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WookieBastage
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PostSubject: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 3:44 pm

I'm writing a short story for my Creative Writing class, and, so far, it's really fucked up. Like, maybe you guys won't think so, but I have a feeling that my professor is going to think that I'm insane. I will post it up here when I get it finished.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 5:27 pm

Genre?

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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 6:49 pm

I'm not totally sure what to call it. It's based on Cannibal Corps's Five Nails Through the Neck.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 6:49 pm

Sounds like a slasher/thriller/romance

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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 6:55 pm

Slasher could be right. You'll have to decide when it's done. It will be posted tomorrow at the latest.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 7:00 pm

I'm excited to read it man
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 7:10 pm

Same, always nice to see the work of another Smile
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 7:26 pm

I definitely will read. I just love obnoxious school papers. Sounds like it is going to be a tasty one too. I know I have one story I've been wanting to write but sometimes when I think about it it makes me sick to my stomach. So maybe I don't want to write it lol.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 7:55 pm

I'm actually really enjoying writing this. I hope it's as good as I think it is.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 7:56 pm

I recently had to write a story on a disturbing death of a small child. Starting to think my school's English department is slightly psychopathic.

Look forward to reading your story though, it has to be better than any of the shit I've written.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 8:28 pm

If you guys want, I can post up what I have now. It's like half-way done. Then I can post the last half tomorrow when it's done.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 8:28 pm

Sure I'd like to read some of it.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 8:31 pm

Cool, I'm in class right now, but I'll get it up when I get back to my room. I have a meeting after this class is over. Should be about 11 or so when I get it up.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 8:40 pm

How long is it

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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 8:42 pm

Right now, it's a little over three pages double spaced. It will total out to eight or so.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 8:43 pm

Hopefully your teacher likes horror movies eh? lol

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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 8:45 pm

God, I hope so. We read a story from Poe, Cask of Amontillado, and I wanted to write a murder story. Mine is just a bit more gruesome, or at least will be, that Poe's was.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 8:46 pm

I hope it goes well for you. I remember a lot of times I'd write a story or an essay and I thought they were awesome but weren't received well just because the teacher was not a fan of the topic. I got a 50% on a paper on heavy metal that I thought was great lol

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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 8:48 pm

I've written two papers about metal. One of them was a college paper and I got an A. I can throw that up here, too if you guys want. I just need to find it and update it.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 8:50 pm

Unfortunately I'm a bit of a suck-up writer for school lol...
Well not suck-up but I don't usually do anything bold. And if I think about doing something slightly bold I have to hesitate because often times what seems a little bold to me is more like suicide.

Metal paper would be cool to see.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 8:52 pm

I wrote a story in High school about a kid being terrorized by zombies on his tenth birthday and it ended with him driving a crowbar through his parents eye sockets because they changed.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 8:58 pm

WookieBastage wrote:
God, I hope so. We read a story from Poe, Cask of Amontillado, and I wanted to write a murder story. Mine is just a bit more gruesome, or at least will be, that Poe's was.

I hated Cask of Amontillado, but then again I was a freshman when I had to read it
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 8:58 pm

I had a noose in my story and my teacher was like
!!!!NOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooose!

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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 8:59 pm

The Cask of Amontillado was amazing. There is so much that goes into that story. And it's not everyday that you get to read a story about revenge by immurement.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 9:00 pm

breakyoudown wrote:
I had a noose in my story and my teacher was like
!!!!NOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooose!

Hahahaah, bummer. I did a drawing in high school that involved a noose. It was an an angle being hanged and other angles flying around pointing and laughing. It ruled.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 9:02 pm

WookieBastage wrote:
The Cask of Amontillado was amazing. There is so much that goes into that story. And it's not everyday that you get to read a story about revenge by immurement.

