Craps: Don't Pass and Don't Come, AKA the Dark Side - Road

A Paladin's Final Sacrifice

This is one of my favorite stories from my time playing DnD, primarily because it emphasizes every player having a fully developed character arc, both in and out of character.
TL;DR: An unexpected shot in the dark becomes one of the greatest RP moments in my life.
The setting: A second run through of Curse of Strahd. Be warned there are technically spoilers for that campaign I guess.
The characters of our story (though not their player names) are as follows.
Current DM: The DM of this adventure
Luke: A lazy, self-centered Air Genasi Swashbuckler Rogue, also DM of our last run of Curse of Strahd
Garrett: A Half-Elf Wild Magic Sorcerer with a gambling addiction
Me: A fallen Aasimar Oath of Redemption Paladin that has fallen from grace.
A bit of backstory on this one. Our group had a great time with the first run of Curse of Strahd that Luke did for us, so much so that we wanted to do it again. Luckily, current DM wanted to run Curse of Strahd himself as DM, and through a few days of brainstorming we ended up coming to the idea of doing a continuation of the story. This would allow us to run the module again, but with a LOT of tweaks to characters and stories, such as our characters from the previous run being added as NPCs. The other thing we decided on was everyone had to write a character for the other players. So the three PCs and the DM created three characters each, one for each player complete with backstory. Each player was then given the race and class of the characters created, and they would then choose which one they wanted to try without knowing anything else. A weird idea I know, but it was fun. The unused characters got tossed into a stack as backups if anyone happened to die so you could just be added back into the game without much of a break in the session. They didn't get used luckily, but we were prepared.
I gave the brief description of the characters we ended up with, but I wanna go more in-depth on them here. I got an aasimar paladin who was originally a great warrior in mount celeste. But my greatness was short lived as I fell into the vices of fighting for sport, and my martial prowess allowed me to rise in the ranks of an arena on the material plane. I feared my position would be lost so I resulted to cheating to ensure my victory, which was quickly revealed. I was cast from mount celeste, and had to redeem myself if I wished to ever return. Thus started my Oath. Now I understand that the book says an Oath of Redemption means you firmly believe anyone can be redeemed no matter how evil, but I thought that someone who believed they were the lowest of scum for what they had done would follow such a path. If they could be redeemed, then certainly anyone could.
Luke's player chose the character I made for him, an air genasi rogue. The thing with this guy was that he did his absolute best to never really put in effort on anything. The only time he would act is if his life depended on it, so outside of deadly situations he would just let the other party members deal with the problem. If they asked him to do something, he would often complain that they're more than capable of it themselves, but would quickly relent as the party got frustrated with his actions. He barely even walked anywhere since, as an air genasi, he could levitate at will so he would just lazily drift around the place. He was a bit of a moocher, a leech, simply finding a group of relatively strong looking people and sticking to them so he could do the least work while still getting paid. That wasn't to say he didn't have his own goals. He sought to be famous, and to have people be grateful for the things he did. It's just that he was bad at actually getting things done in the first place. This fit his real world personality very well, as Luke's player himself is extremely lazy and he often admits to this being the case.
Garrett's player also picked the character I made, a half-elf sorcerer. Garrett's player tended to play characters with more simple backstories that seem complicated until you read through them and realize that it boils down to some core basic ideas. His character was a problem gambler. Anytime there was an option to roll the dice and take a chance he would take it. The character frequented betting rings and casinos, and his above average luck kept him in the running until he got on the wrong side of the owners. He got framed for cheating and so the casino bosses, known for not being subtle, were holding his sister hostage until he returned with enough money to pay them back for all of his "winnings".
This party of fools was to be the grand heroes of this adventure, and hoo boy did it not go well.
The DM is relatively new to running games, and considering this I have to say he did a damn good job of pretty much rebuilding the world of Curse of Strahd from scratch. What he didn't have a good handle of was balancing encounters and traps mid combat, especially when dealing with a group whose luck was abysmal like ours was the first few sessions. We skipped the death house and decided to just start off at level 3. The very first combat encounter, before we even get into the land of Barovia, is a choldrith (CR 3) and two zombies (CR 1/4). This was made as a means of us getting used to our characters. We nearly get TPK'd just because we can't hit anything to save our lives, literally, and the choldrith manages to crit on me twice in a row downing me instantly.
This particular encounter sets the tone for almost every encounter afterwards. I could tell the DM was constantly having to fudge rolls and pull punches just to avoid a TPK nearly every step of the way just because our dice rolls wouldn't allow us to have fun. It was frustrating, and that frustration was made well known during the inter-character banter. The rogue would berate me for not managing to land my attack, the sorcerer would shout for the rogue to get off his lazy ass and help for once. Meanwhile I feel like a substitute teacher trying to keep two unruly kids in check and am starting to slowly lose it. At one point I snapped because both in and out of character I'd had enough of an NPCs antics nearly getting us killed.
There's a girl that goes missing from this caravan and you find her drowning in a lake. In our encounter there's a monster down there and she's protected by some trinket she has. However, because of her constant panicking and squirming we can't manage to get her out of the lake successfully. Eventually we just resort to casting sleep on her so she stays still long enough for us to get out before we're murdered. When she wakes up she continues to sob, and I literally shout at her because she put not just herself but also those sent to rescue her in danger. This just made her cry more, so I just cast sleep again and we delivered her back to the caravan.
Eventually though, as we found out what was going on in this world and began to understand who Strahd was, we started to band together as the group of unlikely heroes this world needed. We went through a lot of perils, a lot of problems, and a LOT of near-death experiences. We opened up to each other, learned the reasons behind each other's actions, and came to find that we had much in common and a reason worth fighting for. This led to the all important result of actually supporting each other in combat. We started to feel like a team who watched each other's backs.
I'm gonna skip ahead here and move more towards the end of the campaign. A lot of stuff happens but most of it isn't super necessary and is really just filler.
Some spoilers ahead for the Curse of Strahd module, though the story itself is modified quite a bit.
So by this point we've figured out that Strahd's curse is that he is in essence trapped in this world, constantly reliving his own nightmare for killing his brother and watching his love die by jumping from his castle. Even when he is killed and his entire realm is destroyed, it just reforms again some time later forcing everyone within it to return to their imprisoned life. Strahd is forced to come back time and time again, and at this point it has started to drive him mad. In our story he's been doing this for several thousand years, trying desperately to find a timeline in which Tatiana, the girl that jumped, loves him again.
At this point, the DM does something that I wasn't expecting. We know the madness that Strahd suffers and we've seen what kind of monster he is. He killed more than a dozen children right in front of us while we were helpless to stop him, he's trumped and taunted us at nearly every turn. He has harassed us, and killed NPCs we actually gave a crap about to the point where it would have been justified for any player to just try and kill the guy on sight. And so without any fanfare, Strahd shows up in front of us and invites us to dinner in his castle. He promises our safety, but more importantly, if we did not accept he would attempt to kill us. We were already beaten down pretty hard from a reworked amber temple, and I as the face of the party made the executive decision of "Screw it, having dinner with the BBEG right now sounds like the thing that might not result in our death".
We hop into his cart, and on the way there each of us PCs receive a private message in discord from the DM. I still have that message so I can share it verbatim.
“I have watched you for a long time. I know why you have come here, and what you seek to do. Know that it won’t be easy. I am ancient. I am the land. Barovia is my home, my domain. The Dark Powers keep me here and they keep a tally. Should you try to kill me, I will only return stronger to seek my vengeance against you, as I have done for so many others before you. I have seen your power grow over time. First, a matchstick; now, a roaring fire. But your quest, even in its success, is doomed to failure. Your victory will be short lived. Instead, I offer you something greater. Take a measure of my power and join me, such that we can bring about a new era to this land. You need only drink the White Wine to give your approval and I shall infuse you with my power.”
I don't know what the other players got, but that's what was sent to me. We all got something different.
At this point I had a lot to think about. I thought about everything we'd gone through as a group. I thought about the challenges we'd weathered together. One small part of me wanted to see this thing through to the end, and hope that his warning was just a bluff. But I knew better. My paladin knew better. Strahd never once lied to us, why would he start now? If he's telling the truth, then what's the point of going through all this hell if its just going to end in disappointment and death while the cycle continues? Is giving up all hope and joining the dark side really the best option? I as a player fought with this in my head for a long time, but eventually I came to a decision and formulated a plan.
I picked the white wine. And I was the only one at dinner who had chosen white wine.
Afterwards, Strahd asked to speak with me privately, and this visibly raised a lot of suspicion with the other party members. The DM and I moved to a private area where the other players wouldn't hear the ensuing talks. While Strahd and I wandered through the halls of his castle our conversation went as such.
Strahd: "So, you wish to take up my offer and rule this land by my side?"
Me: "No, not exactly. I'm going to level with you for a moment Strahd. I generally think I've figured out this whole issue. You screwed up, killed Sergei, and now you're stuck here forced to relive the same thing over and over as you try desperately to get what you want. But... As much as I know you don't want to hear it, it's not going to happen."
Strahd's visage visibly darkens, and an angry snarl rings out from him.
Me: "However, I am willing to help you on my own terms."
Strahd: "Which are?"
Me: "Your curse prevents you from leaving, prevents you from dying, and is the one thing that is keeping you and all these people in Barovia locked in this eternal nightmare. If it means releasing you from this hell hole of a dimension and finally giving you some peace, I'm willing to take on the mantle of your curse. I get it. No one likes to hear about their past mistakes, especially me. But its something we've all got to face. No one is above redemption Strahd. Not even you."
Strahd falls silent for awhile as the DM considers what I've just said. I can tell he wasn't prepared for something like this, but the idea has piqued his interest.
Strahd: "Doing this will allow you to take control of this realm, and will result in my death. Among this land and its people, you will learn everything I have done, good and bad. Every single atrocity that I am responsible for. My magical secrets and dark memories, all yours to live with for eternity. Even knowing this burden, one that would bring most men to their knees, would you still continue on with this path?"
Me: "Strahd, you've been watching us since we got here. You know me. You know what I've been through, you know what I've done, and you know what I want to do. I believe you've suffered enough, and even you deserve to rest. I get that some people don't like you, hell some people believe you deserve even worse than what you're currently getting. But forever is a long ass time as I'm sure you know. My hope is that by releasing you from this curse and taking on the burden I can find my own redemption some day."
Strahd thinks on this for a moment, and I'm actually surprised to see something resembling a genuine smile cross his lips.
And so with the entire party present, Strahd performed a ceremonial ritual in which I as a willing recipient took on the mantle of his curse. I became the new Strahd, as he withered away into dust. In that brief flash I watched as families were slaughtered, homes were torched, terrible creatures were risen from the shadows and hundreds of people fell into despair. I watched this cycle again and again, thousands of years passed through my mind in an instant. It was daunting, terrifying, and had I not passed a wisdom save it could have well and truly broken my character's spirit. But despite all this horror, I gleaned one important piece of information.
The heart of the castle. As part of our DM's story rewrite, he made the heart incredibly important as it is where Strahd's will is entombed and where the curse is focused. We as a group have 1 in-game hour before the curse takes hold entirely and I essentially become Strahd reborn, with all the same mannerisms. If within that time we can destroy the heart in the tower, it will trigger a collapse event. After destroying the heart it will create a black hole portal to a void realm. We'll have enough time to escape, but the void will consume the entire demiplane, erasing everything including Strahd's lingering will and all of the people causing their souls to be lost forever. But there's a catch.
If one person's soul of a non-evil alignment of their own free will is swapped with his, the one sacrificing themselves is lost to the void forever, but everyone and everything can escape safely. The portal closes and cannot be found. Barovia will then be sent to a nearby coast town as a new island about 3 miles away from civilization. The one who commits to this sacrifice freely is left alone for all eternity in the infinite void, with nothing but their own thoughts and memories to keep them company. No means exist for this person to escape, and they are lost forever beyond saving. And if they were to do this while carrying the mantle of Strahd's curse, that meant the curse is locked away forever along with them, forever breaking the cycle.
This is all told to me in private, and so I turn to my close friends and allies and tell them I have a way to fix all of this. We have to get to the heart in the tower and destroy it. Doing so will cause the realm to fall apart and release everyone trapped here including us. Garrett and Luke are both down for this, and we set off one final time, determined to save this world.
The fight was treacherous, but through sheer willpower and a bit of wild magic luck we manage to come out on top. The heart shatters, and a black hole begins to steadily grow and consume anything it touches. I shout to the others to get to safety which they promptly start fleeing from the danger. It's at this point the rogue notices that I'm not following. Instead I'm standing there, facing this black void alone. He calls out to me that I need to get the hell out of there and asks what I'm doing. I describe that my character turns his head back solemnly with a contented smile.
"Thank you, my friends. Luke, keep up the good work. And Garrett? Say hello to your sister for me. Goodbye."
And with that, I threw myself into this void, never to be seen again.
The other players were stunned by this as they listened to the DM detail the sudden collapse of the demiplane as it was shifted into another world entirely. Luke, being played by someone who was a big fan of anime tropes, did the sad/angry shout into the emptiness about my character being a moron and how there had to have been a better way. Garrett had a hard time thinking of something to say about this, more focused on trying to not cry.
The two of them go on about their lives, accomplishing the goals that had originally sent them on this path. But by the time it was all over their memory of me had faded significantly. That didn't stop them from trying to find some way of honoring my character though. A bronze plaque sits up in the ruins of the castle where I was last seen.
"Here lies the memory of a stalwart ally and a close friend. May he find the redemption he seeks."
Afterwards, we all concluded that despite a lot of rough patches throughout the entire campaign, the ending was satisfying to each of us in our own ways. It was a fantastic and wild ride, and one of the only times I've ever had a character death that I was well and truly happy about.
submitted by Flashpoint11 to CritCrab [link] [comments]

