Dead Languages (1325 hits)
Category: UberMadness!Rating: 0.61 on 64 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by UberMadness! (View user info) at 2006-12-05 08:01:58 EST
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Entry 1
You couldn't do it again, could you Rebecca?I was just a mistake, wasn't I?
You have no idea what you're up against, do you?
Rebecca traced the outline of the object in her pocket, its cold, metallic weight hanging heavily against her hip. She struggled to listen to the overweight businessman in front of her. Finally, she heard what he said, above the incessant voice of Elizabeth Dupree, which was swirling around her head. She replied to him with a bitter smile upon her lips.
"You want fries with that?"
A few seconds passed, and the overweight man just continued to stare at the menu overhead.
"I said 'do you want fries with that'?" Finally, he acknowledged her.
"Sorry, what did you say?"
"Fries, you deaf old bastard, fries! Do you want them, motherfucker?"
"Hey, you can't talk to me like -"
BANG. BANG.
The two shots from the .380 ACP punctuated the rest of the sentence. The noise of the reports was matched only by the few seconds of silence that followed in the hall of the fast food restaurant. The screams began as the man fell to the floor, and the acrid smell of smoke and cordite drifted through the crowd of customers.
Before she jumped the counter and ran, she had just enough to time notice one lady drop a Styrofoam coffee container, and spill hot, black liquid down her dress.
Rebecca loved the little details.
. . . . . . . . .
"Police today are still looking for twenty-three year old Rebecca Morrison, who shot dead thirty-five year old lawyer, Ken Crawford, in the restaurant behind me yesterday afternoon. Police also believe that this murder could be connected to the killing of Elizabeth Dupree, a nineteen year old medical student who was found stabbed to death at her home, three weeks ago. Anyone with any information on her whereabouts should contact local authorities immediately. Rebecca, who was taking medication for depression, should be considered armed, in an unpredictable mental state, and -"
The image of the female reporter shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, as Rebecca swung the axe into the screen of the portable black and white T.V.
"I'll give you unpredictable, you fucking bitch!" She threw the axe on the floor, and began to pace up and down the small, basement apartment. After the mess with Elizabeth, she had taken up the lease from a private landlord, using false details. She continued her job in the burger bar to pay the rent, but she didn't think she'd be going back there any time soon.
After several minutes, she stopped pacing, and began talking.
"You see what they've gone and made me do? You think I wanted all this shit? First my best friend, and now some guy I don't even know. Who next, the fucking President? Well?" She turned around and faced him. "Oh, David, I see you're not very talkative today, huh?"
The man slumped in the corner was in his mid twenties, with a scrawny frame, and his hands were shackled to a hook on the wall by two pairs of handcuffs. His naked body was a mass of scars, bruises and cigarette burns that painted a picture of what he had been going through for the past week. He had learned it was better to keep his mouth shut - no matter what he said, it seemed to provoke her into attacking him, whether it was with her hands and fists, a steel bar, or anything else she had to hand. He just sat there, praying for the day when she would let him go, or failing that, kill him.
"They just don't get it! I'm just doing as I'm told! Didn't your Mother ever tell you that you should do as you're told, David? Did she ever tell you that it was the right thing to do? And these people...... these people really don't like it when other people don't do as they're told. Don't you get it? I don't have a fucking choice here!" She kicked over the small coffee table that was covered in half empty glasses of milk and cola.
David sat and watched, as Rebecca vented her frustration. At least it wasn't on him this time. He knew what was coming though. Whenever she got in these states, she would take out her anger on whatever was closest, whether it was him, the wall, or anything else that happened to be in the way.
Then, she would get the book.
He had no idea what was in the book. And he didn't want to know, either.
He looked on, as Rebecca walked slowly towards the bed in the corner of the room. She lifted the mattress, and lifted out a thick, brown, leather bound book. David had no idea how old the book might be, but it looked older than Hell. And felt like it, too. It made him feel afraid to be around it.
She held the book reverentially, as if it were a precious artefact, and laid it carefully on the table beside the bed. David kept trying to catch a glimpse of the title, but the way she held it made that impossible. Slowly, she began to stroke the cover with one finger, caressing it gently like a domestic pet.
"You see, David, these are the people who make me do it. They're the ones that told me to do what I did to Elizabeth. These are the people who told me to get you. They haven't told me what to do with you yet, but I'm sure they will soon......."