I want to read it to refresh my memory, but I remember disliking it. Which is strange because I am a rather big Poe fan
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 9:03 pm

You can probably find it online. I had wiki read a story to me last night.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 9:06 pm

Hahahaha that's badass. I probably will when I'm not too tired to do anything.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 9:16 pm

Poe is such a bamf

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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 9:19 pm

Poe can be. I like a majority of his material.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 9:20 pm

I don't remember it too well but the story about the red mask...I liked that story.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 9:29 pm

I just re-read the story about the kid and the zombies and it was bad. It's a cool story, just written really, really badly.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 9:37 pm

Yeah that tends to happen when you read something you wrote some time ago. Agree largely with the ideas...but not the execution.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 10:51 pm

This is what I have so far.


I trembled. Every single time I would see him, I trembled. I thought that maybe I would get used to it and the nerves would go away. I was wrong. Oh, God was I wrong. It seemed as though when I would get closer to my masterpiece, I would get tenser. Scared, even.

I may have learned everything about him. His alarm was set for 7:30 every morning and he would snooze on average of twenty minutes. He was lazy. Fuck, he was lazy. He lived a life of unoriginality. I couldnít stand that. I didnít want to let him do that. What kind of person would I be if I just sat back and watched someone live that kind of life? A life of regularity and prediction. Everything he did was calculated before-hand, but the calculations were memorized because of constant repetition. His life was the same over and over again.

He had a family. It was like watching the Cleavers. June and Ward living their perfect lives with their perfect children, Theodore and Wally. Disgusting.

He worked a sales job. That is one of the things I never got the specifics on. I didnít want to know. I thought that if I learned about his work, I would jump the gun, get angry, and try to finish my work before I had everything figured out. I couldnít do that.

He never saw me. At least, he never saw me when I was working. He and I had met. Multiple times even. We met at company functions and would talk briefly while either of us would spoon another cup of punch. The thing is he never remembered my name. Not once did he ever remember me. We talked about baseball and cars. The usual, I hated that.

He did work hard, though. I have to give him that. He was an honest man. Although, he was boring and insignificant in the grand scheme of the world, he worked hard. Ward was the bread winner in the family.

There were times when I would ask myself, ďWhy do I let it get to me so bad?Ē I could never find an answer. I despise mediocrity, but the thing is, I myself am mediocre. Maybe it was because I didnít want to let someone else, someone I knew, stoop down to the level I had fallen. Wow, that makes me sound kind of caring and loving. Donít think too hard, I hated him.

I started watching him about a year ago. Close to a year, not quite an entire one. I still canít believe he never saw me.

I would watch in the morning from when he got up to when he would get in the car and head over to work. The beautiful part about that is that I work at the same place. I wasnít ďfollowingĒ him to work. I was simply going there.
At work, things were a little tougher. He had work to do; I had work to do. There were times when I thought about just stopping my work and just watching, but Iím smarter than that. If I didnít do my work, I would have gotten fired. If I got fired, what the hell was I supposed to do then? Right?

I remember once, I saw him the restroom. I had to go because I drink an excess of coffee that no one should drink. I walked into the restroom and up to a urinal to do my business. And who would walk in but Ward himself. I ran the scenario in my head over and over. I wanted to just finish, zip up my pants and fix my belt, grab him by the head and smash his face into the urinal piping until he couldnít stand anymore. He would just lay there, bleeding from his face, choking, gasping for air.

I went to wash my hands and I started to chuckle a bit. It wasnít a full laugh, just a few ha haís and a crooked smile I was trying to hide. He asked me why I was laughing and I told him that I wasnít. We made eye contact and I left the room to go back to my desk.

Was that wrong of me? Have you ever had a thought like that? Like, maybe, you wanted to see a person die in a grisly, brutal way by your hands? Am I the only one? Is it wrong? Or is it just human? I think we all have that primal, brute instinct in us. It seemed normal to me.

Listen to me, rambling about my subject and here you donít know anything about me. How rude. Just call me Eddie. Thatís fine. Just Eddie. I work as an analyst for the same company that Ward does. I run numbers and make sure that the books match up. I hate my job.

Iím an artist. Painting is my forte, but lately, Iíve been getting into sculpture. I donít want to tell you much more than that, though, at least about my art, because I may give something away. And I want it to be a surprise.