The Short Trip

The Short Trip

It’s freezing and wet. I feel the cold stone under my fingers as I crouch around in the rocky darkness. Can’t find the exit.
I must have been here for hours. I haven’t done anything wrong, why doesn’t anyone help me?!
“Enjoy!” the man had said, and he was gone and so was his flashlight. Since then, I have tried to find the small gateway.
My battery is dying soon.
He led me in here so there needed to be an exit, right?
We had gone in, stretched out. I tried to explain it to him, tried to explain that I hadn’t done anything wrong. I had asked him many questions, though he didn’t care to answer most.
On and on we went inside the cliff-walls, dark and wet.
The water rose steady, first at the height of my knees, it reaches my chest now as I squat. The tunnel was long and narrow and after some time we had to crouch until our heads vanished under the liquid. I admit, I was afraid to drown until he pulled me up.
“Enjoy!” he had said, then he vanished. I am in a cave, it’s hard walls all around me.
It is so dark, I don’t see my own hands in front of my eyes. I don’t hear a thing but my own moves that make the water splash around me. Was there something? Fish? Did fish get in here? No. Still no exit.
The water is up at my nose when I try to sit and so I keep squatting in this dark wet hole.
No standing, no sitting, and lying down is even more out of the question. After a while I just leaned against the wall of the little cave.
Surely, there was something wrong. Surely, someone would come. Right? I drift off, to the conversation I had listened to for hours.
I was on a big boat.
It was big and there were several small lanterns scattered on its 1st deck. Tables everywhere, and guards and shackles.
The guards scared me. They wore grey uniforms and masks over their faces. Ski-masks and Halloween masks and masks of mutilated faces.
They just stood in silence at the railings. I had sat myself on a bench near a table that carried two chess boards when they put the irons on my wrists and neck. Four people sat around the table, until a fifth arrived, all of them in heavy irons, much as I.
“Just grab a chair boy,” said the Music-Man.
„What’s your story newbie?” asked the One-eyed Woman.
„What?”
„Your story!” said the Bald Man
„My story?”
„Yes!” hissed Mr. Creopopolus.
„Well, I guess my story isn’t that interesting,” said the young man with the red hair. “I am from Delft, you know? In the Netherlands. Boy we got so many beautiful cities to see, I always loved my country. Willem van Oranje was assassinated in my city, I think that’s what it is mostly known for, but I always thought my home a bit colorless, you know? Like the place deserved something bigger. More glamorous.”
They understood and nodded, and their chains rattled.
“Anyways,” the Dutchman kept going, “I was out on the streets at eighteen. My mother’s boyfriend and I didn’t get along, you know? He was a real asshole and so I was forced out. I slept a couple of days on the couch of my friend Rikke. Rikke was always so nice to me, such a kind soul. She had the most beautiful hair. Wait,” he said as he tried to reach his wallet in his jeans. “There we go! That’s her.”
The picture within showed a young woman in her late teens, hazel eyes and flaxen hair that were spread on her shoulders. She had a nice smile and good teeth.
“Rikke, she was a really good human being, you know? Honest to the bone but never mean of spiteful. Like some female Jesus.”
“I bet she was,” said the One-eyed Woman “A real treasure.”, she added sarcastically, for which she earned an angry stare from the Dutchman.
“Anyway,” he continued. “I was there on this big couch. Green leather, really uncozy I tell you. I couldn’t sleep though, too much rage in the head, you know? I thought of Rikke and how lovely she was. Really a sweet, sweet girl. I got up and went to her bedroom.
There she was, all tugged in within sheets and blankets. I lied down next to her and tried to touch her boobs. I touched and squeezed until she asked me to stop it goddamit I said.
You fucking tease I said, you know? She was really mad and ordered me to go back to the couch. Fucking couch as she ever would sleep there! Not proud of the next, or not about all of it. She screamed and I put my hand over her mouth.
Must have suffocated her, you know? She was just there so I took her again and again.”
“Lovely!” said Mr. Creopopolus, shaking up his hands, hitting himself in the face with his irons.
“You’re a real piece of sunshine, aren’t you?” asked the Bald Man, scratching his stubbled chin.
“I’m not proud,” lied the Dutchman. “But you know, taking a warm body, it has something good, can’t deny it. Rikke was only the first though. It felt so damn good to feel her, still warm, not rejecting me. I called my other friend Tamara.
Asked her: Hey can I couchsurf at your place? She was all in, the silly girl. I left Rikke and went to Tamara. Same play, nearly, though she put up a fight boy she did. You know? Scratched me good, here you see?” he asked as he pulled up his shirt.
The darkness surrounding us gave up space for the boat to bump against the rocky walls encroaching around it. I nearly fell from my bench when it shook us. There was a loud growl somewhere off. The water seemed wild.
“And then?” asked the Music-Man, twirling his thick moustache.
“Then? Well I did the same. I took her head though cause she had sad eyes. Didn’t want to leave her there.
I put it in one of her shopping-bags and went outside. It poured like hell and I called my friend Mira.”
“Got a lot of female friends?” asked the Bald Man.
“Yeah. I asked her the same and when I arrived, I showed her the head. The bitch started screaming like a fucked goat, so I hit her over the head. I tied her up really good.
When she came back, I had lain out all the knives in her kitchen and let her choose. She declined every single one of them! So, I took the one I liked the most and started carving. Nothing too complicated, really.
Took her breasts and her honeypot and put them in the bag with Tamara’s head. I used her mouth couple of times and went outside.
Can’t remember when she became an angel though. Someone must have called them, cause police was all around. I didn’t give up though charged right at them but you know, don’t bring a knife to a gunfight I guess.”
The table chuckled and their chains rattled.
“Then,” he continued “I woke up here at the table. They must have stitched me up really good.”
“They do,” said the One-eyed Woman, raising her eyebrows in certain uncertainty.
“So, no trial for us, hm?” asked the Music-Man.
“Nope.”
“Sounds not right,” I said. “Isn’t that illegal?”
“Shut up, bencher!” said the Bald Man.
“I haven’t done anything!” I insisted, as the Bald Man called for a guard which hit me over the head.
“What’s your story?” asked the Dutchman.
“Mine?” replied the Bald Man. “Well,” he said, “mine is better than yours, in its own way, I guess.”
“Here comes the showman,” said the Music-Man. “Now, please let us in to the devious devouring of your urging mind.”
“Sure,” started the Bald Man. “My name is Henry Ringler and I was born in 1961 in Güthestaadt, Belgium. I was a teacher once but when my uncle Reinhard died, I was able to settle.
You know, uncle Reini, as we called him, was stockbroker and filthy rich. I was his sole beneficiary, so I bought a huge plot of land in the countryside. I liked it quiet. A man needs privacy. At first, I would often visit the city though, visit and enjoy myself with some ladies if you know what I mean.”
The Music-Man and the Dutchman laughed, as Mr. Creopopolus chuckled to himself and the One-Eyed Woman frowned. Their chains rattled.
“Soon that wasn’t enough. My parents hated animals, even talked me out of becoming a vet, can you imagine? I bought a bunch of dogs, didn’t want to be alone outside there in the countryside, “ he said, as a big wave hit the side of our boat and threw over the unused figures on the chessboards.
“I bought the dogs and took care. I was happy for some time. Then I felt lonely again. You don’t believe how easy it us to get your hands on one you know? How they totally submit but never resist. I got fascinated with all kinds of shit, Kaspar Hauser and that crap.
Somehow, I wanted a human next to me, but it shouldn’t act like a human. I knew this needed planning, so I built a big dog kennel and bought some nice puppies, and then I went hunting.” The Bald Man grinned like a badger.
“Hunting what?” asked Mr. Creopopolus, leaning himself on the table with a bored expression on his face.
“Longpig of course,” he chuckled. “Mostly, they were poor as dirt. Lived outside in some run-down farmhouse. I went in around 3:00 a.m. and doused them in chloroform.
Then, I just grabbed the baby from its crib and went back home. Wasn’t easy to take care of a baby at first. But I always told myself ,Just a couple of years Heinrich, just a couple of years’ so when she was 4 I let her out to the others.
My parents were happy that I was some bigass surgeon, back then when we still talked and they could show off with me.
So now, finally, my skill was usable. I cut her sinews, cut her fingers near the palms and made her a nice little puppy.” The Bald Man chuckled.
“That’s disgusting!” said the One-eyed woman.
“Fuck you woman! Come over here and I show you!” the Bald Man shouted, as he jumped from his chair.
“Calm down everyone!” said Mr. Creopopolus, jumping from his place and stretching his hands towards both sides, as far as his cuffs allowed.
After the mood had calmed in the sounds of the water splashing against the sides of the boat, the Bald Man continued.
“You see, it was not easy. I knew it was wrong, but it was all I wanted. Over time I made her, better. Filed her teeth, lots of tattoos to make her a really good little dalmatian.”
“What was her name?” asked the Dutchman.
“Puppy. She was my little precious puppy, that what she was. Needed no other name.”
“Bet you fucked her good!” laughed the Music-Man.
“The fuck I did,” screamed the Bald Man. “She was my little puppy! I took care of her when she was ill. I tattooed every single spot on her skin myself and filed her teeth sharp. That good little girl she was. Only a sick fuck like you could come up with something so horrible.”
The whole table laughed, and some guards did too. Chains rattled aloud.
“What’s so funny about that?” asked the Bald Man in anger.
“You really ask that?” inquired the Music-Man, twirling his thick moustache. “This was all over the news. She’s now in some sort of asylum. Her parents committed suicide when they found out. The mum was on the news, said even the uncertainty was better than that.
Can you imagine? Most people say the fucking uncertainty is the worst, rather want to know if they girls and boys got raped and burned alive and so shit. But Mrs. kidnapped puppy, she says it was better. Funny fucking world it is.” He spat on the floor.
“Yes,” smiled the Bald Man “really nice.”
“Well honey,” purred the One-eyed Woman “you’re a sick fuck. Simple as that.”
“Who are you to judge me?” screamed the Bald Man pushing back his chair, drawing eyes from other tables and some from the other benchers. His irons hit the table, together with his fist.
“You don’t want to know,” said the One-Eyed Woman.
“I do,” said the Dutchman “I really want to.”
There was wailing coming from the other tables. A figure, a shadow in the darkness walking around. People got up at the other tables and pushed the shadow around.
He tumbled on until he came near us. It was a monk and he was pale and gaunt. His eyes looked mad.
“Vergessen, vergessen. Sie haben mich vergessen!“ he shouted.
The Bald Man and the Music-Man got up and pushed him away.
“Die Kinder, die lieben Kinder!“ he shouted as he tumbled off.
We all laughed and our chains rattled.
“Please,” said Mr. Creopopolus astute. “Go on my dear.”
“My story starts 35 years ago. I was born, you know, I think you don’t want to know this,” she said, glancing towards the Bald Man. “I believe you just want the juicy details.” She winked.
“Sounds about right.” said the Music-Man, smiling.
“I always loved to torture things,” she gazed at the Dutchman. “I loved to stroll around the countryside picking up hurt animals, taking them home. I always pretended to help them, make them feel better. ,Such a kind girl’ said my father when I did so for the first time. They thought I was their little angel.
I did this for years, hiding my true self. I got a husband, two kids, my little darlings.” She started to cry.
“Take your time, dear,” said Mr. Creopopolus as he handed her a tissue.
“Thanks,” she replied, drying her tears. “I hope they are okay. I hid myself so long, so long, I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror anymore.”
She teared up again while Mr. Creopopolus put his hand gently on her shoulder and petted her like a sad child.
“One day, one day and it was gone. We had done all we could, after college Harry, my husband, he was hired by a bank and I, I worked as a cashier.
So I could be there for the kids you know?” she said, waiting for the smiles all around to vanish. “You can laugh all you want, but having people shit all over you, it ain’t easy.
I was at the store and home, kids and customers, all crying about their needs and their wants and their wishes. Always bothering me and then, one day, I had dropped them off at school, there was this boy, not much older than my own, and he was all alone.
None of the other kids nearby he ran cause he knew he was late. I slowed down and asked him if he wanted me to pick him up and bring him there.
He was a bit hesitant, I bet he wouldn’t have gotten on the car with any of you, but he did with me. He got in the car, but I drove straight past school, yes Sir, straight past the school. ,What you doing?’ he said, in his annoying baby-voice. I drove him to my place, pulled him in after me.
He kicked and screamed but I was beyond caring.
I just had to do it. I slapped him hard on the face several times. ,Momma! Momma!’ he cried. I slapped and slapped and then I held him and got the tape and made a really nice mummy out of him, cut his clothes and then just rolled him in. He wiggled and shook around until I made a hole for his mouth to breath, put the pen through the tape with a pen, my husband always brought those damn fucking pens from the hotels, where he fucked his whores. And then, then it just happened.
I got out the iron, even did some clothes before it got the right temp, and then I pressed it on his little chubby belly.
God those were screams, was afraid some neighbors heard them, back as my sense kicked in I guess, through the tape I heard it shrill and sharp and I shout ,Shut it shut it shut it’ and press it all over his body like I would tickle one of my boys. The worst though was his little lips, burned them till they looked like white bubbles. Took me hours, all day believe me. Put his corpse in the freezer and two days later they showed up.
I took a knife, I really didn’t want to hurt any of them, they just doing their jobs you know? Took a knife to off myself in the bathtub really classy and all, but the bastards just shot me. Shot me right in the head! Yes Sir, right in the head.”
“Not through the eye, right?” asked the Music-Man.
“Why you asking?” she replied, “not that I would know. Woke up here, right onto the death row.”
“Are we sure of that, my dear?” asked Mr. Creopopolus, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
“I am not. Not at all,” said I.
“Shut up, bencher!” screamed one of the guards nearby, charging at me and hitting me with a big white club, his eyes in anger and the symbol, like a twisted cross on his head, in wrinkles.
“I haven’t done anything! You need to believe me!” I pleaded. He hit me again. The five on the table laughed and their irons rattled.
“Where else would we go?” asked the One-eyed Woman.
“What the hell would I know?” said the Dutchman.
“Need to kill the time,” insisted the Bald Man.
“What’s your story?” asked the One-eyed Woman, towards the Music-Man.
“Lady, you got kids. You don’t want to know,” he answered, twirling his thick moustache.
“Yes, I do.” I said.
“Goddamit! Shut it bencher!” screeched Mr. Creopopolus and threw a chess figure at me that hit my head. It hurt.
“No, you don’t. You just snapped one day. Don’t as bad as we others here,” said the Music-Man and gave me a bad glance. “We are the scum of the earth as far as I can tell, you just had a moment of thought we all had every single day of our lives.”
“Amen!” said the Dutchman.
“I didn’t. I knew what I did. All this darkness was just inside me in my stomach or wherever,” said the One-eyed Woman.
“Wherever your husband couldn’t fuck you, I bet.” The Bald Man grinned and laughed and all, but the One-eyed Woman laughed loud until the Twisted Cross Guard came and hit them all, with his club.
He stared and hit me too though I had done nothing. We all shook and our chains rattled.
“So, what did you do? Just want to know, you know?” said the Dutchman.
“Alrighty almighty,” said the Music-Man. “I was born in England in 84. Had two loving parents, may God hold them dear. Church though, church. Went there every Sunday.
Every single one. Mum and Dad didn’t even believe the shit they tell you there themselves. Every fucking Sunday the same wizard spells.”
“Jeez, calm down. Don’t want to hear all about your life. Just your story, you know? Your actual story, man.” said the Dutchman and scratched his red hair.
“Fair enough. They put me in that hospital when I was 14 or 15. Was there for the next couple years until I was, I guess 30? Doesn’t matter, just the story, right?
So, I was out, Dad and Mum both in the grave and my brother didn’t care shit about me. Just thought I would waltz in back in my happy family. Didn’t happen. Found him, he offered me money, but I didn’t want not shit money just my family, you know what I mean?”
All nodded, rattling with their chains.
“Larry, that prick, huh, I hit him right in the face, forced myself in his home, riddled it with my fists and teeth.
His wife is all screaming ,Don’t hurt us! Don’t hurt us!’ I force them in the corner cause I got a big damn knife and a big damn dick and tie them up nice as cake.
So Larry he goes on ,Don’t hurt them! Let us go!’ and I say ,Sure’ and the fun begins then. Grab my knife and his wife and in front of the whole family gathering I strip her naked like Sister Eve and have her on her knees. I scalp her really slowly, like slo-mo-tion and they all shout and go on ,No, No, Mummy, Mummy’ and she tries to get away but hell no I don’t let her not with me.
Carver her up good and nice, sweet as a cake and grab some wire I rip out from the TV – who the fuck has a TV anyways today?
From what I saw, none. It is none. I tie her hands and slow and nice I cut them off she screams and wails and shakes like a maniac, like an idiot. And they are all ,No oh no!’ and her scalp – still some part on the head – goes up and done and up and I tear it off like from a wound and she goes sleepy and just lies there. Go over here, fair and square, and slit her throat.
Got a bit, how should I say, got a bit more creative with the rest of them and carve them up, slice and dice. Boys got skinned, brother watches, boys got smothered, still watches.
They tried to put up a fight but I don’t like that so I cut the elders fingers off, one by one.
The idiots thought I would stop with one. Damn idiots. Just for fun I do the other to the brother, mine cries like a baby, never did the same for me though.
Cut off his nose then and pull out his teeth and he sleeps there just fucking sleeping. Police then tell me they bled to death you know, but I didn’t kill them, right?
Didn’t do it. They just slept through all of it. Make a fine nice rope in my cell and the fuckers revive me and sent me here with alls of you all.” he said, as we all stared and shivered in the cold wind.
“So why did you do it?” asked the One-eyed Woman.
“Why? I tell you why. Was a prick that fucking cunt, and his wife too. Children seemed nice enough though.”
“No,” she shook her head, “why did you record it all?”
“How you know?” he asked.
“They said that you did so on the TV.”
“Why not?” countered the Music-Man, and they all agreed, and the Music-Man twirled his thick moustache in pride.
“Huh,” I said, everyone fixing their eyes on me, like buzzards on a mouse. “You don’t think it’s funny we are all one big ass boat in the night?”
“Shut up bencher!” shouted the whole table, their chains rattling in unison.
“It’s not night.” said Mr. Creopopolus.
“What else you think it is?” asked the Bald Man, angrily.
“Not night?” asked the Music-Man, staring above.
“No stars.” Mr. Creopopolus insisted.
“What’s your story?” I asked towards him.
“Already told it too often,” he answered with a proud smile “and you wouldn’t like it.”
“Can’t be worse than these guys.” I countered. They all started to shout at me until the Twisted Cross Guard came and hit me.
“We got rights!” exclaimed the One-eyed Woman.
“You do?” mocked the Twisted Cross Guard.
“We can talk to the captain. You have to let us through,” said Mr. Creopopolus. “I heard it at the other table.”
“I’m innocent,” said I. “You have to believe me!”
“Jesus,” squirmed Twisted Cross Guard in anger. “Fine, let’s go.”
He untied me and led me towards the back of the boat.
The boat stretched endlessly into the night, or non-night, and Mr. Creopopolus shouted from behind that the captain’s name was Charlie.
“Don’t drop the soap!” mocked the Dutchman and all their teeth rattled.
We went on for what must have been like hours? Who builds such big ass boats?
Then, I saw him behind the steering-wheel, old and worn and wrinkled. He motioned for Twisted Cross Guard to bring me close.
“This will never stop will it?” the Captain asked, as we bumped into something in the black water, causing a roar from deep down.
“Are you Captain Charlie?” I asked.
“No,” he replied, “Charlie is the lovely fellow here,” he gestured towards Twisted Cross Guard. “I’m Captain Charry. And you go to land now.”
“No,” I pleaded to him, “this is all a big mistake. I didn’t do anything wrong. Please, you need to listen to…”
“I don’t need to do anything, boy!” he spat at me, as hands grabbed me from behind.
Twisted Cross Guard led me towards the plank that was laid out to the landside, several of us marching over it, hoping to feel their feet on land and to walk out of this nightmare.
It was no land though, just water high to our knees, other guards were waiting, their faces all full of hate and scars.
One called my name and I trotted towards him, my irons splashing through the black liquid surrounding us all.
It is so cold now, I don’t feel my thumbs. How long have I been here? Surely, there was some mistake, they couldn’t do that to us. I didn’t do anything wrong.
I was a good person with a good life. I was destined for more, for greatness.
My thoughts wander back to my last day in freedom, before dark water and dark light. I just had met Stignatz a few months ago, and had become his apprentice.
He was a great artist. We had found some common tastes and went hunting, when the old man fired his rifle, I remember it all so clearly, me lying on the ground, Stignatz running away, that coward.
As soon as I find my way out of here, I will visit him and his lovely Rose, that bitch.
I remember what happened before. Stignatz was a strong man but weary from work. He had built an obelisk.
His hands shook with every move, his limbs fell limp. Pulling concrete, fat and hard, all day long, now he felt weak. He bent down.
First got his trousers on. He was looking forward to dinner. Surely, the kids would sleep already and Rosie tired as ever. It was hard business but raw and honest and he liked it.
He could have done better but a pat on the back wouldn't hurt. He filled his used lungs with the air and savored the glory of the moment. One day, one day all would know him.
The great artist Stignatz they would say, he once lived there with his god-warrior apprentice. My installations were young and brute but there was plenty time to fix that, he assured me.
Just don't get cocky, he said as he noticed a mark on my part of the obelisk. Black and long it twisted on our craft. A moment's notice I was about to tear it off.
He was smart. Those blue uniforms in their fancy caps would need months to find our work without a clue. He went forward, every step a drag.
He cradled the strain of black hair like a hurt kitten, I told him to stop it and we marched on, silently in the light of the rising.
Hush-hush. He turned and tumbled away. Can't let Rosie wait. Somehow, we started to argue then and he punched me and my head hit on the wall.
My last thoughts were of the girl in the metal and stone and how she would scream. Our art was not to her taste.
It was to mine though.
They would never find the others. Soon I’m out here, soon. My nails must be bloody now, they hurt like shit. Soon. I am out. I will be out.
Dark water and cold and no light cannot hold me. There has to be an exit somewhere. Do these chains rust? Sure, they do! They must! Soon. What was that? Is there something in there? Some fish? I’m so hungry. Hello? Is there something? Someone? Anyone?
submitted by novel_antle to Odd_directions [link] [comments]