Rebecca looked down at the cover of the book. David didn't know it, but there wasn't any actual title on there. Just a symbol that looked like two "S" shapes back to back, that appeared to represent some form of serpent. Very gently, she opened the book, stared at the text before her, and let the strange sensation wash over her.
From his position on the other side of the room, he observed what happened when she opened the book. As with the times before, her face would instantly form a look of intense..... pleasure? Pain? He couldn't tell which. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that she would stay that way, transfixed for hours at a time, as if the book had some control over her. She would sit there staring catatonically at the words, until eventually her eyes would close. Then, when she opened them again, she would put the book back under the bed, and go out. He didn't know what she got up to, but the reporter on the T.V had now given him some idea.
. . . . . . . . .
Two months earlier, Rebecca had found the book in a clearance sale, and was fascinated by the look and feel of it. The fact there was no title and no author was intriguing, and the whole thing seemed strangely mysterious. When she first read it, she noticed it was written by hand, and seemed to have been put together by hundreds of different people.
This alone wasn't the thing that grabbed her attention. It was what the messages were actually saying that stood out to her. Hundreds of different people, all writing about one thing.
Death.
Messages filled with evil thoughts and hatred. Messages wishing violent death on others. Messages boasting of torture and murder.
At first, Rebecca was afraid. She was a normal, healthy girl. She did things that normal healthy girls did. Keeping a book that seemed so twisted and morbid did not fall into that category. But she kept it anyway.
The more she read the book, the more she noticed. She would come across entries that she could swear were never there before. And it seemed to be getting heavier, as if more and more pages were being added. As if the book was writing itself.
Rebecca became obsessed by it, spending every spare minute studying the pages, desperately searching for some sort of explanation. She couldn't find one.
What she did find, was her name.
Scrawled amongst the myriad of messages, were small entries that seemed to be calling out to her. They told her their stories. They told her their secrets. She quickly realised that the messages being written in the book were from people who were no longer part of this world. Bad people, who had died and were now expressing themselves through the book.
She was reading the writings of the distant departed. She was hearing the voices of the deceased. These were the languages of the dead.
Whenever she opened the book, it was like she was hearing the words. They would whisper her name, and when she began to listen, they would drip their twisted, poisonous thoughts deep down in her mind.
They told her stories about her best friend, Elizabeth. They told her that Elizabeth was bad, and bad people should have bad things happen to them. And if Rebecca wouldn't do as she was told, then bad things would happen to her, too.
They showed her things they had done when they were alive. They showed her things they could do when they were dead. Rebecca had made up her mind. She would do what they wanted.
She and Elizabeth had been friends for over four years. Although Rebecca was the older of the two, Elizabeth had always been the more sensible one. Rebecca had left school and found a job, but Elizabeth had stayed on to study medicine.
Elizabeth lived at home with her parents, and whenever she had the place to herself, she would invite Rebecca over for the night. They would drink wine, order take out, that sort of thing. Not that night though.
Rebecca had been told what to do, had been told how and where to push the carving knife up under the ribcage and into the lung, preventing Elizabeth from screaming. She had been surprised how easily the blade had pierced the skin, and slid into the body.
She had left Elizabeth on the floor, face down after slitting her throat. Just as she had been told to. She wasn't going to let this happen to her.
She had rented out her basement apartment, and only ever left to go to work. She knew that the police would want to talk to her about Elizabeth, so she kept a low profile, and stayed out of sight as much as possible.
And then, the book started speaking to her again. It told her she needed to kill someone. A stranger. Someone who could have family and friends that she would never know about. Someone who may actually deserve to die or someone who didn't. It wouldn't matter.
She knew what she had to do, and when she put the book back under the bed, the gun was waiting. She didn't know how it got there, or even what make or model it was. She didn't care. She would do as she was told.
Killing the lawyer had actually felt good. She held onto the thought of the event in her head, treasuring it like a precious memory. She could still hear the blasts, echoing in her ears. She remembered the image, as his face collapsed with the force of the high calibre bullets. She remembered the black coffee on the woman's dress. The exhilaration as she ran from the scene. Details.
. . . . . . . . .
Police Officer Peter Kabrowski was having a bad day. He knew it was how things had to be done, but door to door enquiries were depressing at the best of times. Endless streets to walk, showing the same pictures, asking the same questions, getting the same useless answers. No leads, no sightings, no hope.
