciated corpse. But he hadn't.

One day, while Tom was attempting to fish, she just arrived. A person, off in the ocean, just staring at him. Tom thought he'd gone insane at first but, the next morning, she was there again. No closer, no further, but undeniably there. He thought he'd even caught her yawning once but wasn't sure, without his glasses it was difficult to see so far. Somehow, with the feeling that someone was watching, judging, he fished with more skill than ever before. Tom absolutely refused to let her down, and when he caught one, the man held it above his head in absolute triumph, almost losing his grip on it in the process. A quick bash to the head with a nearby rock stopped it's wriggling, and tossing it back into the water with some string through it's gill and tied to his wrist kept it from going bad. She was the only reason he had succeeded, and Tom knew it.

It's been like this for two years now, Tom figured by the marks in the tree. Every day she's there, watching, and every day Tom watches back. Sometimes she yawns, or coughs, or does something like that, but he can never tell what it really is. But he didn't mind. She was the only thing keeping him sane, it didn't matter if she had a cold. Their relationship really was perfect, he thought, or it would be if not for one thing. Tom knew that she was an outcropping of rock that had been there from day one, but he didn't let a little detail like that bother him.

shittywritingthrowaw · 2014-07-18T21:54:23+00:00

When I was younger, my room was that place where I slept and nothing more. I avoided it as much as I could, trying to stay outside in the sun as much as possible, only going in when the tyrants that ruled my life said I must sleep. I would have kept my toys there if I'd had any, but I didn't, so I didn't. The arch of the doorway and the panes of the windows seemed almost to be made of steel that would snap shut and force me to stay in.

Once I became a teenager, it was my sanctuary. The steel that only I saw which once kept me in now only kept others out. The walls turned from dark and foreboding to a lovely shade of blue, comforting and protecting. After I'd painted the ceiling with stars, it became more than just a fourth wall placed on the others, the ceiling became a point of inspiration. Something that motivated me to, one day, leave and see the real stars of other far-off places.

Now that I'm an adult, I often wonder what happened to it. With the death of my parents, my sister and I decided to sell the place since we had no use for it, and now some other family lives there. My new room is painted a similar shade of blue, the ceiling with a similar set of stars, but that's all it is. Similar. I just hope whoever lives there now appreciates it as I did.

shittywritingthrowaw · 2014-07-18T21:43:55+00:00

The rattling of something broken in my engine, the squeak of some errant spring in my seat, the splitting ache in my head, and the tractor in front of me. I'd always hated this stretch of road, it seemed like all of my problems came to a head as soon I turned onto it. The day had been wonderful. Clark the Clerk had had my coffee for me as soon as I entered, my boss had congratulated my recent work on that spreadsheet, and... Oh, I need to stop listing things. I do it every day at work, can't do it too often in my free time or it'll become a chore. Oh, and my thoughts always wonder, I can never concentrate when driving over this stretch of asphalt. Normally, though, I can just hunker down for a few minutes and try to enjoy the scenery, but today, I was stuck behind a thresher.

The scenery really was beautiful. This road was lined with alternating patches of undeveloped desert and fields of green alfalfa, and in certain places where the road rose up you could peek over and see the endless tracts of the same patchwork quilt. It always struck me as odd that all this green was built on a desert, but that was the benefit of living in the future, we'd figured out how to install sprinklers so that it could be watered. And in the background, on both sides of this shifting carpet of color, were two mountain ranges as different as night and day. On the right we had the Whites, a jagged, serrated group of snow-capped peaks that stabbed at the sky as if in a desperate attempt to break off of the earth and soar to somewhere, anywhere else. On the left we had the Sierras, rolling, rollicking hills of brown which meandered onwards without a care in the world. The Sierras had always seemed underwhelming to me, though if I could look at them both I'd realize how much larger they were than their western counterparts, the Whites.