When Iím not working, either on my art or company business, I read. I read a lot or at least, as much as I can. My activities listed above take a significant amount of my time. To be honest, I read romance novels. Is that weird? I really get into them. The characters are so squishy and molded. They are like shells of people that you can insert yourself into and be completely immersed in the story. The passion and love, betrayal and drama, I just really get into it. I think I would have to say that my favorite so far is Chasing Horses by Christy Tiller French. Itís funny and light. It deals with past relationships that surface constantly and new ones that emerge. Plus, Iíve always been a sucker for activist crap.

He reads the newspaper.

I had this plan. God, it was perfect. First I had to buy some chloroform. You know, that stuff isnít cheap. It was, like, fifty bucks for a hundred milliliters. That was the smallest amount I could find on the web. I searched for all of twenty minutes and finally just gave into what I found. ďFuck it,Ē I thought. I'll just shell out the fifty dollars plus whatever the shipping came out to be. It took, I donít know, six weeks for that to arrive which was alright. I needed more time anyway. He was my subject and I needed to fully understand him before I would do anything.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Tue Feb 23, 2010 11:25 pm

Sounds good to me! Nice set up. I can't wait to see how his sculpture goes lol.

I love the transition (or lack of a transition)..."He reads the newspaper."

Makes the person speaking sound kind of crazy and driven.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Wed Feb 24, 2010 3:58 am

Interesting story you have going on! I was never fond of writing short stories, I hate writing in short, direct sentences, I have to be all flowery and crap. But it works here, it's very much like a collection of thoughts, a view inside someones head and the options they are weighing. I thought it all flowed quite nicely, still has mystery involved, but there is one part that did not jive totally with me, feel no need to take my advice at all.
"It wasnít a full laugh, just a few ha haís and a crooked smile I was trying to hide. He asked me why I was laughing and I told him that I wasnít."

I feel like this could be worded a bit differently, a bit less casual...instead of ha ha's (I've never seen laughter written like that in text) maybe a chuckle/snort/ or something like that, depends on what you are going after. Then again, I can see it if I let my formal training take a chill pill and read with with a more wry sense of humour in mind. I'm thinking Sin City type of narrative. Very casual about murder/death etc. I also expected something other than "I told him I wasn't"...perhaps "you must have heard wrong" but that's a bit confrontational, don't know if you want that.

I totally love Poe also, I want a tattoo that symbolizes some of my favourite stories.
I only wrote one graphic short story, and it was on my own time. Was about a zombie digging her way out of the earth and seeking revenge on a living individual. "Corpulant Corpse". Good times.

Look forward to the rest of your story!
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Wed Feb 24, 2010 5:09 am

When I read it I looked at it as something that wasn't supposed to have perfect grammar since it was more like someone talking or an unprofessional report of a personal happening. It might use some context actually...like it could be a letter to someone. Maybe that is revealed at the end.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Wed Feb 24, 2010 5:45 pm

I will get to this soon

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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Wed Feb 24, 2010 6:04 pm

Wow that was quite awesome. I read the story in Clive Owens voice since Sara mentioned Sin City lol. I thought it is awesome so far. I am really curious what the hell Ward did to make Eddie so godamn pissed at him, it seems like an obsession and they hardly talk. Perhaps its because he doesn't remember him. I feel a twist!

As for a grammar suggestion. "Bleeding from his face" sounds really weird. Its an extremely vague thing to say when someone is having a murder fantasy that is really specific until then. Usually the wound is one of the most specific things being described

That being sad I can't wait to read the rest + rep

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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Wed Feb 24, 2010 6:23 pm

As much as I don't want to say it (the phrase that is) nothing else fits. Cool story bro.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Wed Feb 24, 2010 7:08 pm

Almost done, dudes.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Wed Feb 24, 2010 7:50 pm

Here it is, guys and gals. The whole thing.

Iím an Artist

I trembled. Every single time I would see him, I trembled. I thought that maybe I would get used to it and the nerves would go away. I was wrong. Oh, God was I wrong. It seemed as though when I would get closer to my masterpiece, I would get tenser. Scared, even.

