NOT FOR SALE, 2024 Edit by THEMYSTERYWRITER, literature
Literature
NOT FOR SALE, 2024 Edit
Walking down the sunny city street, Janet was the belle of her own little ball. She wore only the best sunhat and sunflower dress, which fluttered as she walked along the sidewalk in her six-inch Gucci Heels. Janet was born with a silver spoon in her mouth and wasn’t the kind of woman to let this fact go unnoticed. With her matching Gucci handbag, which went with her shoes and dress, she held her overpriced iPhone with her other hand, the light of the screen reflecting off her white-rim sunglasses. “Like, OMG, Courtney, I can’t believe Starbucks was out of my favorite drink! How can they run out of a Grande, Iced, Sugar-Free, Vanilla Latte With Soy Milk? America is SO becoming a third-world country!” Janet texted her absolute bestie, Courtney, on her phone. “OMG, you poor thing! What do we even pay these people for, girl?” Courtney replied back. “Like, for real!” Janet texted back with a look of condescending annoyance plastered all over her face. Yet Janet’s attention was
A BAD DAY AT THE FUNLAND FACTORY SCRIPT by THEMYSTERYWRITER, literature
Literature
A BAD DAY AT THE FUNLAND FACTORY SCRIPT
(Once START GAME is selected, the screen slowly fades to black. Suddenly, as if a TV is turned on, lighting up the screen as the theme music plays. An ad for FUN LAND Amusement Park begins to play, introducing the various characters.) Female Narrator: (Everything the narrator says is plastered in big yellow font against a purple background.) Hello, boys and girls! Come on down to FUN LAND, where fun is state-of-the-art! (Children cheer as the video image of FUN LAND appears, slowly zooming in towards it.) Female Narrator: (Cut back to the purple background and yellow font.) Come see all your favorite characters, like Harrison Hare! Harrison Hare: (A cartoon version of Harrison Hare, an anthropomorphic purple rabbit character dressed as an Elvis impersonator, appears on the screen. He poses like the singer as she speaks, moving in an exaggerated cartoon manner.) Well, thank ya! Thank ya very much! Female Narrator: (Cut back to the purple background and yellow
THE KOOTIES (Interrogation Scene) by THEMYSTERYWRITER, literature
Literature
THE KOOTIES (Interrogation Scene)
In all his years on the force, Detective Harris, with all he has seen in his day, never thought something like this would happen. He stared in stunned silence in the interrogation room, staring in disbelief at the thing across the table. How did this happen? What bizarro world did he step into to steer his life in the direction of being one of two men having to interrogate…a teddy bear? Shaking his head at the thought, the grizzled older man signed while looking down at his lap, his hand fiddling with his mustache, “I never thought this would happen. I’m interrogating a freaking teddy bear. If this wasn’t being filmed right now, no one would believe me.” Detective O’Brian looked over at his older compatriot sitting next to him, “I mean, I knew these Kootie things had pretty advanced AI for their time, but I didn’t think it was THIS good.” Cuddles the Teddy Bear simply watched from the high chair the officers gave him to sit in. He was so small. No bigger than a loaf of bread,
CHOPSTICKS, A HORROR SHORT STORY by THEMYSTERYWRITER, literature
Literature
CHOPSTICKS, A HORROR SHORT STORY
It was a warm, quiet day in the inner city, and two young construction workers were relaxing on their lunch break. They had gotten hot dogs at a local vendor, tossing away the wrappers and empty condiment packages in the trash while walking back to the job site in the old neighborhood. “Damn, that dog hit the spot!” loudly proclaimed Jeff, the taller and older of the two workers, rubbing his beer gut as he sighed and smiled widely. Frank, his slightly younger colleague, shook his head with a smile just as big as the other’s, rolling his eyes as he replied, “Too bad you didn’t get to enjoy it too much, seeing how you scarfed it down so fast!” “Hey, it was a damn good hotdog, dude! Plus, I was hungry after working hard all day!” Jeff playfully slapped Frank’s left arm and laughed to himself. Frank’s mind was elsewhere, however, looking around the old neighborhood with a sense of child-like curiosity in his eyes. “Man, I can’t believe they’re tearing all these old buildings down.”
Trapped. The feeling that swallows you whole As the plane touches down. No colour, no sound, Even the screeching of metal A whisper that settles Defeated on white mountain snow. From forever to endless A shattered horizon Impaled by the clamoring crags. It is cold in the valleys It is dark in the forests Where the pines steam foggy and ragged. A lurking, a prowling, A dread in the trees, In the spaces that lie in between. Do you see it? In shapes unkind and unlikely, At once both seen and unseen. Trapped. And knowing that no-one can reach you Where the ice fractures bright Under haunting green light. See its teeth white as bone Its tartarean groans From woods old since the sunrise was new.