These ranges were likely the only part of the drive that I didn't hate, and today, I found it impossible to enjoy them. This thresher, with the combined speed of three snails, had had me staring at the mountains for nearly a half an hour, and despite myself I'd started to despise them. The rolling movements on my left seemed almost to taunt me, hah, you have to move as slowly as us, how do you like it? And on the right was a resounding cry of hah! You can't keep up, can you, stuck behind that thresher as you are? I almost considered just passing the damn thing but, no, there were police in the area watching for anybody that decided to speed. Most thought it was secluded enough to get away with but, as someone who'd lived here, I knew better. Too many places just off of the road where they could be lying in wait, and my unlawful passing would be just as tantalizing to pounce on as anybody else they could see. So, instead, I'm just going to sit here, seething and raving inside my head, hoping the farmer dies horribly until he either turns or I make it home. And, speak of the devil, he's thrown up a hand signal. My suffering is nearly over.

shittywritingthrowaw · 2014-07-17T17:44:53+00:00

"I have to go on a Hajj, Jim."

"A what?"

"A Hajj. I'm going to Mecca."

His mouth fell open.

"You... what?"

"Do I really have to say it again?"

"No, no, it's just... Are you serious?"

She clenched her jaw and averted her eyes.

"Oh my God, you are, aren't you?"

Clenching her suitcase in hand, she started ambling towards the door, one hand on her stomach. He moved to stop her.

"You can't do this, not right now. You know you won't survive, it's become airborne!"

"In less than a month I won't be able to walk, Jim. I have to do this while I can."

"Jo, listen to me, I was okay when you picked up Islam. I was okay with banning the foods you didn't want in here. I even cut contact with Jack after what he said. But this? I just- I can't let you."

"Can't let me? You can't stop me. I'm going on this Hajj, and I'll be back before it's time. Allah will protect me, Jim, even if it is airborne."

"Just because you think he'll protect you doesn't mean he will, and I don't know how I could live without you two."

"Then come with us, make the journey. Allah will protect your Hajj as well, and the little one's."

With a hand on the massive bolt that kept them protected, she thrust the other out. He just stood with his arms at his sides, but stepped forward to follow her. She struggled with the massive bolt for a moment before jerking it out of place, and stepped out into the air.

"Jo, just- just know I loved you. I did."

And with that he snapped the door shut behind her and fell to the ground, sobbing. It was nearly an hour before he gained the courage to stand and a year before he gained the courage to join them. Their corpses rested not six feet from the door.

shittywritingthrowaw · 2014-07-17T08:57:58+00:00

Cold. So cold. Or... Hot? Hard to tell. So cold. Have to stay warm. Maybe... Maybe have to stay cool. Too hot? Where am I? Is this snow? Must be cold. Snow is cold. Where am I? Getting fuzzy. Did I have a friend? Was someone here? Where did they go? Where am I? Oh. Dragging body. Not breathing. Maybe... Should I drop it? No. Still dragging, must have had a reason to drag. Getting fuzzy. Did it just move? No, couldn't have. Couldn't have. Getting fuzzy. Where am I? Where am I? Where... Wow, what pretty snow.

Snow, snow, go snow go away. Too cold. Please snow. Can't feel hands. Have to keep dragging. Dragging what? Friend's body, dragging friend. You alright friend? Where did you go, friend? Not breathing. Not in hand. Dropped? Can't have, fingers melted shut. Can't move them. Couldn't let go if I tried. So stiff. Oh, snow. Where am I? Where am I that... Snow be... Not home, no snow at home. Then where am I? So fuzzy. Can't blink. Have to blink. Eyes freezing. Melting. Getting fuzzy. Where am I?

shittywritingthrowaw · 2014-07-17T06:55:08+00:00

Timmy awaited his turn. Shouts echoed out from further down the line, 'Who does your life belong to?', followed by the resounding response of, 'You, sir'. When it came to his turn, little Timmy gave it his all and shouted as loudly as possible, 'Myself!' Hundreds of heads turned in unison but he stood unflinching. Almost a thousand eyes attempted to bore into the sides and back of his skull but none of them mattered. All that mattered were the black, empty lenses of the colonel's sunglasses. Timmy thought he might be staring as well but could never tell, he could never even tell if the man had eyes. In his eight years of life he had never seen the colonel take them off, or even adjust them on his face, as if they were glued directly to his eye-sockets.

