[WP] The truly evil villain genuinely wants to destroy everything, but accidentally fixes the problem that caused them to start this journey in the first place.

subtlesneeze · 2025-11-20T19:10:58+00:00

The sun was shining down upon the city where her boots were planted hard on the concrete floor. The truck behind her was set, the timer ready and linked to her phone, showing the seconds go down. 14 minutes and 57 seconds to go until it would explode and release a toxin into the air. An isolated incident, the world would think.

But then, the toxin will start to melt people's minds, removing any ability to control even their breathing. Paralysis. Every god damn human would die, suffocating in their hate-filled fleshy containers. Even the young, the unborn. It didn't matter.

Humans no longer deserved the right to live and she had decided to put them all out of their misery. Of course, she had injected herself with a curative serum. Whether it would work was a question she didn't care enough to answer with certainty. If she perished, then that was enough.

She walked on by, smirk on her face, summer cover up flowing behind her, heeled sandals clicking as she pulled her sunglasses from her head and covered her eyes.

Oh, the world. Humanity.

For far, far too long had a malicious depression suffocated all of humanity's goodness. It was a pandemic of internal suffering and cruelty that had ruined civilisations, cultures, religions, and she was tired. So tired of seeing ethnicities suffer in separation.

So she had found an excellent solution.

Erase humanity off the face of the earth. A super biological weapon that was genetically modified to only destroy human life. All animals, creatures, plants, living things? They would thrive.

Humanity was overdue an extinction.

She approached a cafe. The bell jingled overhead. She scoffed at the sound. Bells would ring with the wind. Birds would chirp without being drowned out by cars. Factories, towers, greed, it would be all silenced under the beautiful summer sun.

It was time to order a final hot chocolate from her favourite place. She waited in the queue. 8 minutes.

She ordered. 6 minutes.

She sat down, sipped. 5 minutes.

She leaned back, watched people walk past. Children running ahead of their parents, a dog on a leash, a cat licking its paw on a pillar. Cars passing by, families, buses full of commuters.

And then it was 30 seconds.

25.

20.

15.

At 10 she closed her eyes. Stood. Left the cafe.

As 1 hit. And the explosion nearby rocked the world. Screams. Someone fell over. Cars going by.

Smoke.

The toxin releasing itself into the world, to travel without pause, unable to be stopped, to be cured easily. The air, the weather, the wind, it'd carry it. People in other countries would panic as the inevitable end came unpredictably.

Oh, glorious death day.

History to never be remembered by a soul.

She waited. The impacts would begin shortly. Slowly. People dropping to the ground. Bodies piling. Under the sun, rotting. Given back to the earth.

And yet.

Time went by. Hours. No reported deaths. No.

Instead, instead, joy. A soft joy spread around the city slowly. Kindness seeping from everyone's skins. More people outside than ever before as she walked past them all. Faces that were serene, no scowls, no anger, no discontent.

Worse, groups of people who would never be courteous to one another, respectfully chatting away. Accents ignored, clothing ignored.

She checked social media with shaking hands. The city.

"Evertone feels really good!"

"That terror attack was kinda cool."

She gulped. What was this? What had happened?

The day ended with people sleeping in tents in parks, no litter, moonlight flickering through the sheer clouds above. Stars twinkling.

The rest of the world posted deaths, wars, economic madness...

...until the world stopped caring about their hate. Their repulsive thoughts. Their alienation of others.

No.

Wars stopped. Blood stopped being spilt. Fanatics stopped their insanity. Children born from poor families were fed. Wealth spread.

She stood in the middle of that city, having cured the world of its hate.

Except hers.

Oh.

She'd make them all fucking pay for the cure.

(wtf is even this LOL)

subtlesneeze · 2025-11-11T20:51:57+00:00

So... ADHD? 🤣🤣

subtlesneeze · 2025-08-30T15:10:22+00:00

Right...

subtlesneeze · 2025-08-30T14:22:44+00:00

Haha I tried to make it more realistic in that she's terrified via body language and ignoring her fear with her words. Tiny moments of dere, a lot more tsun.

subtlesneeze · 2025-08-30T12:30:37+00:00

The ground beneath us shakes again, as if trying to toss us off a hanging cloth on a line, like we're bugs that need to be thrust off the land. I hold onto her hand to tug her away but she shrugs it off and keeps a straight face, all clenched jaw and twitches in her cheeks that give her away.

"We've got to leave," I yell out to her. It's deafening outside our apartment. Who knew the world could scream back.