The Shortest Trip


It’s freezing and wet. I feel the cold stone under my fingers as I crouch around in the rocky darkness. Can’t find the exit.
I must have been here for hours. I haven’t done anything wrong, why doesn’t anyone help me?!
“Enjoy!” the man had said, and he was gone and so was his flashlight. Since then, I have tried to find the small gateway.
My battery is dying soon.
He led me in here so there needed to be an exit, right?
We had gone in, stretched out. I tried to explain it to him, tried to explain that I hadn’t done anything wrong. I had asked him many questions, though he didn’t care to answer most.
On and on we went inside the cliff-walls, dark and wet.
The water rose steady, first at the height of my knees, it reaches my chest now as I squat. The tunnel was long and narrow and after some time we had to crouch until our heads vanished under the liquid. I admit, I was afraid to drown until he pulled me up.
“Enjoy!” he had said, then he vanished. I am in a cave, it’s hard walls all around me.
It is so dark, I don’t see my own hands in front of my eyes. I don’t hear a thing but my own moves that make the water splash around me. Was there something? Fish? Did fish get in here? No. Still no exit.
The water is up at my nose when I try to sit and so I keep squatting in this dark wet hole.
No standing, no sitting, and lying down is even more out of the question. After a while I just leaned against the wall of the little cave.
Surely, there was something wrong. Surely, someone would come. Right? I drift off, to the conversation I had listened to for hours.
I was on a big boat.
It was big and there were several small lanterns scattered on its 1st deck. Tables everywhere, and guards and shackles.
The guards scared me. They wore grey uniforms and masks over their faces. Ski-masks and Halloween masks and masks of mutilated faces.
They just stood in silence at the railings. I had sat myself on a bench near a table that carried two chess boards when they put the irons on my wrists and neck. Four people sat around the table, until a fifth arrived, all of them in heavy irons, much as I.
“Just grab a chair boy,” said the Music-Man.
„What’s your story newbie?” asked the One-eyed Woman.
„What?”
„Your story!” said the Bald Man
„My story?”
„Yes!” hissed Mr. Creopopolus.
„Well, I guess my story isn’t that interesting,” said the young man with the red hair. “I am from Delft, you know? In the Netherlands. Boy we got so many beautiful cities to see, I always loved my country. Willem van Oranje was assassinated in my city, I think that’s what it is mostly known for, but I always thought my home a bit colorless, you know? Like the place deserved something bigger. More glamorous.”
They understood and nodded, and their chains rattled.
“Anyways,” the Dutchman kept going, “I was out on the streets at eighteen. My mother’s boyfriend and I didn’t get along, you know? He was a real asshole and so I was forced out. I slept a couple of days on the couch of my friend Rikke. Rikke was always so nice to me, such a kind soul. She had the most beautiful hair. Wait,” he said as he tried to reach his wallet in his jeans. “There we go! That’s her.”
The picture within showed a young woman in her late teens, hazel eyes and flaxen hair that were spread on her shoulders. She had a nice smile and good teeth.
“Rikke, she was a really good human being, you know? Honest to the bone but never mean of spiteful. Like some female Jesus.”
“I bet she was,” said the One-eyed Woman “A real treasure.”, she added sarcastically, for which she earned an angry stare from the Dutchman.
“Anyway,” he continued. “I was there on this big couch. Green leather, really uncozy I tell you. I couldn’t sleep though, too much rage in the head, you know? I thought of Rikke and how lovely she was. Really a sweet, sweet girl. I got up and went to her bedroom.
There she was, all tugged in within sheets and blankets. I lied down next to her and tried to touch her boobs. I touched and squeezed until she asked me to stop it goddamit I said.
You fucking tease I said, you know? She was really mad and ordered me to go back to the couch. Fucking couch as she ever would sleep there! Not proud of the next, or not about all of it. She screamed and I put my hand over her mouth.
Must have suffocated her, you know? She was just there so I took her again and again.”
“Lovely!” said Mr. Creopopolus, shaking up his hands, hitting himself in the face with his irons.
“You’re a real piece of sunshine, aren’t you?” asked the Bald Man, scratching his stubbled chin.
“I’m not proud,” lied the Dutchman. “But you know, taking a warm body, it has something good, can’t deny it. Rikke was only the first though. It felt so damn good to feel her, still warm, not rejecting me. I called my other friend Tamara.
Asked her: Hey can I couchsurf at your place? She was all in, the silly girl. I left Rikke and went to Tamara. Same play, nearly, though she put up a fight boy she did. You know? Scratched me good, here you see?” he asked as he pulled up his shirt.
The darkness surrounding us gave up space for the boat to bump against the rocky walls encroaching around it. I nearly fell from my bench when it shook us. There was a loud growl somewhere off. The water seemed wild.
“And then?” asked the Music-Man, twirling his thick moustache.
“Then? Well I did the same. I took her head though cause she had sad eyes. Didn’t want to leave her there.
I put it in one of her shopping-bags and went outside. It poured like hell and I called my friend Mira.”
“Got a lot of female friends?” asked the Bald Man.
“Yeah. I asked her the same and when I arrived, I showed her the head. The bitch started screaming like a fucked goat, so I hit her over the head. I tied her up really good.
When she came back, I had lain out all the knives in her kitchen and let her choose. She declined every single one of them! So, I took the one I liked the most and started carving. Nothing too complicated, really.
Took her breasts and her honeypot and put them in the bag with Tamara’s head. I used her mouth couple of times and went outside.
Can’t remember when she became an angel though. Someone must have called them, cause police was all around. I didn’t give up though charged right at them but you know, don’t bring a knife to a gunfight I guess.”
The table chuckled and their chains rattled.
“Then,” he continued “I woke up here at the table. They must have stitched me up really good.”
“They do,” said the One-eyed Woman, raising her eyebrows in certain uncertainty.
“So, no trial for us, hm?” asked the Music-Man.
“Nope.”
“Sounds not right,” I said. “Isn’t that illegal?”
“Shut up, bencher!” said the Bald Man.
“I haven’t done anything!” I insisted, as the Bald Man called for a guard which hit me over the head.
“What’s your story?” asked the Dutchman.
“Mine?” replied the Bald Man. “Well,” he said, “mine is better than yours, in its own way, I guess.”
“Here comes the showman,” said the Music-Man. “Now, please let us in to the devious devouring of your urging mind.”
“Sure,” started the Bald Man. “My name is Henry Ringler and I was born in 1961 in Güthestaadt, Belgium. I was a teacher once but when my uncle Reinhard died, I was able to settle.
You know, uncle Reini, as we called him, was stockbroker and filthy rich. I was his sole beneficiary, so I bought a huge plot of land in the countryside. I liked it quiet. A man needs privacy. At first, I would often visit the city though, visit and enjoy myself with some ladies if you know what I mean.”
The Music-Man and the Dutchman laughed, as Mr. Creopopolus chuckled to himself and the One-Eyed Woman frowned. Their chains rattled.
“Soon that wasn’t enough. My parents hated animals, even talked me out of becoming a vet, can you imagine? I bought a bunch of dogs, didn’t want to be alone outside there in the countryside, “ he said, as a big wave hit the side of our boat and threw over the unused figures on the chessboards.
“I bought the dogs and took care. I was happy for some time. Then I felt lonely again. You don’t believe how easy it us to get your hands on one you know? How they totally submit but never resist. I got fascinated with all kinds of shit, Kaspar Hauser and that crap.
Somehow, I wanted a human next to me, but it shouldn’t act like a human. I knew this needed planning, so I built a big dog kennel and bought some nice puppies, and then I went hunting.” The Bald Man grinned like a badger.
“Hunting what?” asked Mr. Creopopolus, leaning himself on the table with a bored expression on his face.
“Longpig of course,” he chuckled. “Mostly, they were poor as dirt. Lived outside in some run-down farmhouse. I went in around 3:00 a.m. and doused them in chloroform.
Then, I just grabbed the baby from its crib and went back home. Wasn’t easy to take care of a baby at first. But I always told myself ,Just a couple of years Heinrich, just a couple of years’ so when she was 4 I let her out to the others.
My parents were happy that I was some bigass surgeon, back then when we still talked and they could show off with me.
So now, finally, my skill was usable. I cut her sinews, cut her fingers near the palms and made her a nice little puppy.” The Bald Man chuckled.
“That’s disgusting!” said the One-eyed woman.
“Fuck you woman! Come over here and I show you!” the Bald Man shouted, as he jumped from his chair.
“Calm down everyone!” said Mr. Creopopolus, jumping from his place and stretching his hands towards both sides, as far as his cuffs allowed.
After the mood had calmed in the sounds of the water splashing against the sides of the boat, the Bald Man continued.
“You see, it was not easy. I knew it was wrong, but it was all I wanted. Over time I made her, better. Filed her teeth, lots of tattoos to make her a really good little dalmatian.”
“What was her name?” asked the Dutchman.
“Puppy. She was my little precious puppy, that what she was. Needed no other name.”
“Bet you fucked her good!” laughed the Music-Man.
“The fuck I did,” screamed the Bald Man. “She was my little puppy! I took care of her when she was ill. I tattooed every single spot on her skin myself and filed her teeth sharp. That good little girl she was. Only a sick fuck like you could come up with something so horrible.”
The whole table laughed, and some guards did too. Chains rattled aloud.
“What’s so funny about that?” asked the Bald Man in anger.
“You really ask that?” inquired the Music-Man, twirling his thick moustache. “This was all over the news. She’s now in some sort of asylum. Her parents committed suicide when they found out. The mum was on the news, said even the uncertainty was better than that.
Can you imagine? Most people say the fucking uncertainty is the worst, rather want to know if they girls and boys got raped and burned alive and so shit. But Mrs. kidnapped puppy, she says it was better. Funny fucking world it is.” He spat on the floor.
“Yes,” smiled the Bald Man “really nice.”
“Well honey,” purred the One-eyed Woman “you’re a sick fuck. Simple as that.”
“Who are you to judge me?” screamed the Bald Man pushing back his chair, drawing eyes from other tables and some from the other benchers. His irons hit the table, together with his fist.
“You don’t want to know,” said the One-Eyed Woman.
“I do,” said the Dutchman “I really want to.”
There was wailing coming from the other tables. A figure, a shadow in the darkness walking around. People got up at the other tables and pushed the shadow around.
He tumbled on until he came near us. It was a monk and he was pale and gaunt. His eyes looked mad.
“Vergessen, vergessen. Sie haben mich vergessen!“ he shouted.
The Bald Man and the Music-Man got up and pushed him away.
“Die Kinder, die lieben Kinder!“ he shouted as he tumbled off.
We all laughed and our chains rattled.
“Please,” said Mr. Creopopolus astute. “Go on my dear.”
“My story starts 35 years ago. I was born, you know, I think you don’t want to know this,” she said, glancing towards the Bald Man. “I believe you just want the juicy details.” She winked.
“Sounds about right.” said the Music-Man, smiling.
“I always loved to torture things,” she gazed at the Dutchman. “I loved to stroll around the countryside picking up hurt animals, taking them home. I always pretended to help them, make them feel better. ,Such a kind girl’ said my father when I did so for the first time. They thought I was their little angel.
I did this for years, hiding my true self. I got a husband, two kids, my little darlings.” She started to cry.
“Take your time, dear,” said Mr. Creopopolus as he handed her a tissue.
“Thanks,” she replied, drying her tears. “I hope they are okay. I hid myself so long, so long, I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror anymore.”
She teared up again while Mr. Creopopolus put his hand gently on her shoulder and petted her like a sad child.
“One day, one day and it was gone. We had done all we could, after college Harry, my husband, he was hired by a bank and I, I worked as a cashier.
So I could be there for the kids you know?” she said, waiting for the smiles all around to vanish. “You can laugh all you want, but having people shit all over you, it ain’t easy.
I was at the store and home, kids and customers, all crying about their needs and their wants and their wishes. Always bothering me and then, one day, I had dropped them off at school, there was this boy, not much older than my own, and he was all alone.
None of the other kids nearby he ran cause he knew he was late. I slowed down and asked him if he wanted me to pick him up and bring him there.
He was a bit hesitant, I bet he wouldn’t have gotten on the car with any of you, but he did with me. He got in the car, but I drove straight past school, yes Sir, straight past the school. ,What you doing?’ he said, in his annoying baby-voice. I drove him to my place, pulled him in after me.
He kicked and screamed but I was beyond caring.
I just had to do it. I slapped him hard on the face several times. ,Momma! Momma!’ he cried. I slapped and slapped and then I held him and got the tape and made a really nice mummy out of him, cut his clothes and then just rolled him in. He wiggled and shook around until I made a hole for his mouth to breath, put the pen through the tape with a pen, my husband always brought those damn fucking pens from the hotels, where he fucked his whores. And then, then it just happened.
I got out the iron, even did some clothes before it got the right temp, and then I pressed it on his little chubby belly.
God those were screams, was afraid some neighbors heard them, back as my sense kicked in I guess, through the tape I heard it shrill and sharp and I shout ,Shut it shut it shut it’ and press it all over his body like I would tickle one of my boys. The worst though was his little lips, burned them till they looked like white bubbles. Took me hours, all day believe me. Put his corpse in the freezer and two days later they showed up.
I took a knife, I really didn’t want to hurt any of them, they just doing their jobs you know? Took a knife to off myself in the bathtub really classy and all, but the bastards just shot me. Shot me right in the head! Yes Sir, right in the head.”
“Not through the eye, right?” asked the Music-Man.
“Why you asking?” she replied, “not that I would know. Woke up here, right onto the death row.”
“Are we sure of that, my dear?” asked Mr. Creopopolus, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
“I am not. Not at all,” said I.
“Shut up, bencher!” screamed one of the guards nearby, charging at me and hitting me with a big white club, his eyes in anger and the symbol, like a twisted cross on his head, in wrinkles.
“I haven’t done anything! You need to believe me!” I pleaded. He hit me again. The five on the table laughed and their irons rattled.
“Where else would we go?” asked the One-eyed Woman.
“What the hell would I know?” said the Dutchman.
“Need to kill the time,” insisted the Bald Man.
“What’s your story?” asked the One-eyed Woman, towards the Music-Man.
“Lady, you got kids. You don’t want to know,” he answered, twirling his thick moustache.
“Yes, I do.” I said.
“Goddamit! Shut it bencher!” screeched Mr. Creopopolus and threw a chess figure at me that hit my head. It hurt.
“No, you don’t. You just snapped one day. Don’t as bad as we others here,” said the Music-Man and gave me a bad glance. “We are the scum of the earth as far as I can tell, you just had a moment of thought we all had every single day of our lives.”
“Amen!” said the Dutchman.
“I didn’t. I knew what I did. All this darkness was just inside me in my stomach or wherever,” said the One-eyed Woman.
“Wherever your husband couldn’t fuck you, I bet.” The Bald Man grinned and laughed and all, but the One-eyed Woman laughed loud until the Twisted Cross Guard came and hit them all, with his club.
He stared and hit me too though I had done nothing. We all shook and our chains rattled.
“So, what did you do? Just want to know, you know?” said the Dutchman.
“Alrighty almighty,” said the Music-Man. “I was born in England in 84. Had two loving parents, may God hold them dear. Church though, church. Went there every Sunday.
Every single one. Mum and Dad didn’t even believe the shit they tell you there themselves. Every fucking Sunday the same wizard spells.”
“Jeez, calm down. Don’t want to hear all about your life. Just your story, you know? Your actual story, man.” said the Dutchman and scratched his red hair.
“Fair enough. They put me in that hospital when I was 14 or 15. Was there for the next couple years until I was, I guess 30? Doesn’t matter, just the story, right?
So, I was out, Dad and Mum both in the grave and my brother didn’t care shit about me. Just thought I would waltz in back in my happy family. Didn’t happen. Found him, he offered me money, but I didn’t want not shit money just my family, you know what I mean?”
All nodded, rattling with their chains.
“Larry, that prick, huh, I hit him right in the face, forced myself in his home, riddled it with my fists and teeth.
His wife is all screaming ,Don’t hurt us! Don’t hurt us!’ I force them in the corner cause I got a big damn knife and a big damn dick and tie them up nice as cake.
So Larry he goes on ,Don’t hurt them! Let us go!’ and I say ,Sure’ and the fun begins then. Grab my knife and his wife and in front of the whole family gathering I strip her naked like Sister Eve and have her on her knees. I scalp her really slowly, like slo-mo-tion and they all shout and go on ,No, No, Mummy, Mummy’ and she tries to get away but hell no I don’t let her not with me.
Carver her up good and nice, sweet as a cake and grab some wire I rip out from the TV – who the fuck has a TV anyways today?
From what I saw, none. It is none. I tie her hands and slow and nice I cut them off she screams and wails and shakes like a maniac, like an idiot. And they are all ,No oh no!’ and her scalp – still some part on the head – goes up and done and up and I tear it off like from a wound and she goes sleepy and just lies there. Go over here, fair and square, and slit her throat.
Got a bit, how should I say, got a bit more creative with the rest of them and carve them up, slice and dice. Boys got skinned, brother watches, boys got smothered, still watches.
They tried to put up a fight but I don’t like that so I cut the elders fingers off, one by one.
The idiots thought I would stop with one. Damn idiots. Just for fun I do the other to the brother, mine cries like a baby, never did the same for me though.
Cut off his nose then and pull out his teeth and he sleeps there just fucking sleeping. Police then tell me they bled to death you know, but I didn’t kill them, right?
Didn’t do it. They just slept through all of it. Make a fine nice rope in my cell and the fuckers revive me and sent me here with alls of you all.” he said, as we all stared and shivered in the cold wind.
“So why did you do it?” asked the One-eyed Woman.
“Why? I tell you why. Was a prick that fucking cunt, and his wife too. Children seemed nice enough though.”
“No,” she shook her head, “why did you record it all?”
“How you know?” he asked.
“They said that you did so on the TV.”
“Why not?” countered the Music-Man, and they all agreed, and the Music-Man twirled his thick moustache in pride.
“Huh,” I said, everyone fixing their eyes on me, like buzzards on a mouse. “You don’t think it’s funny we are all one big ass boat in the night?”
“Shut up bencher!” shouted the whole table, their chains rattling in unison.
“It’s not night.” said Mr. Creopopolus.
“What else you think it is?” asked the Bald Man, angrily.
“Not night?” asked the Music-Man, staring above.
“No stars.” Mr. Creopopolus insisted.
“What’s your story?” I asked towards him.
“Already told it too often,” he answered with a proud smile “and you wouldn’t like it.”
“Can’t be worse than these guys.” I countered. They all started to shout at me until the Twisted Cross Guard came and hit me.
“We got rights!” exclaimed the One-eyed Woman.
“You do?” mocked the Twisted Cross Guard.
“We can talk to the captain. You have to let us through,” said Mr. Creopopolus. “I heard it at the other table.”
“I’m innocent,” said I. “You have to believe me!”
“Jesus,” squirmed Twisted Cross Guard in anger. “Fine, let’s go.”
He untied me and led me towards the back of the boat.
The boat stretched endlessly into the night, or non-night, and Mr. Creopopolus shouted from behind that the captain’s name was Charlie.
“Don’t drop the soap!” mocked the Dutchman and all their teeth rattled.
We went on for what must have been like hours? Who builds such big ass boats?
Then, I saw him behind the steering-wheel, old and worn and wrinkled. He motioned for Twisted Cross Guard to bring me close.
“This will never stop will it?” the Captain asked, as we bumped into something in the black water, causing a roar from deep down.
“Are you Captain Charlie?” I asked.
“No,” he replied, “Charlie is the lovely fellow here,” he gestured towards Twisted Cross Guard. “I’m Captain Charry. And you go to land now.”
“No,” I pleaded to him, “this is all a big mistake. I didn’t do anything wrong. Please, you need to listen to…”
“I don’t need to do anything, boy!” he spat at me, as hands grabbed me from behind.
Twisted Cross Guard led me towards the plank that was laid out to the landside, several of us marching over it, hoping to feel their feet on land and to walk out of this nightmare.
It was no land though, just water high to our knees, other guards were waiting, their faces all full of hate and scars.
One called my name and I trotted towards him, my irons splashing through the black liquid surrounding us all.
It is so cold now, I don’t feel my thumbs. How long have I been here? Surely, there was some mistake, they couldn’t do that to us. I didn’t do anything wrong.
I was a good person with a good life. I was destined for more, for greatness.
My thoughts wander back to my last day in freedom, before dark water and dark light. I just had met Stignatz a few months ago, and had become his apprentice.
He was a great artist. We had found some common tastes and went hunting, when the old man fired his rifle, I remember it all so clearly, me lying on the ground, Stignatz running away, that coward.
As soon as I find my way out of here, I will visit him and his lovely Rose, that bitch.
I remember what happened before. Stignatz was a strong man but weary from work. He had built an obelisk.
His hands shook with every move, his limbs fell limp. Pulling concrete, fat and hard, all day long, now he felt weak. He bent down.
First got his trousers on. He was looking forward to dinner. Surely, the kids would sleep already and Rosie tired as ever. It was hard business but raw and honest and he liked it.
He could have done better but a pat on the back wouldn't hurt. He filled his used lungs with the air and savored the glory of the moment. One day, one day all would know him.
The great artist Stignatz they would say, he once lived there with his god-warrior apprentice. My installations were young and brute but there was plenty time to fix that, he assured me.
Just don't get cocky, he said as he noticed a mark on my part of the obelisk. Black and long it twisted on our craft. A moment's notice I was about to tear it off.
He was smart. Those blue uniforms in their fancy caps would need months to find our work without a clue. He went forward, every step a drag.
He cradled the strain of black hair like a hurt kitten, I told him to stop it and we marched on, silently in the light of the rising.
Hush-hush. He turned and tumbled away. Can't let Rosie wait. Somehow, we started to argue then and he punched me and my head hit on the wall.
My last thoughts were of the girl in the metal and stone and how she would scream. Our art was not to her taste.
It was to mine though.
They would never find the others. Soon I’m out here, soon. My nails must be bloody now, they hurt like shit. Soon. I am out. I will be out.
Dark water and cold and no light cannot hold me. There has to be an exit somewhere. Do these chains rust? Sure, they do! They must! Soon. What was that? Is there something in there? Some fish? I’m so hungry. Hello? Is there something? Someone? Anyone?
submitted by novel_antle to DarkTales [link] [comments]