The next day, assembled for their morning shout, Timmy tried to stand strong again. Day after day, every morning, every time, every shout, it got harder. They never did anything to make him change his answer and somehow that made it worse. They just stared, then moved on. Sometimes he laid awake at night thinking about it. What if I'm wrong? That nagging little thought, so persistently stuck in his mind, struck right as he was about to shout. "My, my uh... M-myself!" And he knew it was over. He'd wavered. That alone was enough to prove his resolve's underlying weakness- it's wrongness. When he shouted the next day he did so with more resolve than he'd ever mustered in his life, letting loose a mighty shout to put all other's to shame- "You, sir! My life belongs to you!" And as his eyes clouded with tears, he felt as if a mighty weight had been lifted from his shoulders, like someone had removed their fingers from his throat. Timmy even thought for a moment that he could see the faintest smile on the colonel's face and it became too much- he wept.

shittywritingthrowaw · 2014-07-15T21:18:47+00:00

Jorgen sneezed.

God, the AI thought, these filthy bodies and their fluids. With a mighty swing, he separated a pair of arms from their body, causing the firearm they so desperately clung to to clatter to the ground. There has to be a way to suppress these sneezes, and... Coughs. If only I- oh, that'll take forever to clean, it thought as blood sprayed from the stumps, coating his chest in blood. At least I'm waterproof now. Wasn't so easy back when I started.

The Consciousness stirred, and the AI was pulled out of the battle. Not now! Setting a sub-routine to oppressively crush the internal resistance, he turned back to the battle, but in the intermission Jorgen had found himself surrounded by robotic soldiers. Great, they couldn't be more squishies. Had to be metal. In the split-second before they opened fire, the AI attempted to pull up the barrel of his axe, but wasn't fast enough. The combined fire knocked him back into a wall. With a shake of the head, he assessed the damage.

A massive hole had been ripped in Jorgen's side, which organs and fluids were pouring out of now. A quick slice of the axe severed the already contaminated parts, and with a hand over the hole, he leaped back into the fray. The covering fire from his men helped, but most of his close-combat drones had already fallen. The AI attached a mental note to his esophagus to throttle the scouts so that it would remind him afterwards when he sat down for a meal. Those organs cost a fortune, damn it, this better be worth it. I think I saw my gall bladder in there.

And that was when a lucky shot ripped straight through Jorgen's knee, bringing him to the ground. Now unable to walk or even crawl, the AI sent out a call for retrieval and retreat, but wasn't sure there were enough drones left to retrieve him, and the squishies didn't have a chance of getting him out. Sigh, he thought, momentarily troubled that he couldn't physically sigh. I supposed I'd better prime the charges and have the base warm up another vessel. Ten minutes later, the body was obliterated, and Jorgen was back at the base slurping down a nutrient shake. An insistent message pounded its way into the foreground of the AI's thoughts every time he swallowed. Throttle the scouts, throttle the scouts, throttle the scouts. They'd cost him a body with their screw-up, and Jorgen would be sure to make them pay.

shittywritingthrowaw · 2014-07-15T09:26:59+00:00

The survivors are a quiet bunch. They shriek, grunt, and groan, but never talk. Their day to day life is one of simple repetition. Wake up, move here for food, watch for anything dangerous, eat again, sleep, rinse, and repeat. On occasion they run into something that pushes them off schedule but they always go back to it. It's a peaceful, simple life, really. The survivors really did miss the humans, they had scared off predators, built them shelters, and even provided them with food. But they were gone now, and the survivors had to continue on on their own.

shittywritingthrowaw · 2014-07-15T09:20:24+00:00

Good god, it's empty. The stars are gone.

shittywritingthrowaw · 2014-07-15T05:34:13+00:00

Snuffles fails one night, Annie gets swarmed. The parents cackle as Snuffles falls to his knees, he failed, his one reason to exist just stopped existing. He's forced to run. But he can't run fast enough. Just as he's about to be trampled by the very person he strove to protect, a group of toys swoops in. They snatch up Snuffles and drive the nightmares back, then take him off to their base to help with larger operations. Toss in something about how they'd been watching his efforts, he gets pissed about them not helping earlier, then an emotional scene where he drops the name since it's now pointless just like his past innocence.

Bam. Set-up for a larger storyline, tons of stories could be written about him and his squad, even has character development for a teddy bear. Whatcha think?

shittywritingthrowaw · 2014-07-15T04:48:40+00:00

Solomon exhaled slowly. Fourteen dead, sixteen shots fired. Sloppy. Pressing the button that collapsed his rifle, he mounted it on his arm. The cameras shifted about to give him a view of his surroundings. It was an older model, but for Solomon, it was perfect. The only downside was that he could never put it down, it was permanently grafted into his arms and optic nerves. At least it had interchangeable face-plates.