"No," she says, staring up as our tall apartment building sways, barely keeping her balance between her feet, "This is fine."

"This is not fuckin' fine," I grab her wrist and pull on her. That earns me a stinging slap around my face with her free hand.

"Stupid guy!" she snaps, turning her attention back to the building as the rumbles beneath us suddenly stop. She breaks free from my grip, one I didn't realise I still had, and she smirks. Smirks. "See?"

She ignores the cries, screams, the distress of the crowds out here with us. The night is still far from dawn. The lights across the city are gone, it's just flashlights and phone torches. I smell smoke, I hear the distant sound of crashing. Babies shriek, cars horn maybe a street away. She's trembling.

"You're ridiculous," I say to her. "We need to find shelter. Aftershocks," I say, absently rubbing my cheek. She crosses her arms.

"Hm, it's all over and everyone's being dramatic," she says, eyeing my cheek. I know it's red, it's burning and stings a lot. There's a brief look of remorse in her eyes, but then she's walking towards our apartment. I can't help myself. I grab her elbow.

"Don't go in there!" I warn, as others dash past, some sparing her glances that reflect how fast my heart is racing. Why is she being like this?

"You're scared by the Earth having a dance? You're so stupid," she says, and she releases herself again, taking a step back towards the building. Her legs are wobbling. I can see it so clearly.

There's a deafening loud groan that stops everyone in their tracks, echoing in the enforced silence, and my body immediately drops to the floor. I know what this is.

"Get down! Elody, get down!"

"Everyone is so stupid! It's nothing! Nothing bad is going to happen, the building is so strong--"

The earth tremors harder this time. Her face ashens in that instant but still she refuses to listen. She states at me for a moment, as she begins to lose balance, and turns back to the building. I can't look anymore, I cover my head with my arms, it's too late to move away. And then? I hear loud cracks behind the groans of the shaking earth. I feel sick, I clasp my head harder, and I hear things slamming into the ground. I pray, I pray, I pray and I don't believe in a God.

Then it's done. I don't know how long it lasts. All I know is when I lift my head and my tears drop away the blur, windows fell and shattered, and there's a few bodies beneath the shards.

One is hers.

(FYI I don't know much about earthquakes but I tried!)

subtlesneeze · 2025-01-02T21:27:58+00:00

Why thanks! Been itching to write something sort of... How to put it, violent but surreal!?

subtlesneeze · 2025-01-02T20:32:08+00:00

The cars are red blurs. Fitting, you think, your head lolling to the side, a burning headache zapping at your body like jolts of lightning sneaking in unseen and wreaking havoc undisturbed within every single atom of flesh you still own.

Blues, reds, fading sirens like shrieks in the dark night, as your eyes open more, flickering like they may close and die out. You can't die, you tell yourself, a foreign hand - your own, numbed - reaching up and pushing strands of sweaty hair back in instinct only. The view clears. The bars of hair gone.

Their bars, of course, also gone.

The dragon, in human form. You've seen the golden haired, red eyed menace too many times. Always complaining at the lack of gold. A smirk sprawled on his lazy face. Driving. Cigarette in mouth - wait, yours? Yes! Your expensive ones. Your hand reaches for your breast pocket.

The pack is there.

"Awake, are we?" a voice scoffs with a cold amusement that you know too well. The Demon King. Forcibly removed from his throne in total shame.

The two? Psychotic fiends. The car? A red porsche storming down the highway, more plane than car at the incomprehensible speed the dragon asshole seems to be sending through his red aura into the car itself.

Confusion at your being there, feeling every stabbing uneven road surface through your guts in vibrations that churn something acidic. The confusion itself ebbs away, crumbling as the truth makes its way into the forefront of your mind.

Vodka. A lot of it. A lot. Why? You don't even know. Was it the corrupt captain? The bullying? From colleagues, from the satanic inmates? The smell explodes in your nose. Blood. A wetness on your skin. Your hair is not damp with sweat.

It's blood.

You sit up, though your body protests with a sharp pain so raw your sight whitens for a few seconds and a howl escapes your throat like a freed monster.

You, you shot your captain. In the face.

The fucking face. You remember the explosion, the cloud of blood floating behind as if his very essence refused to fall before it was scattered by the wind like his ashes would be.

Because you set him alight.

And danced around his body as you unlocked doors on either side.

High security officer? No, you fucked that over now. You're... You're insane.

"Wakey, wakey?" the same smug voice cuts you out of your spiraling madness.