I may have learned everything about him. His alarm was set for 7:30 every morning and he would snooze on average of twenty minutes. He was lazy. Fuck, he was lazy. He lived a life of unoriginality. I couldnít stand that. I didnít want to let him do that. What kind of person would I be if I just sat back and watched someone live that kind of life? A life of regularity and prediction. Everything he did was calculated before-hand, but the calculations were memorized because of constant repetition. His life was the same over and over again.

He had a family. It was like watching the Cleavers. June and Ward living their perfect lives with their perfect children, Theodore and Wally. Disgusting.

He worked a sales job. That is one of the things I never got the specifics on. I didnít want to know. I thought that if I learned about his work, I would jump the gun, get angry, and try to finish my work before I had everything figured out. I couldnít do that.

He never saw me. At least, he never saw me when I was working. He and I had met. Multiple times even. We met at company functions and would talk briefly while either of us would spoon another cup of punch. The thing is he never remembered my name. Not once did he ever remember me. We talked about baseball and cars. The usual, I hated that.

He did work hard, though. I have to give him that. He was an honest man. Although, he was boring and insignificant in the grand scheme of the world, he worked hard. Ward was the bread winner in the family.

There were times when I would ask myself, ďWhy do I let it get to me so bad?Ē I could never find an answer. I despise mediocrity, but the thing is, I myself am mediocre. Maybe it was because I didnít want to let someone else, someone I knew, stoop down to the level I had fallen. Wow, that makes me sound kind of caring and loving. Donít think too hard; I hated him.

I started watching him about a year ago. Close to a year, not quite an entire one. I still canít believe he never saw me.

I would watch in the morning from when he got up to when he would get in the car and head over to work. The beautiful part about that is that I work at the same place. I wasnít ďfollowingĒ him to work. I was simply going there.
At work, things were a little tougher. He had work to do; I had work to do. There were times when I thought about just stopping my work and just watching, but Iím smarter than that. If I didnít do my work, I would have gotten fired. If I got fired, what the hell was I supposed to do then? Right?

I remember once, I saw him the restroom. I had to go because I drink an excess of coffee that no one should drink. I walked into the restroom and up to a urinal to do my business. And who would walk in but Ward himself. I ran the scenario in my head over and over. I wanted to just finish, zip up my pants and fix my belt, grab him by the head and smash his face into the urinal piping until he couldnít stand anymore. I imagine the sound of him crashing against the chrome. The breaks in his nose and cheekbones, his eye sockets collapsing, all making this admirable and almost comical crunch. He would just lie there, bleeding profusely from his mangled nose and jaw, choking, gasping for air.

I went to wash my hands and I started to chuckle a bit. It wasnít a full laugh, just a snigger and a crooked smile I was trying to hide. He asked me why I was laughing and I told him that I wasnít with a perfectly serious face. We made eye contact briefly and I left the room to go back to my desk.

Was that wrong of me? Have you ever had a thought like that? Like, maybe, you wanted to see a person die in a grisly, brutal way by your hands? Am I the only one? Is it wrong? Or is it just human? I think we all have that primal, brute instinct in us. It seemed normal to me.

Listen to me, rambling about my subject and here you donít know anything about me. How rude. Just call me Eddie. Thatís fine. Just Eddie. I work as an analyst for the same company that Ward does. I run numbers and make sure that the books match up. I hate my job.

Iím an artist. Painting is my forte, but lately, Iíve been getting into sculpture. I donít want to tell you much more than that, though, at least about my art, because I may give something away. And I want it to be a surprise.

When Iím not working, either on my art or company business, I read. I read a lot or at least, as much as I can. My activities listed above take a significant amount of my time. To be honest, I read romance novels. Is that weird? I really get into them. The characters are so squishy and molded. They are like shells of people that you can insert yourself into and be completely immersed in the story. The passion and love, betrayal and drama, I just really get into it. I think I would have to say that my favorite so far is Chasing Horses by Christy Tiller French. Itís funny and light. It deals with past relationships that surface constantly and new ones that emerge. Plus, Iíve always been a sucker for activist crap.

