Stories

Surreal Darkness

Sometimes the darkness and I tell stories.

Emo Pistols

Seth Morrigan feels like the sun is trying to eat him. In a last ditch effort to save himself, he signs up for the Pen Pal Project.

Skinscribe

The darkness signs up for the Pen Pal Project, because why not?

In the Valley of the Sun

This story is completed. 🙂

Lilith Parker is working at the local paper, announcing births and birthdays and deaths. One morning her boss Shannon gives her a more exciting assignment – research the local haunted house and write an article on its history. Nice flavor for Halloween, right?

But then Shannon turns up dead the next day, the local townspeople seem intent on keeping the story of the haunted house a secret, and Lilith is being haunted herself. Will she survive?

Bits and Pieces

These are stand alone one off short stories, inspired by challenges and prompts at the LJ Idol writing community. Some are Sims stories, some are full text, some feature familiar characters, some have new characters.

Note – in pretty much everything I write there will be occasional curse words, non-gory violence, and DEATH!!! Also you may be eaten by grue.

Posted in Valley | 30 Comments

Toomuch Notenough

whew had to replace the original first pic

Hello, Jasper.

We are back in San Myshuno.

I do not think I would like these stores that remain in Windenburg. I prefer the sorts of stores that aren’t there anymore when you come back a few days later with questions about the cursed cutlery you purchased, and why all your loved ones are now zombies.

But there is no one around to answer your questions, and the musty old store with the piles of junk under dim lighting and the wizened shopkeeper with the creepy laugh has been replaced by a shiny new coffee house with skinny and damp baristas who set your tall mocha frappuccino on fire as they serve it to you, saying, “This is for your bad taste in glasses!”, and you walk home with a heavy heart, knowing that you have to use the flaming coffee to dispose of your loved ones, who leer at you as you enter the front yard, saliva dripping from their lolling tongues as the smell of your brain reaches their nostrils.

But yeah, the Old Town Mercantile store sounds nice. I’ll check it out.

There is a festival happening in the plaza outside our apartment building tonight. Sarah was adamant about going. I think she feels restless, after Granite Falls.

I am also restless, and I am not sure which Seth I am.

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Posted in Emo Pistols | 7 Comments

Hyphae

Sometimes the human and I search for consciousnesses not our own.

The human made this universe. It is a good universe. It has not yet melted into the black. It is small though, and very quiet. There are no voices other than ours.

The human asks me to tell it stories sometimes, to break up the quiet. I tell it about the universe where everything is round. There are angry round robots who scream their round rage in round metallic voices as they make round cars, furiously shoving round dashes into round body frames.

The human says I told it that story last week, and it wants another one.

I tell it about the universe where the ice cream people live.

The ice cream universe is a cold dark foreboding place. It is always night time and it is always freezing and the ground is always covered with a light snow. The air is very still.

The homes of the ice cream people are dark dank palaces, with chocolate covered crenellations and wet walnut turrets and brightly flavored flags that snap in a breeze only they can feel. Deep in the palace kitchens, the waffle cone servants cook the humans who have wandered into the ice cream universe and who have been captured. For of course the ice cream people cannot go near fire themselves, but they do so like warm food.

The human says I told it that story last month. Then it asks how the ice cream people can eat warm food without melting, if they can’t be near fire. I tell it that the universe where the ice cream people live has very odd laws of thermodynamics.

I am trying to remember a universe I have not yet told the human about when the message appears. It floats in the black space above the blue stalks.

The human asks, “What is that?”

The human asks, “Where did it come from?”

The human asks, “Is it conscious?”

I look at the letters hanging in the black. They are not letters in a language the human would recognize. They are bright and blue and shining and writhing in the dark, and they are beautiful.

I tell the human, “It is a new story.”

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Posted in Extras | Tagged , , , , , | 6 Comments

Uncracked

Hello Anya. I am glad to hear from you. I always enjoy your letters.

I am sorry for the lives where you tried to find a door. I don’t imagine they were very pleasant. But at least the door eventually came.

I am fairly sure a door is never going to come for me. I have been trying to make my own door. I had to stop, after the fire. Sarah said it wasn’t healthy.

I don’t know if I agree with her or not.

Right now, at this very moment, I am not clawing at the boundaries of my own universe. I am breathing inside it, and there are trees and grass and birds and bushes, and it is not so bad. The sun is shining on me. Watching me. I don’t think it is very hungry today.

It’s good that you’re feeling better too.

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Posted in Emo Pistols | Tagged , , | 6 Comments

Tiny Knife Elephants

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Unzipping a canvas tent flap is not quite the same thing as opening stiff hotel curtains, but it’ll do.

Hello, Jasper. I got your last letter just before Sarah and I left San Myshuno for three days in Granite Falls.

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Posted in Emo Pistols | 14 Comments

Caramel Centers

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Hello, Anya.

Today I went out to the tracks. I waited for a while, but no door ever appeared. Sometimes a train would come clanking down the tracks. I did not try to go through the trains, though. I don’t think that would have ended well.

These doors that stalk you; what happens when you go through them? How do you know when to go through them and when not to? Do you have a choice?

I am sorry about the hollowing out. You may be alone where you are, but you are not alone in being hollowed. I hope that helps.

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Posted in Emo Pistols | 21 Comments

Black Hole

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I opened the door. I am in the lobby. Taking out the trash. Waiting to see if everything is going to go wrong.

I hope that if it does, the vase with the fake orchids gets smashed first.

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Posted in Emo Pistols | 21 Comments

Inside the Walls

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I am safe inside the walls, and the sun cannot get to me.

Hello, Anya. Earlier today the computer chair was in shadow for a time, and I read your letter. I had to read it quickly and then get away before the shadows were eaten by the teethlight. I should move the desk away from the window.

I am glad that your sun does not think that you taste good enough to eat.

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Posted in Emo Pistols | Tagged , , , , , | 9 Comments