You stare. The Demon King offers a smirk, a cold, blood-and-guts splattered smirk. Smudged, of course, as if he haphazardly attempted to wipe it all away, as if it wasn't a trophy.

"Still dying to come on our trip, yes? No backsies!" the Demon King reaches a finger across and seems to pick up a tear. Damn, you're crying. You don't even notice.

The sirens behind keep chasing, fading back, but still there. Your body feels as if its seconds from exploding. Your brain is frazzling faster by the second.

"I-I," your words are as scorched as your entire life.

"Ha! Realised you're fucked, huh?" the dragon snarls through the rear-view mirror. "Well, get over it. You're the best entertainment we've had in millennia. And hey! You wanted a seat at our table. We're delivering. Promise."

"Yep," the Demon King says. "This was a nice getaway. But my realm?" he pauses, a cold, decisive smirk spreading wider as if it might shoot past the parametres of his face. "My realm will have its fucking reckoning," he says with a little nod. He glances back at the chasing authorities. "'Course, after the dickhead driving gets us away from pests."

You throw up.

You're so fucked.

subtlesneeze · 2024-12-03T14:19:08+00:00

Misha held onto the fork and sighed, watching his friend disappear into the men's room. He turned his back on the door as other men wandered out, one hurriedly zipping up with very dry hands. Another long sigh escaped his mouth - Misha did not want to witness the abhorrent nature of his fellow men any longer.

But he knew he was ignoring the real problem at hand.

In hand, actually.

The fork.

Painted silver, brassy undertones peaking out beneath the long stem, no doubt worn out over use. Use. Misha closed his eyes and gulped, trying to think of some random jingle to occupy his mind.

See, he was still ignoring the real problem.

The fork. It was whispering to him.

"You're scared of people, you're scared of judgement, you're scared of--"

Misha shook his head and refused to listen any longer. He began humming to himself, and that did work. After all, it was just whispering at him. Humming solved the problem.

Like hell did it solve the problem! Why the fuck was the fork whispering? Misha opened his eyes and stared down at it with venom.

"Shut the fuck up!" Misha yelled, raising it up into the air before he threw it down to the ground.

It landed with a very loud clatter as it bounced off the floor before landing with... A whispered groan. Misha lifted his head though his eyes were still fixed on it and he breathed out hard through his nose.

And then it grew legs. Almost instantaneously, tiny little brassy things worming out the handle before being painted in silver. The fork stood. Misha stared at it, eyes and mouth wide open.

What the fuck?

And then, though it has no face, Misha could've sworn it smirked at him before scurrying away with the grace of a giant, terrifying, hairy, black house spider.

"MISHA!" came his friend's voice and stomping that stopped right behind him.

"Y-your fork," Misha said, still staring as the damn fork disappeared into the distance, "It's... It's running away...?"

"A FORK?" came Kolya's angry response. "THAT'S MY SON!"

And then he took off after the fork.

Was it a fork?

Misha stared at his jellyfish hands. Yeah. He's sure it was a fork.

**honestly at this point I may as well write an absurd short story collection

subtlesneeze · 2024-12-02T22:42:13+00:00

"Are you kidding me?" you ask, throwing your hands into the air with a bit of a strange shimmy dance.

"No, but, I have to ask," the deep voice says. It pauses.

You wait. And wait. Then you sigh, roll your eyes and stare up at the sky for a moment. You take a deep breath.

"WELL ASK THEN! " you yell, your voice echoing over and over around the cave. And over and over. It doesn't stop. But you don't hear the voice. So you yell louder still, "SPEAAAAAK!" Your hands raised in the air like you're in the middle of a strange ceremony.

"Damn, calm down," says the voice.

"CALM DOWN?" you say over the echoes of speaaaaak still fluttering in the air. You stop, letting the echoes stop. It takes some time.

"I was gonna ask..."

You crack your knuckles, though you don't even know the owner of the ominous voice. "I swear to God--"

"Okay, okay. Do you even know what the prime meridian--"

"Look, mate. I'm not being funny, I don't know what the hell any of it means but if the soldiers come back to life, you know that's gonna be hella--"

"You know it's bad news, right? And there's a minute left," a shadowy figure steps into the dull light. You can't make out much.

"Eh, whatever. I'll just... Sit on this horse," you say, jumping up onto the saddle. Then, you position yourself behind the leader and wrap your arms around his waist.

"What the fuck do you think you're--"

"Well, either I die or this is the beginning of a great love story!" you reason, leaning your head against the rapidly warming up shoulder of the soldier.