The Short Trip [HR]

The Short Trip

It’s freezing and wet. I feel the cold stone under my fingers as I crouch around in the rocky darkness. Can’t find the exit.
I must have been here for hours. I haven’t done anything wrong, why doesn’t anyone help me?!
“Enjoy!” the man had said, and he was gone and so was his flashlight. Since then, I have tried to find the small gateway.
My battery is dying soon.
He led me in here so there needed to be an exit, right?
We had gone in, stretched out. I tried to explain it to him, tried to explain that I hadn’t done anything wrong. I had asked him many questions, though he didn’t care to answer most.
On and on we went inside the cliff-walls, dark and wet.
The water rose steady, first at the height of my knees, it reaches my chest now as I squat. The tunnel was long and narrow and after some time we had to crouch until our heads vanished under the liquid. I admit, I was afraid to drown until he pulled me up.
“Enjoy!” he had said, then he vanished. I am in a cave, it’s hard walls all around me.
It is so dark, I don’t see my own hands in front of my eyes. I don’t hear a thing but my own moves that make the water splash around me. Was there something? Fish? Did fish get in here? No. Still no exit.
The water is up at my nose when I try to sit and so I keep squatting in this dark wet hole.
No standing, no sitting, and lying down is even more out of the question. After a while I just leaned against the wall of the little cave.
Surely, there was something wrong. Surely, someone would come. Right? I drift off, to the conversation I had listened to for hours.
I was on a big boat.
It was big and there were several small lanterns scattered on its 1st deck. Tables everywhere, and guards and shackles.
The guards scared me. They wore grey uniforms and masks over their faces. Ski-masks and Halloween masks and masks of mutilated faces.
They just stood in silence at the railings. I had sat myself on a bench near a table that carried two chess boards when they put the irons on my wrists and neck. Four people sat around the table, until a fifth arrived, all of them in heavy irons, much as I.
“Just grab a chair boy,” said the Music-Man.
„What’s your story newbie?” asked the One-eyed Woman.
„What?”
„Your story!” said the Bald Man
„My story?”
„Yes!” hissed Mr. Creopopolus.
„Well, I guess my story isn’t that interesting,” said the young man with the red hair. “I am from Delft, you know? In the Netherlands. Boy we got so many beautiful cities to see, I always loved my country. Willem van Oranje was assassinated in my city, I think that’s what it is mostly known for, but I always thought my home a bit colorless, you know? Like the place deserved something bigger. More glamorous.”
They understood and nodded, and their chains rattled.
“Anyways,” the Dutchman kept going, “I was out on the streets at eighteen. My mother’s boyfriend and I didn’t get along, you know? He was a real asshole and so I was forced out. I slept a couple of days on the couch of my friend Rikke. Rikke was always so nice to me, such a kind soul. She had the most beautiful hair. Wait,” he said as he tried to reach his wallet in his jeans. “There we go! That’s her.”
The picture within showed a young woman in her late teens, hazel eyes and flaxen hair that were spread on her shoulders. She had a nice smile and good teeth.
“Rikke, she was a really good human being, you know? Honest to the bone but never mean of spiteful. Like some female Jesus.”
“I bet she was,” said the One-eyed Woman “A real treasure.”, she added sarcastically, for which she earned an angry stare from the Dutchman.
“Anyway,” he continued. “I was there on this big couch. Green leather, really uncozy I tell you. I couldn’t sleep though, too much rage in the head, you know? I thought of Rikke and how lovely she was. Really a sweet, sweet girl. I got up and went to her bedroom.
There she was, all tugged in within sheets and blankets. I lied down next to her and tried to touch her boobs. I touched and squeezed until she asked me to stop it goddamit I said.
You fucking tease I said, you know? She was really mad and ordered me to go back to the couch. Fucking couch as she ever would sleep there! Not proud of the next, or not about all of it. She screamed and I put my hand over her mouth.
Must have suffocated her, you know? She was just there so I took her again and again.”
“Lovely!” said Mr. Creopopolus, shaking up his hands, hitting himself in the face with his irons.
“You’re a real piece of sunshine, aren’t you?” asked the Bald Man, scratching his stubbled chin.
“I’m not proud,” lied the Dutchman. “But you know, taking a warm body, it has something good, can’t deny it. Rikke was only the first though. It felt so damn good to feel her, still warm, not rejecting me. I called my other friend Tamara.
Asked her: Hey can I couchsurf at your place? She was all in, the silly girl. I left Rikke and went to Tamara. Same play, nearly, though she put up a fight boy she did. You know? Scratched me good, here you see?” he asked as he pulled up his shirt.
The darkness surrounding us gave up space for the boat to bump against the rocky walls encroaching around it. I nearly fell from my bench when it shook us. There was a loud growl somewhere off. The water seemed wild.
“And then?” asked the Music-Man, twirling his thick moustache.
“Then? Well I did the same. I took her head though cause she had sad eyes. Didn’t want to leave her there.
I put it in one of her shopping-bags and went outside. It poured like hell and I called my friend Mira.”
“Got a lot of female friends?” asked the Bald Man.
“Yeah. I asked her the same and when I arrived, I showed her the head. The bitch started screaming like a fucked goat, so I hit her over the head. I tied her up really good.
When she came back, I had lain out all the knives in her kitchen and let her choose. She declined every single one of them! So, I took the one I liked the most and started carving. Nothing too complicated, really.
Took her breasts and her honeypot and put them in the bag with Tamara’s head. I used her mouth couple of times and went outside.
Can’t remember when she became an angel though. Someone must have called them, cause police was all around. I didn’t give up though charged right at them but you know, don’t bring a knife to a gunfight I guess.”
The table chuckled and their chains rattled.
“Then,” he continued “I woke up here at the table. They must have stitched me up really good.”
“They do,” said the One-eyed Woman, raising her eyebrows in certain uncertainty.
“So, no trial for us, hm?” asked the Music-Man.
“Nope.”
“Sounds not right,” I said. “Isn’t that illegal?”
“Shut up, bencher!” said the Bald Man.
“I haven’t done anything!” I insisted, as the Bald Man called for a guard which hit me over the head.
“What’s your story?” asked the Dutchman.
“Mine?” replied the Bald Man. “Well,” he said, “mine is better than yours, in its own way, I guess.”
“Here comes the showman,” said the Music-Man. “Now, please let us in to the devious devouring of your urging mind.”
“Sure,” started the Bald Man. “My name is Henry Ringler and I was born in 1961 in Güthestaadt, Belgium. I was a teacher once but when my uncle Reinhard died, I was able to settle.
You know, uncle Reini, as we called him, was stockbroker and filthy rich. I was his sole beneficiary, so I bought a huge plot of land in the countryside. I liked it quiet. A man needs privacy. At first, I would often visit the city though, visit and enjoy myself with some ladies if you know what I mean.”
The Music-Man and the Dutchman laughed, as Mr. Creopopolus chuckled to himself and the One-Eyed Woman frowned. Their chains rattled.
“Soon that wasn’t enough. My parents hated animals, even talked me out of becoming a vet, can you imagine? I bought a bunch of dogs, didn’t want to be alone outside there in the countryside, “ he said, as a big wave hit the side of our boat and threw over the unused figures on the chessboards.
“I bought the dogs and took care. I was happy for some time. Then I felt lonely again. You don’t believe how easy it us to get your hands on one you know? How they totally submit but never resist. I got fascinated with all kinds of shit, Kaspar Hauser and that crap.
Somehow, I wanted a human next to me, but it shouldn’t act like a human. I knew this needed planning, so I built a big dog kennel and bought some nice puppies, and then I went hunting.” The Bald Man grinned like a badger.
“Hunting what?” asked Mr. Creopopolus, leaning himself on the table with a bored expression on his face.
“Longpig of course,” he chuckled. “Mostly, they were poor as dirt. Lived outside in some run-down farmhouse. I went in around 3:00 a.m. and doused them in chloroform.
Then, I just grabbed the baby from its crib and went back home. Wasn’t easy to take care of a baby at first. But I always told myself ,Just a couple of years Heinrich, just a couple of years’ so when she was 4 I let her out to the others.
My parents were happy that I was some bigass surgeon, back then when we still talked and they could show off with me.
So now, finally, my skill was usable. I cut her sinews, cut her fingers near the palms and made her a nice little puppy.” The Bald Man chuckled.
“That’s disgusting!” said the One-eyed woman.
“Fuck you woman! Come over here and I show you!” the Bald Man shouted, as he jumped from his chair.
“Calm down everyone!” said Mr. Creopopolus, jumping from his place and stretching his hands towards both sides, as far as his cuffs allowed.
After the mood had calmed in the sounds of the water splashing against the sides of the boat, the Bald Man continued.
“You see, it was not easy. I knew it was wrong, but it was all I wanted. Over time I made her, better. Filed her teeth, lots of tattoos to make her a really good little dalmatian.”
“What was her name?” asked the Dutchman.
“Puppy. She was my little precious puppy, that what she was. Needed no other name.”
“Bet you fucked her good!” laughed the Music-Man.
“The fuck I did,” screamed the Bald Man. “She was my little puppy! I took care of her when she was ill. I tattooed every single spot on her skin myself and filed her teeth sharp. That good little girl she was. Only a sick fuck like you could come up with something so horrible.”
The whole table laughed, and some guards did too. Chains rattled aloud.
“What’s so funny about that?” asked the Bald Man in anger.
“You really ask that?” inquired the Music-Man, twirling his thick moustache. “This was all over the news. She’s now in some sort of asylum. Her parents committed suicide when they found out. The mum was on the news, said even the uncertainty was better than that.
Can you imagine? Most people say the fucking uncertainty is the worst, rather want to know if they girls and boys got raped and burned alive and so shit. But Mrs. kidnapped puppy, she says it was better. Funny fucking world it is.” He spat on the floor.
“Yes,” smiled the Bald Man “really nice.”
“Well honey,” purred the One-eyed Woman “you’re a sick fuck. Simple as that.”
“Who are you to judge me?” screamed the Bald Man pushing back his chair, drawing eyes from other tables and some from the other benchers. His irons hit the table, together with his fist.
“You don’t want to know,” said the One-Eyed Woman.
“I do,” said the Dutchman “I really want to.”
There was wailing coming from the other tables. A figure, a shadow in the darkness walking around. People got up at the other tables and pushed the shadow around.
He tumbled on until he came near us. It was a monk and he was pale and gaunt. His eyes looked mad.
“Vergessen, vergessen. Sie haben mich vergessen!“ he shouted.
The Bald Man and the Music-Man got up and pushed him away.
“Die Kinder, die lieben Kinder!“ he shouted as he tumbled off.
We all laughed and our chains rattled.
“Please,” said Mr. Creopopolus astute. “Go on my dear.”
“My story starts 35 years ago. I was born, you know, I think you don’t want to know this,” she said, glancing towards the Bald Man. “I believe you just want the juicy details.” She winked.
“Sounds about right.” said the Music-Man, smiling.
“I always loved to torture things,” she gazed at the Dutchman. “I loved to stroll around the countryside picking up hurt animals, taking them home. I always pretended to help them, make them feel better. ,Such a kind girl’ said my father when I did so for the first time. They thought I was their little angel.
I did this for years, hiding my true self. I got a husband, two kids, my little darlings.” She started to cry.
“Take your time, dear,” said Mr. Creopopolus as he handed her a tissue.