He reads the newspaper.

I had this plan. God, it was perfect. First I had to buy some chloroform. You know, that stuff isnít cheap. It was, like, fifty bucks for a hundred milliliters. That was the smallest amount I could find on the web. I searched for all of twenty minutes and finally just gave into what I found. ďFuck it,Ē I thought. I'll just shell out the fifty dollars plus whatever the shipping came out to be. It took, I donít know, six weeks for that to arrive which was alright. I needed more time anyway. He was my subject and I needed to fully understand him before I would do anything.

There were times when I thought that it was odd that I chose Ward. I thought about it time and time again, but really, I couldnít think of a specific reason. Maybe it was accessibility? He was there. I donít meet a lot of people; as you can imagine, and he is one of the few, honored people that grace me with their presence. Note the sarcasm.

He started working for the company about four months after I started. That was eight years ago. Eight whole years I sat there and just stewed in what I thought was just an annoyance, but it was more than that. It is more than that. Itís pure hatred.

Where did the hate come from?

When I was younger, I had two older brothers. I guess our relationship was nothing out of the ordinary. We played rough and teased each other, just like good siblings would. It seemed, though, like they were perfect. They got good grades and were active in only God knows what they did. Sports, extracurricular crap, whatever. I, however, was not like them. I focused most of my time on drawing. Then, I loved to draw. I would sit in my room all of the time and draw, draw, draw.

I threw away most of it, though. I hated the things I made. Not too different from now, I suppose. I still hate the things I make, but now I donít get rid of them; I learn from them. But I digress.

I made poor grades in high school. I never got involved with anything and I didnít have any friends. It sounds so horrible when I talk about it, but really, it wasnít. I had my art, and thatís all I needed. My parents, they were divorced, would yell at me and scream at me for not ďapplying myself.Ē Bullshit. I just didnít do the things I didnít want to do. I didnít do the things they wanted me to do.

Anyway, I finished high school and then went to a community college with no aspirations other than I wanted to be an artist. I may work a dead-end job with people, one person in particular, that I hate, but I am an artist. Iím going to make an impact. On Wardís life and on my life. On everyoneís life. No one can take that away from me and thatís the beauty of it.

Ward couldnít be an artist.

He was too busy with his pathetic life. He was too busy with his boring family. He was too busy with his everyday existence.

So, watching Ward become somewhat of a second job. After we would get to work, I would do my best to budget my time so that I could go to lunch at the same time that he did. Genius, right? I know, I know.

He always did the same thing for lunch. June packed him a brown sack lunch and he took it to the break room where he bought a diet Coke and sat for half an hour while he consumed whatever sandwich it was and a small bag of chips.

I didnít eat in the same room, though. I ate in my car. I didnít want him making conversation with me or getting to know me. If he got to know me and started to like me, then it would all be betrayal and I canít have that on my conscience.

I remember once seeing him at lunch. In the break room, there are some pipes that run along the ceiling, painted to blend in. Whoever did that didnít know a thing about painting, trust me. There were three round tables and four chairs around each of them. I thought about hitting him with one of the chairs and grabbing him by his necktie and tying it to one of the pipes. He would awaken shortly after being tied to find himself fastened to the pipe, standing on a chair. Just as he would start to say something, questioning his position, I would kick the chair from underneath of him and watch him flail like a fish caught on a line. The tightening of the tie would force him to make insane and fantastic gurgling sounds. He may even kick over a couple more of the chairs. The blood vessels in his eyes would break and he would be staring through crimson marbles. That would be great.

So, back to my plan. You have to stop letting me go off topic, here. I think you get the picture. I watched him. I learned about him. I knew just about every goddamn thing about him.

Every Saturday he would go for a run at the junior high school track. It was open to the public and he would go really early in the morning. To be honest, it was kind of a pain in the ass for me. He started his run and I let him finish most of it before I approached him. I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt and tennis shoes. He didnít think that was odd and that was the idea. I had a towel in my right hand that I had doused in the chloroform and I started running my first lap. I got to two laps and started running beside him. He looked over and I nodded in acknowledgment. Slowly, I dipped behind him and made my move.