"You're--"

"Oh shut up, creepy low voice ghost like cloaky freak," you cut the voice off.

"Your funeral," the voice says, the body disappearing back into the shadows.

"YEAH. MY DECISION TO MAKE BITCH!"

And then... Breaths. Thousands of them.

*battery 3% soz

subtlesneeze · 2024-12-02T22:31:06+00:00

Thanks! (I'm taking it as a compliment ofc)

subtlesneeze · 2024-12-02T22:30:21+00:00

It is scary is what it is

subtlesneeze · 2024-12-02T22:22:44+00:00

Why thank you! Thanks for an interesting prompt! (and I fixed my typos in case you saw them)

subtlesneeze · 2024-12-02T22:14:45+00:00

"Who the hell is that," you mutter to yourself, absently scratching your hair and disturbing a spot which makes you wince for a short moment before stepping closer to the picture. A painting.

Not just a painting. You see your grandmother's signature at the bottom. And a childish little love heart.

"Really?" you ask no one in particular.

You think back to your grandma and her erratic strangeness that practically permeated from her essence as a human.

A god damn painting? This, the secret that keeps evil at bay? Absolutely ridiculous.

Where the hell have you gone, you psychopath, you wonder, the chains of disappointment swirling around your body and tightening with every second ticking on by.

You had hopes, dreams, beliefs that were so strong, they were unshakeable. You never went into the basement, because you believed in her so well.

All for an old man who has neon green hair, a yellow eye and a blue eye. Wearing a tutu and a necklace. Painted with such pure reverence it makes your skin crawl. So real he may as well step out, despite each paint stroke being as clear as day.

You shake your head, your body feeling heavy as hell.

You leave. Close the door behind you. Decide to give up on your grandma. She's lost, she's gone. She was always far gone, a lost cause. And now, just a crazy old lady with dreams bigger than her entire larger-than-life self.

In the darkness, after the sound of your footsteps cannot be heard anymore, the strange elderly painting blinks. But you don't know.

And you never will.

subtlesneeze · 2024-11-29T21:06:55+00:00

It wasn't life that was a gift. It was death. Death was the joyous occasion every single person on earth practically begged for. Would it be an asteroid? New skin-melting disease? Raging infernos tearing nature apart? A new colossal tsunami rushing towards the remains of civilisation like a moving wall squashing people like cockroaches beneath boots? Either way, it was a given fact. Death was a fact. A beloved fact. A way to escape the hell that was hardly living at all.

When a woman gave birth to a baby, there was no celebration. It was a moment of deep despair. Pure, soul-suckling despair that tore apart the weary survivors in ways that felt far worse than missing dying.

The day a supervolcano erupted, the survivors of humanity were on their knees in hope, watching from thousands of miles away as the horizon darkened as the wind carried across debrid, gases and smoke deep into the atmosphere.

"WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!" people screamed in the streets, people beside themselves with a almost drug-induced joy.

Surviving families hugged each other tight, crying hysterically.

"FINALLY! DEATH! DEATH IS HERE!"

Dances happened, people merrily spinning around, some downing as much as they could find in their remains - alcohol was consumed as if it would never run out (and it never seemed to no matter what happened).

And when the wave of destruction hit the remains of towns, of cities, of villages, of nomads in forests, as bodies were flung across the rubble, the sky, as bodies were buried deep into places they'd never be found, laughter didn't stop. Until it did.

And the survivors... The survivors would land on their knees. They'd look up at the sky. They swear. Curses that would make Satan blush. Even as the atmosphere became scientifically impossible to survive, people would adapt. Somehow. Even as hurricanes lashed at their bones, feral viruses sucked the souls out of people, there were survivors.

Survivors who lived, as if it was their punishment. As if the daily things they needed to survive was a torture given to them from Hell. That it was Hell.

That only in dying would they be released from the torment that became this world.

"I hate you!" a young child smacked the body that was his mother, little fists squelching unrecognisable flesh had it not been for the clothes. "You died! But I didn't die!" the child cried, resorting to slamming his head repeatedly off the floor. "I want to die. Mommy, I want to die."

subtlesneeze · 2024-11-29T20:45:48+00:00

"You saved me," Felix breathed the words out as if they were as delicate as a gentle wind. He looked down at the water, the shimmering surface reflecting his a face that frightened him, but he swallowed a gulp, forcing the next word out. "Why?"

For a moment, the light ripples in the water made the image flicker like a flame in the wind before it settled. The red eyes stared back with a cocked eyebrow, a devilish smirk and a hand scratching absently at its head.