“Thanks,” she replied, drying her tears. “I hope they are okay. I hid myself so long, so long, I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror anymore.”
She teared up again while Mr. Creopopolus put his hand gently on her shoulder and petted her like a sad child.
“One day, one day and it was gone. We had done all we could, after college Harry, my husband, he was hired by a bank and I, I worked as a cashier.
So I could be there for the kids you know?” she said, waiting for the smiles all around to vanish. “You can laugh all you want, but having people shit all over you, it ain’t easy.
I was at the store and home, kids and customers, all crying about their needs and their wants and their wishes. Always bothering me and then, one day, I had dropped them off at school, there was this boy, not much older than my own, and he was all alone.
None of the other kids nearby he ran cause he knew he was late. I slowed down and asked him if he wanted me to pick him up and bring him there.
He was a bit hesitant, I bet he wouldn’t have gotten on the car with any of you, but he did with me. He got in the car, but I drove straight past school, yes Sir, straight past the school. ,What you doing?’ he said, in his annoying baby-voice. I drove him to my place, pulled him in after me.
He kicked and screamed but I was beyond caring.
I just had to do it. I slapped him hard on the face several times. ,Momma! Momma!’ he cried. I slapped and slapped and then I held him and got the tape and made a really nice mummy out of him, cut his clothes and then just rolled him in. He wiggled and shook around until I made a hole for his mouth to breath, put the pen through the tape with a pen, my husband always brought those damn fucking pens from the hotels, where he fucked his whores. And then, then it just happened.
I got out the iron, even did some clothes before it got the right temp, and then I pressed it on his little chubby belly.
God those were screams, was afraid some neighbors heard them, back as my sense kicked in I guess, through the tape I heard it shrill and sharp and I shout ,Shut it shut it shut it’ and press it all over his body like I would tickle one of my boys. The worst though was his little lips, burned them till they looked like white bubbles. Took me hours, all day believe me. Put his corpse in the freezer and two days later they showed up.
I took a knife, I really didn’t want to hurt any of them, they just doing their jobs you know? Took a knife to off myself in the bathtub really classy and all, but the bastards just shot me. Shot me right in the head! Yes Sir, right in the head.”
“Not through the eye, right?” asked the Music-Man.
“Why you asking?” she replied, “not that I would know. Woke up here, right onto the death row.”
“Are we sure of that, my dear?” asked Mr. Creopopolus, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
“I am not. Not at all,” said I.
“Shut up, bencher!” screamed one of the guards nearby, charging at me and hitting me with a big white club, his eyes in anger and the symbol, like a twisted cross on his head, in wrinkles.
“I haven’t done anything! You need to believe me!” I pleaded. He hit me again. The five on the table laughed and their irons rattled.
“Where else would we go?” asked the One-eyed Woman.
“What the hell would I know?” said the Dutchman.
“Need to kill the time,” insisted the Bald Man.
“What’s your story?” asked the One-eyed Woman, towards the Music-Man.
“Lady, you got kids. You don’t want to know,” he answered, twirling his thick moustache.
“Yes, I do.” I said.
“Goddamit! Shut it bencher!” screeched Mr. Creopopolus and threw a chess figure at me that hit my head. It hurt.
“No, you don’t. You just snapped one day. Don’t as bad as we others here,” said the Music-Man and gave me a bad glance. “We are the scum of the earth as far as I can tell, you just had a moment of thought we all had every single day of our lives.”
“Amen!” said the Dutchman.
“I didn’t. I knew what I did. All this darkness was just inside me in my stomach or wherever,” said the One-eyed Woman.
“Wherever your husband couldn’t fuck you, I bet.” The Bald Man grinned and laughed and all, but the One-eyed Woman laughed loud until the Twisted Cross Guard came and hit them all, with his club.
He stared and hit me too though I had done nothing. We all shook and our chains rattled.
“So, what did you do? Just want to know, you know?” said the Dutchman.
“Alrighty almighty,” said the Music-Man. “I was born in England in 84. Had two loving parents, may God hold them dear. Church though, church. Went there every Sunday.
Every single one. Mum and Dad didn’t even believe the shit they tell you there themselves. Every fucking Sunday the same wizard spells.”
“Jeez, calm down. Don’t want to hear all about your life. Just your story, you know? Your actual story, man.” said the Dutchman and scratched his red hair.
“Fair enough. They put me in that hospital when I was 14 or 15. Was there for the next couple years until I was, I guess 30? Doesn’t matter, just the story, right?
So, I was out, Dad and Mum both in the grave and my brother didn’t care shit about me. Just thought I would waltz in back in my happy family. Didn’t happen. Found him, he offered me money, but I didn’t want not shit money just my family, you know what I mean?”
All nodded, rattling with their chains.
“Larry, that prick, huh, I hit him right in the face, forced myself in his home, riddled it with my fists and teeth.
His wife is all screaming ,Don’t hurt us! Don’t hurt us!’ I force them in the corner cause I got a big damn knife and a big damn dick and tie them up nice as cake.
So Larry he goes on ,Don’t hurt them! Let us go!’ and I say ,Sure’ and the fun begins then. Grab my knife and his wife and in front of the whole family gathering I strip her naked like Sister Eve and have her on her knees. I scalp her really slowly, like slo-mo-tion and they all shout and go on ,No, No, Mummy, Mummy’ and she tries to get away but hell no I don’t let her not with me.
Carver her up good and nice, sweet as a cake and grab some wire I rip out from the TV – who the fuck has a TV anyways today?
From what I saw, none. It is none. I tie her hands and slow and nice I cut them off she screams and wails and shakes like a maniac, like an idiot. And they are all ,No oh no!’ and her scalp – still some part on the head – goes up and done and up and I tear it off like from a wound and she goes sleepy and just lies there. Go over here, fair and square, and slit her throat.
Got a bit, how should I say, got a bit more creative with the rest of them and carve them up, slice and dice. Boys got skinned, brother watches, boys got smothered, still watches.
They tried to put up a fight but I don’t like that so I cut the elders fingers off, one by one.
The idiots thought I would stop with one. Damn idiots. Just for fun I do the other to the brother, mine cries like a baby, never did the same for me though.
Cut off his nose then and pull out his teeth and he sleeps there just fucking sleeping. Police then tell me they bled to death you know, but I didn’t kill them, right?
Didn’t do it. They just slept through all of it. Make a fine nice rope in my cell and the fuckers revive me and sent me here with alls of you all.” he said, as we all stared and shivered in the cold wind.
“So why did you do it?” asked the One-eyed Woman.
“Why? I tell you why. Was a prick that fucking cunt, and his wife too. Children seemed nice enough though.”
“No,” she shook her head, “why did you record it all?”
“How you know?” he asked.
“They said that you did so on the TV.”
“Why not?” countered the Music-Man, and they all agreed, and the Music-Man twirled his thick moustache in pride.
“Huh,” I said, everyone fixing their eyes on me, like buzzards on a mouse. “You don’t think it’s funny we are all one big ass boat in the night?”
“Shut up bencher!” shouted the whole table, their chains rattling in unison.
“It’s not night.” said Mr. Creopopolus.
“What else you think it is?” asked the Bald Man, angrily.
“Not night?” asked the Music-Man, staring above.
“No stars.” Mr. Creopopolus insisted.
“What’s your story?” I asked towards him.
“Already told it too often,” he answered with a proud smile “and you wouldn’t like it.”
“Can’t be worse than these guys.” I countered. They all started to shout at me until the Twisted Cross Guard came and hit me.
“We got rights!” exclaimed the One-eyed Woman.
“You do?” mocked the Twisted Cross Guard.
“We can talk to the captain. You have to let us through,” said Mr. Creopopolus. “I heard it at the other table.”
“I’m innocent,” said I. “You have to believe me!”
“Jesus,” squirmed Twisted Cross Guard in anger. “Fine, let’s go.”
He untied me and led me towards the back of the boat.
The boat stretched endlessly into the night, or non-night, and Mr. Creopopolus shouted from behind that the captain’s name was Charlie.
“Don’t drop the soap!” mocked the Dutchman and all their teeth rattled.
We went on for what must have been like hours? Who builds such big ass boats?
Then, I saw him behind the steering-wheel, old and worn and wrinkled. He motioned for Twisted Cross Guard to bring me close.
“This will never stop will it?” the Captain asked, as we bumped into something in the black water, causing a roar from deep down.
“Are you Captain Charlie?” I asked.
“No,” he replied, “Charlie is the lovely fellow here,” he gestured towards Twisted Cross Guard. “I’m Captain Charry. And you go to land now.”
“No,” I pleaded to him, “this is all a big mistake. I didn’t do anything wrong. Please, you need to listen to…”
“I don’t need to do anything, boy!” he spat at me, as hands grabbed me from behind.
Twisted Cross Guard led me towards the plank that was laid out to the landside, several of us marching over it, hoping to feel their feet on land and to walk out of this nightmare.
It was no land though, just water high to our knees, other guards were waiting, their faces all full of hate and scars.
One called my name and I trotted towards him, my irons splashing through the black liquid surrounding us all.
It is so cold now, I don’t feel my thumbs. How long have I been here? Surely, there was some mistake, they couldn’t do that to us. I didn’t do anything wrong.
I was a good person with a good life. I was destined for more, for greatness.
My thoughts wander back to my last day in freedom, before dark water and dark light. I just had met Stignatz a few months ago, and had become his apprentice.
He was a great artist. We had found some common tastes and went hunting, when the old man fired his rifle, I remember it all so clearly, me lying on the ground, Stignatz running away, that coward.
As soon as I find my way out of here, I will visit him and his lovely Rose, that bitch.
I remember what happened before. Stignatz was a strong man but weary from work. He had built an obelisk.
His hands shook with every move, his limbs fell limp. Pulling concrete, fat and hard, all day long, now he felt weak. He bent down.
First got his trousers on. He was looking forward to dinner. Surely, the kids would sleep already and Rosie tired as ever. It was hard business but raw and honest and he liked it.
He could have done better but a pat on the back wouldn't hurt. He filled his used lungs with the air and savored the glory of the moment. One day, one day all would know him.
The great artist Stignatz they would say, he once lived there with his god-warrior apprentice. My installations were young and brute but there was plenty time to fix that, he assured me.
Just don't get cocky, he said as he noticed a mark on my part of the obelisk. Black and long it twisted on our craft. A moment's notice I was about to tear it off.
He was smart. Those blue uniforms in their fancy caps would need months to find our work without a clue. He went forward, every step a drag.
He cradled the strain of black hair like a hurt kitten, I told him to stop it and we marched on, silently in the light of the rising.
Hush-hush. He turned and tumbled away. Can't let Rosie wait. Somehow, we started to argue then and he punched me and my head hit on the wall.
My last thoughts were of the girl in the metal and stone and how she would scream. Our art was not to her taste.
It was to mine though.
They would never find the others. Soon I’m out here, soon. My nails must be bloody now, they hurt like shit. Soon. I am out. I will be out.
Dark water and cold and no light cannot hold me. There has to be an exit somewhere. Do these chains rust? Sure, they do! They must! Soon. What was that? Is there something in there? Some fish? I’m so hungry. Hello? Is there something? Someone? Anyone?
submitted by novel_antle to shortstories [link] [comments]