DEAD END Horror Short 2nd Draft by THEMYSTERYWRITER, literature
Literature
DEAD END Horror Short 2nd Draft
A black screen shined to life, and a title page appeared in a garish 8-bit font. The title read ‘Knight’s Quest,’ and epic music began playing in that high-pitched 80s beat that video games were known for. The music gave an ambiance of impending triumph and adventure. The title screen soon faded, and an 8-bit landscape appeared in black and red. Not much in detail, just red squares upon a black background made to look vaguely like mountains and trees, but our hero fast approaches. From the left of the screen appeared a knight with a stubby body and an oversized head. He matched the landscape around him with his all-red color scheme, carrying a small stick-like item resembling a sword in one hand. Whenever he took a step, high-pitched thumps blasted through the speakers. The brave little knight marched onward, coming to a crossroad. Before him laid three branching paths; one to his right, another to his left, and the last straight ahead. Which would he choose? “Finally,” said the
The Blizzard 2nd Draft by THEMYSTERYWRITER, literature
Literature
The Blizzard 2nd Draft
Day 44, Nothing has changed as I, Sir Reginald Alexander, press ever onward through this exploration I’ve found myself in. As you know, in the year of our Lord 1897, I set forth to become the first man alive to reach the center of Antarctica. I sailed from London on the 18th of May and arrived at my destination within three months. I began my solo expedition, pressing onward into the white wilderness. That was 44 days ago, and now I fear I may never return to civilization. A bloody blizzard came out of nowhere, creating a blanket of snow and blocking any visualization of my path ahead. The wind has been howling for days, and I find myself trapped in my little tent. Rations are running low; my extremities have grown numb as frostbite has begun to set in. Yet I must continue my journey to the center and hope to see the horizon again. My compass still points north, and so I have a way. I will not turn back until I achieve my goal. Day 57, I have been walking for days, and the dead
WIP: Murder Weapon by THEMYSTERYWRITER, literature
Literature
WIP: Murder Weapon
Did you know that the United States has 44.42 murders each day on average? Just in 2017, 405,000 people died via homicide. While guns, especially automatics, are the most used weapons of murder in the United States, there is just something about the knife that makes things more…personal. The fact one can get up close to their victims as they are stabbed, the blood flowing from the newly opened wounds, see the life in their eyes leave as they die. All that blood, all the violence, all that anger must go somewhere, must leave an imprint, right? Not just on those involved, the families who lost loved ones in such violent acts, murderer, and victim, but on the inanimate? Traces of blood, rage, and violence left behind, staining the blades forever. What were to happen if, from all that blood, all that rage, and all that violence, came…life? It is the police’s sworn duty to collect vital pieces of evidence to bring the violent offenders to justice. It is no different in the Murphy Count
The Vicious Cycle of the Mob, Story Preview by THEMYSTERYWRITER, literature
Literature
The Vicious Cycle of the Mob, Story Preview
Robert Fitzgerald was on his way to get his morning coffee. This was a regular morning routine he had done for fifteen years yet today was different. Apart from his suit and tie, he wore a cap with large sunglasses to try and hide his face while out in public. Nothing like an obvious, bare minimum disguise, right? Anyway, parking his Mercedes-Benz near his favorite little cafe, his trench coat fluttering in the breeze as he sped into the cafe, trying his best not to be noticed by anyone. How did that old saying go again: Big Brother is always watching? Once inside, he found the cafe crowded with people…yet they didn’t seem like people. They had the bodies of people, wearing casual, business attire and whatnot, but their heads were anything but human. Mr. Fitzgerald scanned the room, seeing these people not noticing him, minding their own business, staring at their computer screens with cups of coffee in their hands with a bagel or two. Yet despite seeming to not noticing him, Mr.
“Another raccoon?”
Jim popped up in bed, sleep shattered by the furious barking and his wife’s exclamation. This was getting ridiculous.
Amberlee bit her lip as she looked at the bedroom door. “Ohh, I hope this isn’t like last time.”
Jim grabbed his glasses and lurched to his feet. “Lizzie! Leave it!”
More barking. Jim lurched out of the bedroom, heading for the kitchen.
The grim events of the past weeks replayed themselves. Raccoon number one made it a few feet from the cat flap, presumably drawn in by the scent of the pet’s food bowls. Lizzie chased it on top of the kitchen cabinets