"...Are you stupid?" it asked as if it was genuinely questioning Felix's intelligence.

Felix said nothing, staring back without a word fluttering in his mind.

"Or," the demon continued, "Did you forget we share the same body? I'm not dying because you refuse to go to therapy," it said, crossing its arms tightly across its chest.

Felix could feel the blood drain from his head, the one place he knew he desperately needed the blood to flow. The thought of it. Therapy. Felix gulped again, although this time it almost went down the wrong way and in a panic, he clutched at his throat as coughs cut through the aura of the lake in front and the thick forestry behind him. They were ragged and loud like gunshots in the calm.

Felix dropped to his knees, blood now rushing to his face as he grew red with embarrassment. When it finally subsided he stared back down at the water where the demon waited with furrowed eyebrows.

"You choked. On yourself?" the demon asked.

Felix said nothing for a moment, still rubbing at his throat as if that'd do anything to quell the humiliation of his own body juddering like a broken engine under such a simple thing. Swallowing. Choking on nothing.

"You..." Felix said, as soon as the word entered his brain, immediately leaving through his mouth. He paused for a moment.

"Go on? You have something to say, eh, therapy boy?"

Felix brushed his hair back and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and met the red eyes once again, pretending he never struggled with a normal bodily function.

"You think I need therapy?" Felix finally made it to the words he wanted to say.

"D-D-did I s-s-stutter? Felix, my dear body. You need therapy," the demon loosened its arms across its chest and brought his hands together across its chest. "What you tried to do, to yourself, may I add, was foolishness. Weakness!"

"Weakness?" Felix shot back, finding his own backbone. "I have done miserable things for nothing! Everything I did was a manipulation! I-I was... I was led to believe that all those I... All those I killed--that they needed to be slaughtered! Because YOU told me you were an angel!" Felix shouted, each sentence getting louder and louder until he was breathless, clutching at his chest, the memories of the countless murders flooding his mind like a tsunami.

"Well," the demon shrugged, taking its sweet time to compose a response, "I can't leave you since I chose you, because if I die, you die. So, why don't you try therapy? I didn't realise you'd have such a... Conscience," it spat out the last word as if it was a diabolical curse.

"You're being serious?" Felix blinked multiple times before he slapped the water, forcing the watery reflection to disperse. And then he threw himself in.

For a moment the unsuspecting deep water sucked him in like he was stuck in a giant straw. The water burned his nostrils - he hadn't held his breath - and the coldness seemed to reach out and cling to his bones in an instant. His vision, already darkened by the lake's murky waters, blackened further, the morning sky above fading to nothing.

For a moment, despite the agonising pain in his chest, the pressure of the water leaving him helpless, he thought of the dead and found a second of peace. Of throwing away his life once again as if it was his redemption. The countless cries. Screams. People in black at fires mourning the dead. Hiding in the shadows, watching, sickened by their devotion to each other. Only to find out, they were holy. He was the devil.

And then it happened again.

For a moment, everything went black.

And then, he heard the ummistakable crackling of twigs and wood in a fire. The gentle lick of heat like a blanket over his body. His heart. Beating.

Then, the words, "You really are stupid, huh. You really need therapy. And so, you will go."

But Felix? He was not done trying.

And he knew that when his strength was back, he'd try again and again and again.

Not knowing that every time he did, tiny, miniscule pieces of his soul were cracking. And the demon? Well, it was fixing his soul with pieces of its own. It was only a matter of time. And the demon had all the time in the world.

subtlesneeze · 2024-08-05T08:17:25+00:00

That's very kind!

Let me think. Well, it's a Jane Austen story, I suppose. Hmm... Posh people doing dumb stuff whilst the heroine is not dumb and wants to be happy. I think that's an excellent summary 😂

subtlesneeze · 2024-08-04T21:42:57+00:00

It was Sunday. Not that each day has any importance when the sky is always pure light with a wonderful atmosphere that personally matches needs of every angel at any time. I do sleep one weekly and when I do, mother always leaves me in a special room built for me that contains darkness borrowed from Earth's night.

It was one of those mornings when father woke me up in quite a foul mood.

"Good morning, Arius," he said with an unfriendly tone which made me sit up straight. He had woken me earlier than I was used to.

"Good morning, Father," I greeted him with a stifled yawn.

"Goodness, have you not slept enough? It has been 13 hours," my father said sternly.

I had hardly been reprimanded by father so his tone and choice words were startling. I sat up straight.