The short trip

It’s freezing and wet. I feel the cold stone under my fingers as I crouch around in the rocky darkness. Can’t find the exit.
I must have been here for hours. I haven’t done anything wrong, why doesn’t anyone help me?!
“Enjoy!” the man had said, and he was gone and so was his flashlight. Since then, I have tried to find the small gateway.
My battery is dying soon.
He led me in here so there needed to be an exit, right?
We had gone in, stretched out. I tried to explain it to him, tried to explain that I hadn’t done anything wrong. I had asked him many questions, though he didn’t care to answer most.
On and on we went inside the cliff-walls, dark and wet.
The water rose steady, first at the height of my knees, it reaches my chest now as I squat. The tunnel was long and narrow and after some time we had to crouch until our heads vanished under the liquid. I admit, I was afraid to drown until he pulled me up.
“Enjoy!” he had said, then he vanished. I am in a cave, it’s hard walls all around me.
It is so dark, I don’t see my own hands in front of my eyes. I don’t hear a thing but my own moves that make the water splash around me. Was there something? Fish? Did fish get in here? No. Still no exit.
The water is up at my nose when I try to sit and so I keep squatting in this dark wet hole.
No standing, no sitting, and lying down is even more out of the question. After a while I just leaned against the wall of the little cave.
Surely, there was something wrong. Surely, someone would come. Right? I drift off, to the conversation I had listened to for hours.
I was on a big boat.
It was big and there were several small lanterns scattered on its 1st deck. Tables everywhere, and guards and shackles.
The guards scared me. They wore grey uniforms and masks over their faces. Ski-masks and Halloween masks and masks of mutilated faces.
They just stood in silence at the railings. I had sat myself on a bench near a table that carried two chess boards when they put the irons on my wrists and neck. Four people sat around the table, until a fifth arrived, all of them in heavy irons, much as I.
“Just grab a chair boy,” said the Music-Man.
„What’s your story newbie?” asked the One-eyed Woman.
„What?”
„Your story!” said the Bald Man
„My story?”
„Yes!” hissed Mr. Creopopolus.
„Well, I guess my story isn’t that interesting,” said the young man with the red hair. “I am from Delft, you know? In the Netherlands. Boy we got so many beautiful cities to see, I always loved my country. Willem van Oranje was assassinated in my city, I think that’s what it is mostly known for, but I always thought my home a bit colorless, you know? Like the place deserved something bigger. More glamorous.”
They understood and nodded, and their chains rattled.
“Anyways,” the Dutchman kept going, “I was out on the streets at eighteen. My mother’s boyfriend and I didn’t get along, you know? He was a real asshole and so I was forced out. I slept a couple of days on the couch of my friend Rikke. Rikke was always so nice to me, such a kind soul. She had the most beautiful hair. Wait,” he said as he tried to reach his wallet in his jeans. “There we go! That’s her.”
The picture within showed a young woman in her late teens, hazel eyes and flaxen hair that were spread on her shoulders. She had a nice smile and good teeth.
“Rikke, she was a really good human being, you know? Honest to the bone but never mean of spiteful. Like some female Jesus.”
“I bet she was,” said the One-eyed Woman “A real treasure.”, she added sarcastically, for which she earned an angry stare from the Dutchman.
“Anyway,” he continued. “I was there on this big couch. Green leather, really uncozy I tell you. I couldn’t sleep though, too much rage in the head, you know? I thought of Rikke and how lovely she was. Really a sweet, sweet girl. I got up and went to her bedroom.
There she was, all tugged in within sheets and blankets. I lied down next to her and tried to touch her boobs. I touched and squeezed until she asked me to stop it goddamit I said.
You fucking tease I said, you know? She was really mad and ordered me to go back to the couch. Fucking couch as she ever would sleep there! Not proud of the next, or not about all of it. She screamed and I put my hand over her mouth.
Must have suffocated her, you know? She was just there so I took her again and again.”
“Lovely!” said Mr. Creopopolus, shaking up his hands, hitting himself in the face with his irons.
“You’re a real piece of sunshine, aren’t you?” asked the Bald Man, scratching his stubbled chin.
“I’m not proud,” lied the Dutchman. “But you know, taking a warm body, it has something good, can’t deny it. Rikke was only the first though. It felt so damn good to feel her, still warm, not rejecting me. I called my other friend Tamara.
Asked her: Hey can I couchsurf at your place? She was all in, the silly girl. I left Rikke and went to Tamara. Same play, nearly, though she put up a fight boy she did. You know? Scratched me good, here you see?” he asked as he pulled up his shirt.
The darkness surrounding us gave up space for the boat to bump against the rocky walls encroaching around it. I nearly fell from my bench when it shook us. There was a loud growl somewhere off. The water seemed wild.
“And then?” asked the Music-Man, twirling his thick moustache.
“Then? Well I did the same. I took her head though cause she had sad eyes. Didn’t want to leave her there.
I put it in one of her shopping-bags and went outside. It poured like hell and I called my friend Mira.”
“Got a lot of female friends?” asked the Bald Man.
“Yeah. I asked her the same and when I arrived, I showed her the head. The bitch started screaming like a fucked goat, so I hit her over the head. I tied her up really good.
When she came back, I had lain out all the knives in her kitchen and let her choose. She declined every single one of them! So, I took the one I liked the most and started carving. Nothing too complicated, really.
Took her breasts and her honeypot and put them in the bag with Tamara’s head. I used her mouth couple of times and went outside.
Can’t remember when she became an angel though. Someone must have called them, cause police was all around. I didn’t give up though charged right at them but you know, don’t bring a knife to a gunfight I guess.”
The table chuckled and their chains rattled.
“Then,” he continued “I woke up here at the table. They must have stitched me up really good.”
“They do,” said the One-eyed Woman, raising her eyebrows in certain uncertainty.
“So, no trial for us, hm?” asked the Music-Man.
“Nope.”
“Sounds not right,” I said. “Isn’t that illegal?”
“Shut up, bencher!” said the Bald Man.
“I haven’t done anything!” I insisted, as the Bald Man called for a guard which hit me over the head.
“What’s your story?” asked the Dutchman.
“Mine?” replied the Bald Man. “Well,” he said, “mine is better than yours, in its own way, I guess.”
“Here comes the showman,” said the Music-Man. “Now, please let us in to the devious devouring of your urging mind.”
“Sure,” started the Bald Man. “My name is Henry Ringler and I was born in 1961 in Güthestaadt, Belgium. I was a teacher once but when my uncle Reinhard died, I was able to settle.
You know, uncle Reini, as we called him, was stockbroker and filthy rich. I was his sole beneficiary, so I bought a huge plot of land in the countryside. I liked it quiet. A man needs privacy. At first, I would often visit the city though, visit and enjoy myself with some ladies if you know what I mean.”
The Music-Man and the Dutchman laughed, as Mr. Creopopolus chuckled to himself and the One-Eyed Woman frowned. Their chains rattled.
“Soon that wasn’t enough. My parents hated animals, even talked me out of becoming a vet, can you imagine? I bought a bunch of dogs, didn’t want to be alone outside there in the countryside, “ he said, as a big wave hit the side of our boat and threw over the unused figures on the chessboards.
“I bought the dogs and took care. I was happy for some time. Then I felt lonely again. You don’t believe how easy it us to get your hands on one you know? How they totally submit but never resist. I got fascinated with all kinds of shit, Kaspar Hauser and that crap.
Somehow, I wanted a human next to me, but it shouldn’t act like a human. I knew this needed planning, so I built a big dog kennel and bought some nice puppies, and then I went hunting.” The Bald Man grinned like a badger.
“Hunting what?” asked Mr. Creopopolus, leaning himself on the table with a bored expression on his face.
“Longpig of course,” he chuckled. “Mostly, they were poor as dirt. Lived outside in some run-down farmhouse. I went in around 3:00 a.m. and doused them in chloroform.
Then, I just grabbed the baby from its crib and went back home. Wasn’t easy to take care of a baby at first. But I always told myself ,Just a couple of years Heinrich, just a couple of years’ so when she was 4 I let her out to the others.
My parents were happy that I was some bigass surgeon, back then when we still talked and they could show off with me.
So now, finally, my skill was usable. I cut her sinews, cut her fingers near the palms and made her a nice little puppy.” The Bald Man chuckled.
“That’s disgusting!” said the One-eyed woman.
“Fuck you woman! Come over here and I show you!” the Bald Man shouted, as he jumped from his chair.
“Calm down everyone!” said Mr. Creopopolus, jumping from his place and stretching his hands towards both sides, as far as his cuffs allowed.
After the mood had calmed in the sounds of the water splashing against the sides of the boat, the Bald Man continued.
“You see, it was not easy. I knew it was wrong, but it was all I wanted. Over time I made her, better. Filed her teeth, lots of tattoos to make her a really good little dalmatian.”
“What was her name?” asked the Dutchman.
“Puppy. She was my little precious puppy, that what she was. Needed no other name.”
“Bet you fucked her good!” laughed the Music-Man.
“The fuck I did,” screamed the Bald Man. “She was my little puppy! I took care of her when she was ill. I tattooed every single spot on her skin myself and filed her teeth sharp. That good little girl she was. Only a sick fuck like you could come up with something so horrible.”
The whole table laughed, and some guards did too. Chains rattled aloud.
“What’s so funny about that?” asked the Bald Man in anger.
“You really ask that?” inquired the Music-Man, twirling his thick moustache. “This was all over the news. She’s now in some sort of asylum. Her parents committed suicide when they found out. The mum was on the news, said even the uncertainty was better than that.
Can you imagine? Most people say the fucking uncertainty is the worst, rather want to know if they girls and boys got raped and burned alive and so shit. But Mrs. kidnapped puppy, she says it was better. Funny fucking world it is.” He spat on the floor.
“Yes,” smiled the Bald Man “really nice.”
“Well honey,” purred the One-eyed Woman “you’re a sick fuck. Simple as that.”
“Who are you to judge me?” screamed the Bald Man pushing back his chair, drawing eyes from other tables and some from the other benchers. His irons hit the table, together with his fist.
“You don’t want to know,” said the One-Eyed Woman.
“I do,” said the Dutchman “I really want to.”
There was wailing coming from the other tables. A figure, a shadow in the darkness walking around. People got up at the other tables and pushed the shadow around.
He tumbled on until he came near us. It was a monk and he was pale and gaunt. His eyes looked mad.
“Vergessen, vergessen. Sie haben mich vergessen!“ he shouted.
The Bald Man and the Music-Man got up and pushed him away.
“Die Kinder, die lieben Kinder!“ he shouted as he tumbled off.
We all laughed and our chains rattled.
“Please,” said Mr. Creopopolus astute. “Go on my dear.”
“My story starts 35 years ago. I was born, you know, I think you don’t want to know this,” she said, glancing towards the Bald Man. “I believe you just want the juicy details.” She winked.
“Sounds about right.” said the Music-Man, smiling.
“I always loved to torture things,” she gazed at the Dutchman. “I loved to stroll around the countryside picking up hurt animals, taking them home. I always pretended to help them, make them feel better. ,Such a kind girl’ said my father when I did so for the first time. They thought I was their little angel.
I did this for years, hiding my true self. I got a husband, two kids, my little darlings.” She started to cry.
“Take your time, dear,” said Mr. Creopopolus as he handed her a tissue.
“Thanks,” she replied, drying her tears. “I hope they are okay. I hid myself so long, so long, I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror anymore.”
She teared up again while Mr. Creopopolus put his hand gently on her shoulder and petted her like a sad child.
“One day, one day and it was gone. We had done all we could, after college Harry, my husband, he was hired by a bank and I, I worked as a cashier.
So I could be there for the kids you know?” she said, waiting for the smiles all around to vanish. “You can laugh all you want, but having people shit all over you, it ain’t easy.
I was at the store and home, kids and customers, all crying about their needs and their wants and their wishes. Always bothering me and then, one day, I had dropped them off at school, there was this boy, not much older than my own, and he was all alone.
None of the other kids nearby he ran cause he knew he was late. I slowed down and asked him if he wanted me to pick him up and bring him there.
He was a bit hesitant, I bet he wouldn’t have gotten on the car with any of you, but he did with me. He got in the car, but I drove straight past school, yes Sir, straight past the school. ,What you doing?’ he said, in his annoying baby-voice. I drove him to my place, pulled him in after me.
He kicked and screamed but I was beyond caring.
I just had to do it. I slapped him hard on the face several times. ,Momma! Momma!’ he cried. I slapped and slapped and then I held him and got the tape and made a really nice mummy out of him, cut his clothes and then just rolled him in. He wiggled and shook around until I made a hole for his mouth to breath, put the pen through the tape with a pen, my husband always brought those damn fucking pens from the hotels, where he fucked his whores. And then, then it just happened.
I got out the iron, even did some clothes before it got the right temp, and then I pressed it on his little chubby belly.
God those were screams, was afraid some neighbors heard them, back as my sense kicked in I guess, through the tape I heard it shrill and sharp and I shout ,Shut it shut it shut it’ and press it all over his body like I would tickle one of my boys. The worst though was his little lips, burned them till they looked like white bubbles. Took me hours, all day believe me. Put his corpse in the freezer and two days later they showed up.
I took a knife, I really didn’t want to hurt any of them, they just doing their jobs you know? Took a knife to off myself in the bathtub really classy and all, but the bastards just shot me. Shot me right in the head! Yes Sir, right in the head.”
“Not through the eye, right?” asked the Music-Man.
“Why you asking?” she replied, “not that I would know. Woke up here, right onto the death row.”
“Are we sure of that, my dear?” asked Mr. Creopopolus, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
“I am not. Not at all,” said I.
“Shut up, bencher!” screamed one of the guards nearby, charging at me and hitting me with a big white club, his eyes in anger and the symbol, like a twisted cross on his head, in wrinkles.
“I haven’t done anything! You need to believe me!” I pleaded. He hit me again. The five on the table laughed and their irons rattled.
“Where else would we go?” asked the One-eyed Woman.
“What the hell would I know?” said the Dutchman.
“Need to kill the time,” insisted the Bald Man.
“What’s your story?” asked the One-eyed Woman, towards the Music-Man.
“Lady, you got kids. You don’t want to know,” he answered, twirling his thick moustache.
“Yes, I do.” I said.
“Goddamit! Shut it bencher!” screeched Mr. Creopopolus and threw a chess figure at me that hit my head. It hurt.
“No, you don’t. You just snapped one day. Don’t as bad as we others here,” said the Music-Man and gave me a bad glance. “We are the scum of the earth as far as I can tell, you just had a moment of thought we all had every single day of our lives.”
“Amen!” said the Dutchman.
“I didn’t. I knew what I did. All this darkness was just inside me in my stomach or wherever,” said the One-eyed Woman.
“Wherever your husband couldn’t fuck you, I bet.” The Bald Man grinned and laughed and all, but the One-eyed Woman laughed loud until the Twisted Cross Guard came and hit them all, with his club.
He stared and hit me too though I had done nothing. We all shook and our chains rattled.
“So, what did you do? Just want to know, you know?” said the Dutchman.
“Alrighty almighty,” said the Music-Man. “I was born in England in 84. Had two loving parents, may God hold them dear. Church though, church. Went there every Sunday.
Every single one. Mum and Dad didn’t even believe the shit they tell you there themselves. Every fucking Sunday the same wizard spells.”
“Jeez, calm down. Don’t want to hear all about your life. Just your story, you know? Your actual story, man.” said the Dutchman and scratched his red hair.
“Fair enough. They put me in that hospital when I was 14 or 15. Was there for the next couple years until I was, I guess 30? Doesn’t matter, just the story, right?
So, I was out, Dad and Mum both in the grave and my brother didn’t care shit about me. Just thought I would waltz in back in my happy family. Didn’t happen. Found him, he offered me money, but I didn’t want not shit money just my family, you know what I mean?”
All nodded, rattling with their chains.
“Larry, that prick, huh, I hit him right in the face, forced myself in his home, riddled it with my fists and teeth.
His wife is all screaming ,Don’t hurt us! Don’t hurt us!’ I force them in the corner cause I got a big damn knife and a big damn dick and tie them up nice as cake.
So Larry he goes on ,Don’t hurt them! Let us go!’ and I say ,Sure’ and the fun begins then. Grab my knife and his wife and in front of the whole family gathering I strip her naked like Sister Eve and have her on her knees. I scalp her really slowly, like slo-mo-tion and they all shout and go on ,No, No, Mummy, Mummy’ and she tries to get away but hell no I don’t let her not with me.
Carver her up good and nice, sweet as a cake and grab some wire I rip out from the TV – who the fuck has a TV anyways today?
From what I saw, none. It is none. I tie her hands and slow and nice I cut them off she screams and wails and shakes like a maniac, like an idiot. And they are all ,No oh no!’ and her scalp – still some part on the head – goes up and done and up and I tear it off like from a wound and she goes sleepy and just lies there. Go over here, fair and square, and slit her throat.
Got a bit, how should I say, got a bit more creative with the rest of them and carve them up, slice and dice. Boys got skinned, brother watches, boys got smothered, still watches.
They tried to put up a fight but I don’t like that so I cut the elders fingers off, one by one.
The idiots thought I would stop with one. Damn idiots. Just for fun I do the other to the brother, mine cries like a baby, never did the same for me though.
Cut off his nose then and pull out his teeth and he sleeps there just fucking sleeping. Police then tell me they bled to death you know, but I didn’t kill them, right?
Didn’t do it. They just slept through all of it. Make a fine nice rope in my cell and the fuckers revive me and sent me here with alls of you all.” he said, as we all stared and shivered in the cold wind.
“So why did you do it?” asked the One-eyed Woman.
“Why? I tell you why. Was a prick that fucking cunt, and his wife too. Children seemed nice enough though.”
“No,” she shook her head, “why did you record it all?”
“How you know?” he asked.
“They said that you did so on the TV.”
“Why not?” countered the Music-Man, and they all agreed, and the Music-Man twirled his thick moustache in pride.
“Huh,” I said, everyone fixing their eyes on me, like buzzards on a mouse. “You don’t think it’s funny we are all one big ass boat in the night?”
“Shut up bencher!” shouted the whole table, their chains rattling in unison.
“It’s not night.” said Mr. Creopopolus.
“What else you think it is?” asked the Bald Man, angrily.
“Not night?” asked the Music-Man, staring above.
“No stars.” Mr. Creopopolus insisted.
“What’s your story?” I asked towards him.
“Already told it too often,” he answered with a proud smile “and you wouldn’t like it.”
“Can’t be worse than these guys.” I countered. They all started to shout at me until the Twisted Cross Guard came and hit me.
“We got rights!” exclaimed the One-eyed Woman.
“You do?” mocked the Twisted Cross Guard.
“We can talk to the captain. You have to let us through,” said Mr. Creopopolus. “I heard it at the other table.”
“I’m innocent,” said I. “You have to believe me!”
“Jesus,” squirmed Twisted Cross Guard in anger. “Fine, let’s go.”
He untied me and led me towards the back of the boat.
The boat stretched endlessly into the night, or non-night, and Mr. Creopopolus shouted from behind that the captain’s name was Charlie.
“Don’t drop the soap!” mocked the Dutchman and all their teeth rattled.
We went on for what must have been like hours? Who builds such big ass boats?
Then, I saw him behind the steering-wheel, old and worn and wrinkled. He motioned for Twisted Cross Guard to bring me close.
“This will never stop will it?” the Captain asked, as we bumped into something in the black water, causing a roar from deep down.
“Are you Captain Charlie?” I asked.
“No,” he replied, “Charlie is the lovely fellow here,” he gestured towards Twisted Cross Guard. “I’m Captain Charry. And you go to land now.”
“No,” I pleaded to him, “this is all a big mistake. I didn’t do anything wrong. Please, you need to listen to…”
“I don’t need to do anything, boy!” he spat at me, as hands grabbed me from behind.
Twisted Cross Guard led me towards the plank that was laid out to the landside, several of us marching over it, hoping to feel their feet on land and to walk out of this nightmare.
It was no land though, just water high to our knees, other guards were waiting, their faces all full of hate and scars.
One called my name and I trotted towards him, my irons splashing through the black liquid surrounding us all.
It is so cold now, I don’t feel my thumbs. How long have I been here? Surely, there was some mistake, they couldn’t do that to us. I didn’t do anything wrong.
I was a good person with a good life. I was destined for more, for greatness.
My thoughts wander back to my last day in freedom, before dark water and dark light. I just had met Stignatz a few months ago, and had become his apprentice.
He was a great artist. We had found some common tastes and went hunting, when the old man fired his rifle, I remember it all so clearly, me lying on the ground, Stignatz running away, that coward.
As soon as I find my way out of here, I will visit him and his lovely Rose, that bitch.
I remember what happened before. Stignatz was a strong man but weary from work. He had built an obelisk.
His hands shook with every move, his limbs fell limp. Pulling concrete, fat and hard, all day long, now he felt weak. He bent down.
First got his trousers on. He was looking forward to dinner. Surely, the kids would sleep already and Rosie tired as ever. It was hard business but raw and honest and he liked it.
He could have done better but a pat on the back wouldn't hurt. He filled his used lungs with the air and savored the glory of the moment. One day, one day all would know him.
The great artist Stignatz they would say, he once lived there with his god-warrior apprentice. My installations were young and brute but there was plenty time to fix that, he assured me.
Just don't get cocky, he said as he noticed a mark on my part of the obelisk. Black and long it twisted on our craft. A moment's notice I was about to tear it off.
He was smart. Those blue uniforms in their fancy caps would need months to find our work without a clue. He went forward, every step a drag.
He cradled the strain of black hair like a hurt kitten, I told him to stop it and we marched on, silently in the light of the rising.
Hush-hush. He turned and tumbled away. Can't let Rosie wait. Somehow, we started to argue then and he punched me and my head hit on the wall.
My last thoughts were of the girl in the metal and stone and how she would scream. Our art was not to her taste.
It was to mine though.
They would never find the others. Soon I’m out here, soon. My nails must be bloody now, they hurt like shit. Soon. I am out. I will be out.
Dark water and cold and no light cannot hold me. There has to be an exit somewhere. Do these chains rust? Sure, they do! They must! Soon. What was that? Is there something in there? Some fish? I’m so hungry. Hello? Is there something? Someone? Anyone?
submitted by novel_antle to scarystories [link] [comments]