I jumped on his back and threw the towel over his face. He went down damn near immediately. No one saw me do it. No one. I dragged him to my car and lifted him into the trunk where I had some rope waiting. I bound him unnecessarily tight and closed the top.

Step one was complete. Can I take a minute and tell you how happy I was about that?

I drove to my house and pulled him out of the trunk after I parked the car in the garage and closed it. He was a bit heavier than I thought he would be. And to my basement we went.

The night before, I prepped everything I would need: all of the boards, the nails, my hammer, and a letter to the police. It was perfect. I dropped the letter off the next day.

I got him to the basement and laid him down on the boards. I used clear pine because itís a pretty wood, really pale.

I had the wood laid out in the formation of a cross, but please, donít get the idea that I crucified this man. This shape was simply the easiest to deal with.

I put the first nail in his left forearm followed by his right. He bled a bit and pools started to form immediately under the wood. I then put two nails in each leg. I could hear the tearing of his muscles as the nail wedged itself through the meat and into the wood. It was then I noticed that he started to open his eyes.

Quickly, I put a long nail through his gut. He screamed and began to writhe in pain. I took a step back and watched as he moved and the nail tore through his skin and I could see bits and pieces of his entrails. I put a hand over my mouth gently to cover my smile. Everything was perfect.

I knelt down and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of my hand and shushed him. His eyes wandered frantically and his breathing steadily sped up.

I drove nails in all over his body. Actually, Itís kind of hard to remember how many I used. Thirty? Itís kind of a blur now.

Anyway, I drove a few more into his belly to get him to stop moving around. Each nail completely pierced his body and fixed him to the clear pine. The blood started to soak into the wood, acting as some kind of natural stain

One nail went through his throat and thatís where it got really messy. A good spurt of gore came from the hole and got me in the face. Although Iím proud of what I was making, I didnít want to wear it.

After a while, he stopped screaming and moving and being ordinary. He was drenched in his own cherry juice and completely nailed down to the beautiful clear pine. I took a step back to look and I couldnít have been happier. Some of his insides became outsides and they kind of made a mess, but that wasnít the point.

He was no longer normal. He was art. The police showed up an hour or so later. I was still sitting, gazing at what I made. I wondered how many nails Ward felt before he died.

And then they committed me here and Iím stuck talking to you. Are you even listening? I just see you drawing in your little notebook. Doc! Do you want me to tell the story again?
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Wed Feb 24, 2010 8:07 pm

Done reading. So he took a lame ordinary man and made him into a piece of artwork. Makes sense. Thanks for sharing. Seems like a solid paper to me. It better get a good grade now lol.
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breakyoudown
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Thu Feb 25, 2010 5:07 am

So did he have any reason to hate this guy?

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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Thu Feb 25, 2010 9:21 am

Not particularly.

I realized something and it scared the shit out of me. At the beginning of the story, I wrote about how Eddie gets tense and scared before the masterpiece and when I was writing the ending, I started to get really tense and heart started pounding. I got a huge headache until about an hour or so after it was finished.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Thu Feb 25, 2010 7:13 pm

It is a pretty eerie story. A lot of imagery you thought of there

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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Thu Feb 25, 2010 8:23 pm

Wow, that was great. Damn well better than anything than I've ever done.

I love stories that give you an insight into the madmans head. It's interesting to see how they view their actions and see their perspective on things and you did that really well. Brilliant work, man.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Thu Feb 25, 2010 9:33 pm

Great story! I definitly expected a reason for his madness, unless the man was just an unexpected victim. My favourite description was "crimson marbles". Seriously, very vividly stated.
It kind of reminded me of Dexter so I guess that's why I expected some sort of reason for the violence but I should'nt let media's depictions of killers get in my head too much.
Worth reading, hope you do well.
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PostSubject: Re: A short story   Thu Feb 25, 2010 9:40 pm

I got my next assignment today and it's basically the same thing. I need to write another eight page piece. I think I'm going to write about a cannibal.
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A short story
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