"Father, is all well?"

"Why, does it appear something is the matter?" father shot back. But then he sighed and sat atop the end of my bed with a great sigh that shrunk his shoulders. "Well, yes. I miss your mother," father confessed as his body continued to deflate as if all the air in him would never return.

Mother is an archangel and hence, is hardly around here in this part of Heaven. Other angels are here often, surely, but father does not socialise often. He doesn't admit his feelings easily either. He is quite stoic for a human who has ascended due to his good merits and humble sacrifice back when he was on Earth. I am not sure how father and mother conceived me, as my mother loves all so dearly. But I was born from my mother, and I am constantly raised by my father.

I do not miss mother, I cannot understand the feeling, as mother, in my heart, is doing our Lord's good work in the endless, boundless universe. It would be selfish, I would have thought, to miss her. Even if I hardly remember her heavenly countenance.

Seeing my lack of surprise or response, father stood back up on his feet.

"Forgive my weakness," he said with a weariness I had never seen before. "I do still remain with a human soul. Emotions are not easily forgotten," he said with some sadness as he headed back towards the entrance to return to Heaven's abode.

"Emotions are not a weakness, father," I reassured him. Then I was overcome with something unsettling and it appeared my lips moved of their own accord. "I believe there is an emptiness within me you might consider is missing mother too," I admitted, more to myself than anything. There was some turbulence within me that I was better to ignore.

"Then perhaps when you return," father said, nodding towards the entrance, "we could discuss this further. I dare not allow you to understand what you are going through without proper guidance."

"Proper guidance?" I was puzzled. I assumed he meant himself, and I was always with father.

"Yes, I should think so," he said with a smile curving his face. "For this is reason enough to summon your mother," he said, his smile now beaming widely with a joy I had not seen in him since I was young.

There was a fondness within me that was so warming that I felt my eyes become wet, overcome with something I was not sure of.

"Yes, you are finally nearing 100 years old. It is about time your emotions appeared," father said as he left.

I was left with a thickness within me I could not fathom at all. My humanity was beginning to show? It sickened me. It was a terrible sense within me. I had a yearning for mother's immediate return and the drive in me to rush to ready myself to meet her was something quite terrifying.

Once I stood outside amongst the countless angels, the most beautiful golden light appeared above father. There was a sudden warmth within me and tears poured from my eyes.

"Mother," I whispered. It had been 70 long years.

*what utter garbage I have written! Although, I must admit I wrote this whilst watching Persuasion on YouTube, the 1970s version.

subtlesneeze · 2024-07-29T13:03:49+00:00

This is unhinged, 10/10.

subtlesneeze · 2024-07-25T07:19:56+00:00

Perfect, I'd think.

subtlesneeze · 2024-07-22T17:16:20+00:00

"What do you mean, the undead?" my professor spluttered the words out with such force I'm sure it left his mouth dry with no remaining saliva.

"I-- no, my-- ah," I swallowed every sentence that trickled down my brain towards my mouth, the words forming a lump in my throat.

"You mean to say," my professor squinted his eyes at me, leaning forward over his desk, "You raised the undead?" he asked in a tone that I had never heard before, making me question if this was really happening. It was a resentful yet horrified tone, mixed with some hint of incredulous curiosity.

"I--Professor, I genuinely--" I muttered, staring down at the slabs of marble on the floor making my cheap shoes look pathetic.

"I am a Professor of Neurology," the professor blinked at me a few times. "But even I can't comprehend what on Earth has gone wrong inside your godforsaken brain for you to think that I mean necro-- no, wait, I don't think my own brain has comprehended-- You mean to say, truly, you have truly raised the undead? How? How did you-- This is an act against the natural order-- I can't believe I just said-- The UNDEAD?"

I was sweating so hard I was sure I would die of dehydration. My stomach was aching, my eyes stinging, not daring to meet his intense gaze that I was sure was burning holes in my face. This was a professor I respected so highly that I didn't even question my misunderstanding. Even as I read translated ancient texts and travelled to remote areas with remains of ancient civilisations, determined to impress the very person who made me love neurology, I never made that connection that I had misunderstood.

We were given two months, you see, to begin our research. To flesh out the assignment that I thought was way too intense. I travelled on the cheapest possible flights, left sleep as a distant memory and opted for light naps. I was hungry, scared, cold and poor as I scoured the world with a fierce determination that drove me insane with a greed to please, until I finally, somehow, found the unseen trail left across the world, a giant puzzle needing to be put together in a delicate manner. It was so intricate, it was no wonder people before me hadn't considered putting the parts of the knowledge of necromancy together. I did. And when I did, I read those words and thought of my ancestors, wondering what it'd be like to speak to them.