Writing a Book on a Dare but I Still Want It To Be Good

Have to write a slow burning zombie apocalypse book staring a homeless man on a dare from a friend and I'm desperate for criticism that doesn't come from my OCD mind goblins. This is what I have so far, so hit me with your best shot.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I stop mid chew, eyes looking down at the burger in my gloved hand.
The fuckstick got extra onions. Not even the sweet cooked ones, just raw sulfur rings that explode on your tongue and overtake the flavor of everything else. One quick swig from my canteen barely drowns the spice and I retch.
“Damn it.”
Can’t complain too much, I guess. I mean, there’s that saying everyone spits ad nauseum: one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. Would love to rub the next person who says that’s nose in the piles of shit I leave in corporate dumpsters. Only thing they’d treasure from that point on is good hygiene.
One pop of the gluten lid later and I pick off those damn tastebud burners, enjoying the taste of mediocre beef, wilted lettuce and microwave bacon. Reminded me a lot of home. If home had been reheated and put in a trashcan for half a day. Before I know it, I’m down to the last bite, finishing off what will be the hardiest meal I have for probably a month or so.
Or maybe the rest of my life, depending on what bacteria was in the trash or dancing in the previous owner’s mouth.
Shakily, I get to my feet, using my one good arm to hoist myself up. It’s not until I’m on my feet and my eyes are wondering the streets outside the alley that I notice something odd. Arlemount was nothing compared to Louisville in terms of night life, but there were usually some alcohol sipping Joes and Janes coming and going from the nearby Spiced Peach. God knows I’d love the signature Peach Around special, stuff’ll take you to Heaven quicker than a bullet to the head.
But tonight, the sidewalks are gathering dust and the street lamps are having their light reflected by crumpled aluminum wrappers, bottle caps and ambiguously legal needles. I can’t say it bothers me, I’d rather hobble the cold streets in silence than deal with the stares and occasional heckles of passerby’s like I’m a stain on the windshield of their existence.
I make a right and head into the alley behind the Spiced Peach, taking my usual route back to what is colloquially known as “The Rat’s Nest” by the townsfolk, where the undesirables gather to fester in a sea of drugs, used condoms and clipped pubic hairs. At least, that is what the stories that drip from the mouths of middle class teenagers tell when they dare one of their stupid friends to go inside and “take a selfie with the one armed bearded ogre.”
Dumbasses.
It’s actually an abandoned auto warehouse that was deserted after World War II. The reason the place hasn’t been demolished and turned into a shopping mall or sex shop is a popular conspiracy involving ghost and Native American gravesites. But in reality, it’s just because nobody wants the land and the bigwigs don’t want to fork out the dosh to clear the property if no one is footing the bill.
But honestly, a ghost would help scare off the druggies and moronic brats that come around if it existed.
As I pass the George St. sign, I finally catch sight of my ivy covered paradise. The twin smokestacks look like blunted spines sticking out of the corpse of a once great beast, its carcass long picked clean. It would have rested in peace, but it’s a damn fine looking corpse for unlucky joes and janes who got screwed by fat cats, desperate druggies looking for a place to squat while they shoot up, or for people who were shot out of the sky while they were flying high.
I look down at the scars on my left hand and scowl, groaning as I open the gate.
The occasional distant roar of cars is all that fill the night air as I walk across the big ass parking lot. There are technically three entrances to the place, one door at the front and back and the twin steel doors sitting next to the front that they used to usher out Willy MBs by the dozen. I’ve seen a few dumbasses try to pry the things open, but not even the most roided out PCP addict has been able to budge em. Was hilarious to see him try though.
When I enter, I see the famous bearded ogre staring back at me with a bottle of spiced cider in his only hand.
“Hey, Marcus.”
“Hey, Rivet.” I plod over and take my seat on the cardboard he had lined out next to one of the old conveyor belts “So who we got here today?”
He snorts “Two druggies came in doped up on heroin about an hour ago and went upstairs to the office. Don’t know if they’re passed out or dead.” The bearded ogre shakes his head, looking at me “What’d you get today?”
“Half a burger and three bucks in change.” I sigh “How about you?”
He holds up the bottle “Got this from the new girl working the kitchen in the SP and a free breakfast. No cash though.”
I scoff “Did you tell her you fought in Vietnam?”
“Nope. Iraq.”
“Piece of shit.”
We both laugh and I lean back to rest my head on the rusted wall behind me.
“Is it just me, or has it been quiet around lately?” I ask. Rivet looked to the upstairs office; one of its two windows partially broken and gave me a queer look making me roll my eyes “Outside, I mean.”
“Guess so.” He began “Might have to do with that killer or something on the loose.”
I raise my brow and cross my arms “No shit?”
“No shit. Heard most of it from Bradley, something about hospitals having an influx of people with their necks, arms and sometimes legs ripped open.”
I snort “Bradley, huh?”
“Not the best source I know.” Rivet laughed, his alcohol kissed throat straining to carry the sound “But it’s the best explanation I got.”
My eyes moved to the upstairs office, its perch giving whoever peered out of the stained windows a nice view of any peasants who sat below. Silently, I pray that I don’t have to drag any overdosed corpses down the stairs tonight.
“Want to play craps to take your mind off it?” I ask, producing a pair of six sided dice from my coat “If I win, you owe me the rest of that booze.”
“And if I win, you owe me that pack of cigarettes you have hidden around here.”
My eyes widen and I scratch my neck, chuckling “Nothing gets past you, eh old man?”
“Ears may be fucked but my nose works perfect.”
With a smirk, I roll. My starting number is six with Rivet getting a five. Each roll feels like someone is punching my diaphragm, my prayers to whatever god of luck exist going unheard as I roll a seven on the fourth throw.
“Fucking rigged pieces of shit.” I chuck my dice toward the rusted legs of the conveyor belt in the center of the room, Rivet laughing all the while.
“Cough em up boy.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I grumble, getting to my feet and making my way toward the stairs that led to the upstairs office “Bet you spit in that bottle anyway.”
The bearded ogre’s beard split to reveal a smirk, swishing the liquid inside the half empty bottle. I merely roll my eyes.
Steps light as I ascend the rusted staircase, despite my frustration, I keep my ears open. There are a lot of things you never forget the sound of when you’re around druggies enough. With heroin addicts, you usually hear what I like to call the “P to S combo”, which is usually a moan followed by vomiting if they’re still injecting or smoking those sweet chemicals. Depending on how used to it they are, after that will be some hardcore sex followed by mumbles and rapid scratching. But as I neared the door, I didn’t hear anything but the sound of my own breathing and footsteps.
Either they were passed out or I would have some work to do in the next few minutes.
I grab the chapped knob and give it a twist, backing up as I pull the door open. The first thing that hits my nose isn’t vomit nor sex, but the ever-present scent of mildew and aged metal I have come to know and accept. With the only light source for the whole building being the dim moonlight shooting through the holey ceiling and windows, darkness enveloped damn near everything in the room except for half a metal desk that lay overturned on the floor.
I pull out my lighter, roll the spark wheel, and ignite the fuel to produce a wimpy light source that barely illuminated anything that wasn’t within kissing distance. This isn’t a problem for me though, since I know exactly where I’m going. I just hope no bodies are blocking my hiding spot, limp or otherwise.
With a simple turn to the left, I spot one of the five filing cabinets that used to sit in a row against the wall with the one closest to the door acting as my cigarette hider. Now, I don’t know what kind of bullshit the big cheese in charge of this place was into, but if you need a secret compartment in the drawer labeled K-M then you were probably straying a bit from the light of the holy father.
My hand reaches for the drawer and I look to my right to see if I can maybe make out the shape of two lumps of flesh passed out on top of one another, but I only see the outlines of the other filing cabinets and jack shit anywhere else. My ears perk up, listening for snores, faint breathing or at least the psychotic whispers of a crashing addict.
Again, nothing.
Shaking my head, I pull out the drawer. Whatever silence existed in this room left with bells on its toes as the metallic cry of long rusted wheels grinded against their holds as the drawer was pulled out. Usually this sound is merely annoying but in the pitch dark with two potentially unstable low lives who may or may not be dead, it feels like I’m kicking an open pitbull cage with a sausage necklace.
submitted by TheBaronofCake to writingadvice [link] [comments]

Violent messages posted on Reddit between 2020-05-16 08:47:25 and 2020-05-23 08:47:25