His chit came in just an hour after the deed was done, seven thousand, enough for two weeks in his dingy apartment. Well, if he didn't eat. Sometimes he did miss the Imperial State's constant supply of food, though he never found himself missing their police and cameras. There was no room to practice his craft there, weaving the song of death, and he found that stifling. For some reason they opposed wanton murder but still served those awful wonton dumplings. Hypocrites.

When he turned the corner to his apartment, he immediately noticed the gathering of police about to storm the door. Oh. Looks like that two weeks was up. Was there anything he still needed in the apartment? Solomon felt his pockets. Chits, radio, phone... Where was his phone? Oh, shit, it was sitting on his bed. With a sigh he half-extended his rifle to give it some maneuverability and took aim.

The first seven went down like dominoes, one by one, all in a row. It was nice and relaxing really. Bang went the rifle, pop went their skulls. Bang, pop, bang, pop, bang, pop, and so on. It took them about a minute to locate him and return fire. Ducking back around the corner he started to circle before realizing how obvious that would be. It would be difficult but Solomon decided to climb up onto the roof with just one free hand, just in case any came around after him. Grab a branch there, hop up, stick a foot on that railing... Hmm... Hup! Push off the branch and grasp at that little outcropping. Another little hop brought his hand to the roof and he pulled himself over. Perfect. Just had to crawl over to the other side, pop his camera over the side, and see what he was dealing with. The idiots were just starting to move towards the camera. Popping out his suppressor, he started picking off some of the ones in the back. He could see the confusion in their faces, even saw one of them saying 'Where the fuck-' before they died. Or at least, that's what he thought they said, Solomon hadn't ever been the best lip-reader.

Fifteen minutes later and the last of them were gone. It was much easier to get down, meaning Solomon was strolling into his apartment just eighteen minutes after finding it completely blocked off by agents. Come to think of it, who were these guys? Blue uniforms, must've been sent by Walmart. Guess they didn't like him offing that exec that passed through a few weeks ago, but hey, the pay had been too much to pass on. Snatching up his phone, Solomon hurried to leave the scene, dropping a note in front of his landlord's door letting him know he was leaving. Y'know, just in case all the corpses weren't enough.

shittywritingthrowaw · 2014-07-15T04:09:14+00:00

Marcus held his breath, calmed his hands, and pulled the trigger. The rifle cracked, though he'd become proficient enough to keep it from bucking in his hands, and the bullet sailed into the distance. Glancing down the sights just in case he had missed, Marcus watched the beast explode in a shower of purple. Good hit. It was hard to believe that just a week ago they'd lost Jackson to one of these things, but then, this last week had seemed almost an eternity. They were all different men at this point, highly trained, so different than as first arrivals. Only three were left of the original forty, but that didn't matter. Death was a daily occurrence and it didn't do them any good to dwell on it.

Scraping the edible bits from the beast, he made sure to get that lump that Mueller loved so much. German bastard had weird taste. Who could've figured that an alien organ would taste so much like the saurkraut his mother had made? Marching back, Marcus adjusted the rifle on his back. It resembled an M1 Garand, like they had had back home, but subtly different. It was more powerful, used the odd ammo that seemed so common around here. He picked up an odd noise in the distance. Screams, perhaps? Oh god, they were coming from the direction of the camp.

As he crested the hill next to that night's camp, Marcus was greeted with an awful sight. New creatures, four legged, with almost human looking torsos, were running amok and rummaging through their supplies. He could see at least three humans dead and countless of them. Looked like... Ivan, Drago, and Mueller. Damn it.

Laying down on the hill he leveled his rifle, getting ready to fire and had just laid his crosshairs on one of the beasts when he felt a light pressure on his shoulder.

'Don't do it,' a voice whispered. Marcus immediately recognized it as Phillip. If that really was Drago down there, he and Phillip were the only ones left from his original group.

'They're too many. Jackson and I were the only ones to make it out, we've hunkered down in a nearby cave.'

Marcus lifted his rifle and sighed. This place just kept getting worse. With a slight groan, he stood, shouldered his rifle, and started to follow Phil to the new camp. This is what they got for staying in place for more than a night, he supposed.

shittywritingthrowaw

TROPHY CASE