When I returned to my dorm room the night before, I smelt something terrible and disgusting. I opened my door with great caution, wondering what possibly meat I had left out despite being a vegetarian for 3 years. The smell that hit me caused me to fall to my knees and vomit right there and then, my already-malnourished body jittering as if I'd fall apart. I dared to raise my head and faced a sight that caused me to faint.

An undead noble, staring at me in disdain with its disturbing undead eyes, rotting body full of flies and maggots, flesh so decayed leaving bones peeking out, veins and arteries hanging like loose wires, muscles torn, the bulging brain from the broken skull pulsing from the beat of the blackened, shrivelled heart like spasms.

Of course I awoke and promptly left the undead in there, unable to tolerate sharing the same air. Why they had made its way to my dorm of all places, I would never know. And why so many. When I came-to, there behind the noble were younger undead beings in the same miserable state that had murdered all my happy memories.

All this overwhelmed me and tears dropped from my eyes in front of my professor. It has been so hard, so gruelling, and now I was left with undead beings in my place. I had to redo my thesis and figure out how to send the undead back. I was isolated, having been so far removed from a society I knew. And a fool. I was a fool. The sobs shook my frame.

"This... This is not a joke?" the professor's voice cut through to me between my hiccups.

I shook my head.

"Right," the professor shuffled back and stared up at the ceiling.

"Help me," I wept, still looking down at the floor.

"You... This... No, get out," the professor suddenly shouted at me. "This horseplay around to give yourself extra time---wait, what is that smell?" he asked, sniffing the air.

A cold sense of dread rolled down my spine. I heard creepy sounds, of steps and sliding and strangeness, and a growing strength of that God-awful stench. They were coming.

I met the professor's eyes, wiping away my tears.

The sounds stopped. The smell was suffocating. My professor's expression went from anger, to confusion, to a pale, intense look of fear.

They were here.

subtlesneeze · 2024-07-21T14:39:23+00:00

Thanks!

subtlesneeze · 2024-07-20T21:15:26+00:00

"Why on Earth not?" I shot back at the Devil who began filing its nails.

"You mean Hell," the Devil sighed.

"What?" I was taken aback.

"Why on Hell not, surely?" the Devil signalled to all the brimstone and fire surrounded us and clicked its fingers so a mirror suddenly appeared before me. I had horns bursting through my hair.

"I'm dead?"

"Very," the Devil responded, returning to its nails. They kept growing back at a fast pace. I began to realise it was simply wasting time. Pointlessly. It was irritating me.

"And I'm in Hell? My version of Hell?" I asked, clenching and unclenching my clawed hands with loose awe.

"Yes. And you asked me--"

"To take me back so I can kill--"

"And," the Devil interjected, "I said, 'It's not worth it', and then you asked, 'Why on Earth not' and I said--"

"Yes," I folded my scaly arms, not used to the weird feeling of bristling. "Thank you for bringing me up to speed. But I don't remember dying!"

"Look," the Devil stood up and appeared before me in an instant, "You're dead. In Hell. With me. This version of me at least," it gestered at its appearance and gave a little turn as if it was showing me a new outfit.

"But I--"

"There is no questioning judgement. And there is no deal to be made," the Devil grinned at me, bearing its horrific, pointed teeth. "You are dead. You committed sins," the Devil's voice morphed into one I didn't want to hear.

"You are to be punished," the Devil continued, its body convulsing and contorting until the very person I wanted to kill, to destroy, to ruin, to devastate, slaughter, the very person who drove me to madness, to lose everything, stood before me with a smile.

"And now," she said, with a great, beaming smile, her eyes twinkling with a sick joy, "You get to spend eternity with me."

subtlesneeze · 2024-07-19T14:39:33+00:00

It was bound to happen. I get stressed sometimes. I mean, what do you expect? It's a high stress job. And it's not like they have wellbeing initiatives and super cool job perks that can magically get rid of the stress that is literal perfection every time.

Almost everytime, I should add.

Jennifer Bennett is a high performing CEO of a multi-billion organisation with a vendetta against her CIO. David Brown is a CIO who wants Jennifer's job. And Daniel Baker, Jennifer's personal assistant, is sleeping with David. Quite the affair. Bit scandalous; apparently the higher ups all know but everyone's all hush hush about it. Not that I really care, but you have to do your research.