First of all, some interesting usernames: 14EinsatzKommando88, autechre1488, 13502401488, banned_user-14488, hayden1488, Genocide_for_all, mr_the_europe, munter_ontherope, LegalizeRape1488, GenocideSlayer, LiveFreeOrDie1488, WorldwideGenocide, 1488Goose, TheEuropeanVirgin, AngryAryan14-88
User techtesh in KotakuInAction: We_will_kill
Peta before lincoln
We will kill the blacks so they wont have to be slaves
User Giovannilevel in Shortcells: gas_the
Notice noone gives a shit about racism toward short people. Indians, Hispanics, Orientals, hell Stacies are openly saying gas the Jews but hey that's fine, Jews are ugly anyway. How dare they subjugate our tall white people economy when they get treated like shit at every juncture
Jews figured out the game was ogre from the start. That's why they're God's chosen people
User Blzng_Phoenix in DarkHumorAndMemes: kill_yourself
If ur really a woman then don't kill yourself
User idk81794 in DarkHumorAndMemes: kill_yourself
Where did you get that statistic from that's not true a large percentage of us try to and that's heart breaking but not half. Also I don't care how much you hate someone, never tell somebody to kill themself that's so harmful people have followed through with that after someone tells them go kill yourself.
User TheSoyimKnow3312 in conspiracy: should_be_executed
Everyone of them should be executed
User uncerta1n in The_Cabal: kill_yourself
TIL that kill yourself has an acronym. sad.
User smakinelmo in DarkHumorAndMemes: Hitler_did_nothing_wrong
My brother has this theory that Hitler did nothing wrong and was a good guy strictly because of this theory lmao
User caffeine_g0d in DeuxRAMA: kill_yourself
nice title retard kill yourself
User Gamer2020_1 in Shortcells: Kys
Kys
User Pozzy_Pozbourne in topnotchshitposting: kill_yourself
well shit i was hoping you were depressed so i could get you to kill yourself on tiktok or something
User Doomnahct in weekendgunnit: Gas_the
Gas the normies, MEME WAR NOW!
User Non-PC-Guy in conspiracy: should_be_executed
This man should be executed.
User Fun_Basis in TumblrInAction: should_be_killed
Muslims, whose texts hold that Jews are corrupted tools of Satan who should be killed:
User HashtagHydra in TheRedPill: kill_yourself kill_yourself
Pathetic. Just kill yourself and do everyone a favor.
The only thing you should fear is God. The gym is a supplement for your lack of hard work. If the hardest thing in your life is stopping masturbating you're a loser of such epic proportions you should actually kill yourself as you have zero value.
User mtndewkckstart in ShitPoliticsSays: should_die
So basically, if you don't do what I say, you should die.
User desperateanduseless in Trufemcels: kill_yourself
Sorry you had to deal with that bullst, OP. Why should the victim apologise to the bully? Why is it wrong to defend yourself? I think the teachers would rather leave the quiet kids to be harassed, because it's too much effort to help. If the quiet kids stand up for themselves, it's the straw that breaks the camels back. Now there are too many disruptions to maintain control of the classroom. So the teachers try to get the quiet kid to just roll over and take the bullying, because it's easier to get one naturally quiet child to shut up than get a whole pack of feral little bastards to behave like civilized humans.
That whole "You're both to blame even though you were only defending yourself, apologise first, be the bigger person!!!" thing happened to me once. The teachers thought I was the bad guy because I wouldn't forgive the kids who made me suicidal. If Becky tells you to kill yourself, you must forgive her, or YOUR'E the asshole.
User meezala in eyeblech: deserve_to_be_gassed
Just as the Jewish and disabled and “unfit” prisoners didn't deserve to be gassed and burned. But guess what happened
User EricThePooh in conspiracy: should_die missing
They were quarantined for saying slave owners should die, and that John Brown (famous for killing slave owners) did nothing wrong. Sounds pretty cool to me.
Also, definitely not racist. In fact, one of the most aggressively anti-racist subs out there.
User NewAgeWiccan in DebateAltRight: we_should_kill
Leftist here, I have a feeling convincing him that the white race should be preserved is not the issue. You need to convince there are ways to preserve the white race without infringing on other people rights. For example don't say we should kill or deport other races or make a country that is only white. Just say its important for some white people to make the personal choice to be with other white people.
User ToQuoteGuyFieri in DeuxRAMA: GAS_THE
Also the best way to strengthen someone's convictions is to scold them for it. Especially if it's coming from a parent.
Kid: I'm uncomfortable with the influence that Israel has over the foreign policy establishment of the US but I can sincerely state that I have no prejudices.
SJW Dad: yikes lets unpack this. Be better. It's not my job to educate you. Bash the fash. Orange man bad.
Kid: GAS THE KIKES
User Worfrat1 in conspiracy: kill_yourself missing
You're a very angry person, and a crybaby at that. Seek help, or kill yourself. The world would be a better place.
User tacoman3725 in DarkHumorAndMemes: should_die missing
Haha people who support other economic systems should die this is a totally normal belife that totally wasn't pushed on me by the people who profit the most off the current system.
User irasponsibly in DarkHumorAndMemes: should_die
the meme? yeah, it's cool
the people in the comments saying I should die? bit harder to believe mate
User peterreddit in ConsumeProduct: we_will_kill
Anyone thinking tool using apes with language would be just another species was kidding themselves. Anthropocene was bound to push this planet to the limit and industrial revolution was an inevitable part of this. This train left the station millions of years ago. Either we will kill ourselves, or we will venture into stars. We can no more collectively forget energy extraction then can I erase language from my mind or turn off consciousness.
User akihonj in antifeminists: should_be_killed
I think you can if she's ever claimed the feminist label and doesn't get called out for shitty thinking by others. It might be a damning indication of course but many, in fact too many feminists run around claiming to have all the answers, usually everything gets solved with tea and hugs and agreement that men are evil and should be killed, but reject the idea that they should police their own house first.
Pot meet kettle, then.
User xXx_Bacalhau_xXx in Wojak: kill_yourself
I was once like that and I no longer am, sport being one of the things that helped me. If you're depressed get therapy or go to church if you have no one to support you. I've had depressed people in my family in it because of lack of socialization, I know it's bad but it's overcomeable.
If you're really gonna be a faggot and kill yourself at least blow yourself up in Syria and Livestream it
User TheDeen420 in DarkHumorAndMemes: should_die
The ones that waste doctors' time with asking for hormone therapy/the ones that commit crimes/the ones that are huge toxic cysts in our society, yes, those ones should die aka the majority lol
but the trans people who don't bother anyone about their transgenderness, they're fine.
User okok12234 in eyeblech: gas_the
What's the limit of punching nazis before I try to gas the jews? :/
User alochle in eyeblech: we_should_nuke
Damn, we should nuke that whole ducking area...
User Apham1214 in ConsumeProduct: should_die
Yes the people who claim the human race sucks and should die entirely yet benefit off of it everyday to survive
User JustRuss79 in conspiracy: must_be_destroyed
Small Business is anti-Union
Small Business is anti-Minimum Wage
Small Business provides the lions share of jobs
Jobs are the enemy of Wealth Redistribution
Jobs are the enemy of Welfare State
Unemployed People look to Government for answers, Employed people look after themselves.
People with Jobs are too independent, independence must be destroyed for the State to become the new God.
User f3m1n15m15c4nc3r in MGTOW: should_be_executed
Cunts who do this should be executed.
User senderoluminoso in trump: off_yourself
FYI...docs don't see suicides. If you off yourself it's medic's that see you and pronounce you ded. Fake news.
User Unlikelyhero29 in DarkHumorAndMemes: should_die
I've given up. You win. I will go and put others down for them wanting to express themselves even though it's fucking 2020 and this shouldn't be a problem. I will go around to people on the internet and explain to them why they should die, and start calling them faggots. Wanna be friends? We can make a group chat!!! We can be the KKK but for discriminating against the LGBT community!!! We can cry ourselfs to sleep at night and wish we had open minds, and hope that the rest of the world accepts us as homophobes!!!!! Yay!!!
User Kingsofeast in conspiracy: should_be_killed
Life = AI
15 And he had power to give life unto the image of the beast, that the image of the beast should both speak, and cause that as many as would not worship the image of the beast should be killed.
16 And he causeth all, both small and great, rich and poor, free and bond, to receive a mark in their right hand, or in their foreheads:
17 And that no man might buy or sell, save he that had the mark, or the name of the beast, or the number of his name.
18 Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six.
User MedusaKali in eyeblech: kill_yourself
Imagine trying to kill yourself this way but it takes you like 4 hours to actually die
User BlackChickenxx in DarkHumorAndMemes: off_yourself
Dude just off yourself already. Jesus fuckin Christ.
User RoastMe4Ever in DarkHumorAndMemes: kill_yourselves
This is so facts. Anything other than male and female does not exist. All you mentally disabled brain dead pan sexual trans binary faggot fucks can kill yourselves.
User ATitCalledQuest99 in HateCrimeHoaxes: SHOULD_be_murdered
TIL that if you're not a saint you can be justifiably murdered. Or even better yet, SHOULD be murdered.
Hey idiot, there's a video showing exactly what happened at the shooting. And guess what! They've all been charged with murder! Also- law enforcement weren't the ones killing an innocent man so his criminal past (or lack of) is entirely invalid and doesn't give you the right to play cop just because it makes your micro dick hard.
User ATitCalledQuest99 in HateCrimeHoaxes: deserve_to_be_killed
Huh, didn't know that when 3 people are hunting me down and pointing firearms at me I'm supposed to submit like a bitch and take it. Especially when I'm literally just jogging and minding my own goddamn business while they're surrounding me.
Forget protecting yourself. Fuck defending your life. No, just let them kill you. Right then and there. Oh because IF you dare to, that's aggravated assault and you deserve to be killed for it.
"Volatile character" "threatening moves" Jesus Christ. You're the fucking epitome of what's wrong with society.
User Naxxremel in ShitNeoconsSay: we_should_execute
It's hard to say. There's definitely something very uncalm about the way he speaks and operates. Like a nervous kind of energy that you see in Schizophrenic conspiracy theory types (not to besmirch conspiracy theory but we all know the type)

Personally I just think the guy is unwell but I can definitely see how someone might think he was a fed trying to embarrass the movement. Also he had a habit of saying we should execute anyone who advocates for Israel in congress, which I get but it was phrased very poorly and would immediately repel even people who were at entry level red pill stuff.
User justanothergymdude in trump: kill_yourself
Lmao such a weird obsession you have, Doug. Don't kill yourself when he wins in November :)
User ffskmspls in tucker_carlson: kill_yourselves kill_yourself missing
sorry do you need some rope too? Be fucking real you piece of shit fucking nazis kill yourselves faster than you'll ever even try to kill people like me, and on the rare instance one of you stupid inbred fucks DO decide to shoot people, it's your own kind because you're too fucking uncomfortable to shoot anybody or anything else. For every one fat man child american inbred neo nazi there are 15 faggots and 5 of em are buying guns. You'll never fucking touch me. You will never fuckin touch me My sides track record is no school shootings and 8 million dead fucking aryans, and a whole lot fucking more if we have anything to say about it. Refer to my profile picture. You're next. Well string you up on rainbow colored ropes and parade you through pink fucking streets, and we'll fucking do it again and again until it is done. Follow your leader and kill yourself before we make Mussolini look like fucking David.
User oxymorphone in soyboys: kill_yourself
So by this "person's" logic, you should just suck it up and accept your loss when you are mislead/scammed, because it could mess with someone's """bag""". This is kill yourself tier stupidity. I want to grab this queer by his retarded ass bowl cut and slam his head into a toilet filled with diarrhea.
User Lateknighttt in ShitNeoconsSay: should_be_executed
I was watching to catch a predator they caught like 3 rabbis in on sting operation in New Jersey. That was in the early oughts before social media. All pedophiles should be executed of course and Catholics aren't excused or excluded from this the church should be recalling those people to the Vatican it Would be legal to do what is called to be done in the Bible Directly by Jesus to them.
User masterofdank51 in averageredditor: should_die
So your saying it is okay to say that anyone that has done drugs should die what a fucked up society 🤦‍♀️
User masterofdank51 in averageredditor: should_die
Well it should be people are still gonna take coke regardless at least with a subreddit like this it can teach harm reduction or are you the sort of person that says if you do something against the government you should die
User masterofdank51 in averageredditor: should_die
Suck your mum you prick drugs in moderation are not damaging just like alcohol in moderation is fine to say all people that do them should die you are the worst type of person I suggest you take a psychedelic so it kicks your ignorant ass and you can hopefully change for the good
User Nick_Dice in ConsumeProduct: gas_the missing
class war now, gas the mammals!
User funny-aneurysm in GenderCritical: should_be_beat_up
I mean.. Bolsonaro said he wouldn't rape Maria do Rosário because "she didn't deserve it"; he said gay kids should be beat up so they would stop being gay; he said sexual tourists should come to Brazil to have sex with our women; he paid tribute to a torturer; he said quilombolas weren't good for anything, not even procreating; he said women shouldn't get paid the same as men; and so many other things.
Even if you believe there was no way to win, I don't personally think we should have lost this bad.
User gzeus_giuce25 in conspiracy: kill_yourself
While I agree I would not be surprised if people were being harassing. We have all seen how people act online, I don't doubt people were taking it to inappropriate levels that go beyond just criticism. I mean shit people will tell you to kill yourself for not agreeing on a movie they like or some bullshit. I can only imagine the shit people were doing about this, I bet their inboxes were flooded with hateful messages.
User GasCoomers in ConsumeProduct: should_be_executed
Think about the amount of men that he hangs out with that regularly groom and rape him. His mom should be executed.
User Deadeye_Spider in kotakuinaction2: kill_yourself
we must live in different parts of the country.
There's two ways trans people in america seek treatment
Informed consent (You sign a waiver that says if you regret it it's on you and we won't refund you or pay for your reversal surgeries if you decide being a chick/dude might make you not want to kill yourself)
and, Formal Diagnosis (You wait a long time in a normal therapist, way longer time in a gender therapist, then the endocrinologist basically says "jesus christ you look tired from all of that bearucracy stuff, I can tell this is important to you but you'll still have to wait a bit" and then checks off a list of your symptoms and the notes of the other two doctors until then they give you the pills.)
This person did neither.
User A1958PlymouthFury in TheNewRight: Heil_Hitler
Well, as long as we're sharing jokes;
The Führer visited a lunatic asylum. All the patients were told to stand in a row, and they were given instructions on how to salute him. When Hitler approached they all raised their right hands and shouted: 'Heil Hitler!' Only the last man in the row uttered no sound and did not raise his hand. Red with rage Hitler stepped up to him and shouted: 'Don't you know who I am? Why don't you raise your hand?' 'I beg your pardon,' replied the man politely, 'I am the doctor. I'm not a lunatic'.'
Bet your buddy Rockwell would really like that one.
User FusionVsGravity in TumblrInAction: should_be_killed
Men will categorically be offended by someone saying that all men should be killed. You're not raising awareness or helping the issue, you're turning men who would be sympathetic to feminist issues away from feminism.
User Pogo_Stick_Rider in DarkHumorAndMemes: should_die
All autistic people should die. I don't see the issue. Just leave one alone with a knife but cracker for 30 minutes. Problem solved.
User MaximumWaximum in GenderCritical: should_be_killed missing
They are trying to kill women. If a man were to dress up as a 5 year old girl and use he kindergarten restrooms he would be arrested but it's fine if a man dresses up like a woman and sexually assaults actual women.
Transition.
Is.
Sexual.
Assault.
A man is impersonating and tricking a woman into trusting him. TIFs are sexually assaulting people too, they turn young girls into a vulnerable minority. I support the death penalty exclusively for these sexual abusers. I wish the suicide rate was 100%. They should be killed before they hurt anyone else.
User Matt-From-Wii-Sp0rts in AskPinkPillers: should_be_killed
Or is just a small minority of people? Because on your sub their are a lot off people saying being male is a disorder, and that all men should be killed.
User SabbatiZevi in conspiracy: should_be_killed missing
Before this pandemic there we're and continues to be civil rights movements across the globe against amoral globalist authoritarians who are above the law and pay order followers to keep the peasants from killing them. The 1% of people who put profit over human life and hoard the vast majority of wealth and resources should be killed in a peasants revolt. When there's this many people gathering and calling for justice and liberty it's a natural response. Growth for it's own sake is the ideology of the cancer cell.
User funko_pope in Drama: KYS
I never watched Rick and Morty but my wife watched an episode yesterday. When she got into bed, she looked me dead in the eyes and said "if you ever watch that show, I'll file for divorce". I asked if it was that bad and she said the entire time she kept thinking of men who cry at trailers for Star Wars or Marvel movies. Holy god have I dodged a bullet, I've heard so much about the show that I considered checking out it but it sounds like I'd probably have to slit my wrists rather than risk the resulting drop in testosterone levels.
Stay away from Rick and Morty. KYS.
User tranikila in trump: kill_yourself missing
this place rejects important submissions (chinese censorship, very relevent to trump) because they are chinese puppets. the whole place is just low energy, controlled opposition. totally pathetic. you should just kill yourself pieces of crap
submitted by ViolentThreatBot to ViolentThreatBot [link] [comments]

Fastest Winning Craps System! LIVE CRAPSThe Ultimate Dark SideWizard Of Odds Approved StrategyCasino Bubble Craps Ep16 Craps Strategy--Rack & Regress to the Dark Side! Don't try this Strategy, unless you want to win - Craps Betting Strategy How to Win at Craps with Little Money - craps betting strategy

Craps is a dice game in which players place wagers on the outcome of the roll, or a series of rolls, of a pair of dice. Players may wager money against each other (street craps, also known as shooting dice or rolling dice) or a bank (casino craps, also known as table craps). Last week I explored the possibility of delving into the "dark side" of craps, or betting from the "wrong" side of the game instead of the more popular "right" side. When you bet "wrong," you're known as a "Don't" bettor. You silently root for the seven to be rolled before the point is made. From: Russell Hunter Subject: Discover how to play craps from the Dark Side and turn craps play into a solid $1,000 a day income! Dear Friend, You’ve heard the expression “life is a craps shoot.” It is used to describe any activity where the outcomes are really uncertain. Dark Side Craps systems. There is no advantage playing dice based craps. Period. As a money management tool, I usually stop betting don't and don't come after a shooter takes down 3 of my bets with odds. (I don't count come out bets). I never switch, just wait for next shooter. By betting both DC and PASS, you only put $5.00 on the COME THE DARK SIDE What is the dark side of craps? It’s not some evil plot by the casino, although it may feel like it when the dice are cold. The dark side refers to a family of bets which have the opposite win-loss conditions of the pass types bets. It can also be an adjective that describes players who bet on the Don’t Pass or Don’t Come.

[index] [12535] [14166] [9619] [13416] [9665] [8466] [8237] [14086] [2925] [9419]

Fastest Winning Craps System!

BEST BETS in game of CRAPS/ casino craps strategy table talk/ Vlog eps 3 - Duration: ... Dark Side? Ridiculous! ... 15:41. Craps Dice Throwing Techniques- part 1 Grip - Duration: 15:09 ... Craps Shooters Win on Every roll of the Dice - Duration: 11:47. 36FullPress Craps 324 views. 11:47. Craps Betting Strategy/ Pressing for Profit - Duration: ... The Dark Side With ZERO PROTECTION! Withdraw Cash from ATM - Craps Betting Strategy is part of our dice advice series. This craps betting strategy is called the Darkside ATM and was submitted by Codi Gumbs. This is basically an iron ... Dark Side? Ridiculous! Profitable Side! ... Craps Dice Control Part 1: The Eight Physical Elements to Play & Win! ... unless you want to win - Craps Betting Strategy - Duration: 19:26. Color Up ... In this craps betting strategy I show you how to win at craps with little money. You can win with just a $100 bankroll. This is the hedge 6/8 strategy. $10 is bet on the don't pass for the come ...