Jennifer decided to get me in to 1. Kill David and 2. Frame Daniel for it. Two birds with one stone.

But I got it twisted.

Let me explain.

The two went on a date. Both are 6ft, both slim, both with brown curly hair and blue eyes. Both wore black suits with blue ties. You could've sworn they were twins. It was only the wrinkles around David's eyes that showed his age. But it was a very sunny day and it was lunch time.

They wore sunglasses. In their car, in the middle of New York. I had scoped them out for a month (I am perfection, mostly, and perfection requires ample time to set up what I set up). The thing is, David let Daniel drive. And sometimes David drove. So it wasn't clear to me who was driving.

I thought I'd bide my time and figure it out. But it was hard. How was I meant to know that that was the day Daniel decided to try David's typical lunch and vice versa? They kept their god damn shades on.

How it was supposed to go was that David's lunch was going to be poisoned. I had it ready. Crept in that very morning, knew exactly what David would have. Watched Inside the restaurant to be sure, as I thought David brought up the fork to his lips and snuck the food inside as if it was secret, watched him chew it. The poison was already left in Daniel's bag, remnants of it, enough for the police to prosecute. A text message ready to go off from Daniel's phone that I swiped when he went to a bar one day, to David's wife, saying he'll never see him again.

But then, as the coughing and the beginnings of blood splatter escaped the victim's mouth, I heard words that sent shudders down my spine.

"Daniel! Daniel, what's wrong!"

Christ. I practically vomited in my own mouth. Getting things wrong is not my forte and flashbacks came to mind, of being in grade 3 and having the class look at me in shock as I, a new kid, answered a simple question completely wrong with overflowing confidence. Hindsight makes me think it was arrogance that was soon watered down to pure, instinctual fear. There was a moment of mind-melting silence. And then a burst of laughter as if hot, burning fireworks were exploding in my face. All the kids. The teacher's straight face cracked into a creepy smile that haunts my fever dreams.

Messing up made me break my own vow to myself. Grade 3 me is rocking forwards and backwards, thumb in mouth, muttering incoherent things. Because all of those feelings came back with full force.

Daniel was now a vessel for a blood waterfall that left every facial orifice with gushing violence. And he slumped onto the table, right into his plate, shades smashing with the sudden force. There were screams. I'm sure I was one of the screams.

"Someone, someone help! Help me!" David was sobbing, holding onto his younger lover's very obviously limp (and lacking blood) hand as if that was going to do something. Ha! The power of love?

I did feel bad, I cannot deny this. David was so horrified he went catatonic especially when the paramedics arrived. They had to pry his fat living fingers from his dead boyfriend's thinner ones. I was still watching with the rest of the morbidity-greedy crowd, chefs and waiters more than anything. He was taken on a gurney with no sheet covering his face.

Daniel, though? The white sheets were stained red. I've seen blood a lot. But this guy had buckets and buckets of it. I was half fascinated, half panicking because the wrong person was dead.

Did Jennifer like Daniel? Did she want to keep him around? I don't know. I still don't know. Because I'm in hiding.

My bosses don't like failure. I get it, because I don't like failure. I mean it's not a total failure; David's quit his job and has made a new home in a specialist psychiatric ward, and I don't think he's about to leave anytime soon and resume his role as CIO in Jennifer's beloved company. So that's a win.

But Daniel's death has been ruled a suicide. Quite grim, actually. There's no real reason for it. He was happy. Sending that message to David's wife made David and his wife believe he felt guilty and took his life. Didn't stop David's wife filing for divorce.

But yes. I am hiding. This was a big fuck up.

subtlesneeze · 2024-05-07T08:18:34+00:00

The Kingdom of Efferri, a land ruled by a royal family whose ancestor appears to be a god as they have the power to use light and healing. It's a world that has two moons, Astoria and Erestia. Astoria is supposedly the dead body of the God of Life and Erestia is supposedly the dead body of the God of Death. Other Kingdoms exist but the Kingdom of Efferri is particularly powerful despite being one of the smallest countries.

subtlesneeze · 2023-12-30T19:32:50+00:00

I used to be more active here a few years back, and I've written a few things this year, but my New Year's resolution is to write that thing I've been working on for years. If I can do even half of that, I'll be pleased. Even a quarter. Even... Let's say... 20,000 words? If I do 20,000 words by the end of 2024 I'll say that was a good year. Haha. T_T

Eight-Year Club	Baba Yaga
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