There were two houses left in the street. He would go through the motions with these, and then call it a day. He walked up the small pathway of the first house, and noticed how neat the front lawn had been trimmed. He appreciated things like that.
He pressed the doorbell, took a step back and waited for a response. When the door opened, he was greeted by a short gentleman with a full head of greying hair. Kabrowski placed him in his mid fifties.
"Excuse me, mister....."
"Daniels. Harry Daniels. Can I help you, Officer?"
"Mister Daniels, does the name Rebecca Morrison mean anything to you?"
"Sure, she's been all over the news. But other than that, I'm afraid I can't help you."
Kabrowski pulled a brown envelope from a file he was carrying, and slipped out a photograph.
"Do you recognise this woman at all?"
Harry Daniels, took the photograph - a grainy black and white still from the CCTV at the burger bar - and studied it a few seconds.
"Hey, now you mention it, he does look familiar. But I don't think her name was Rebecca. I'm sure it was Sophie, or Sally...something like that. I rented her an apartment on King's Avenue a few weeks back. Wait here a minute."
Kabrowski waited while the man went back inside to get something. He eventually returned holding a file of his own.
"Here we go... Selena Phillips. Paid her first month in advance, in cash. Three hundred and eight, King's Avenue. Not the nicest part of town, I know, but someone's gotta live there."
"Mr Daniels, thank you for your time."
"Not a problem."
Kabrowski practically ran down the path and back to his squad car. His day had suddenly got interesting.
. . . . . . . . .
David had been watching her for over an hour now. Her eyes were closed, as if she was in a deep sleep. He knew it wouldn't be much longer before she came round. He was scanning the apartment for something, anything that could help him. But it was useless. He knew it.
"It's time, David."
The voice startled him a little. He looked over to where Rebecca had been sat for the last hour. She had looked up from the book, and was looking in his direction, but her eyes were still closed.
"They've told me what to do." A malicious grin spread across her face, as she slowly opened her eyes. "I won't lie to you, David. This isn't going to be pleasant."
. . . . . . . . .
Officer Kabrowski had radioed in the information he had discovered. Now he, and several other squad cars full of officers were on their way to the address that Harry Daniels had given them.
The orders were clear and simple. Break down the door, and see who was there. If the suspect was there, they would make an arrest. They wouldn't want to use force. But they would if they had to.
They parked the cars at the end of the Avenue, and began to approach the apartment.
. . . . . . . . .
David had tried to struggle when he saw the look in her eyes, but he wasn't going anywhere. When she had put the book back under the bed, her hand came back out holding a hypodermic needle. She seemed almost as surprised as he was that it had been there.
She approached him slowly, waving the needle from side to side.
"Now now, David! You need to be a big boy! It's time for your medicine."
David was trying in vain to pull himself away. If she wanted to give him that shot, he wasn't going to make it easy for her. She took one step closer, then another.
"Come on, David. Don't make this harder than it needs to be..." She lashed out with one foot, and kicked one of empty glasses in David's direction. He instinctively put his hands up to protect his face, and that was all she needed. In an instant, she was on top of him, plunging the needle into his bicep and emptying the contents.
Whatever was in the syringe worked quickly. In a few seconds, David was slumped against the wall. She kicked him hard in the chest just to make sure he really was unconscious before releasing the cuffs and dragging him into the middle of the room.
. . . . . . . . .
The officers silently approached the door to the apartment. They all had guns drawn, but they had no intention of using them. What problem would they have? One young girl against a dozen trained cops? One officer stepped up to the door and quickly examined it. It wouldn't take much to knock it down.
He leaned back, and took one hefty kick at the lock. The door gave easy and it took a second or two to take in the sight before him.
"Get away from me, or I'll cut him I swear to God!" A boy was unconscious, lying naked on the floor. A shape, like some kind of serpent had been carved on his chest, and the girl leaning over him was now holding the scalpel tight against his throat.
"Hey, take it easy... don't make this any worse than it already is."
"You have no idea what you're dealing with! This isn't about me. It's about them! I WAS JUST DOING AS I WAS TOLD!" With that, she raised the scalpel high with both hands, and went to bring it down hard in David's neck.
She was quick. But not quick enough.
Kabrowski had been just behind the first officer, who still had his gun pointing at the floor. Kabrowski had had his levelled at the girl as soon as he saw what they were up against. This girl was clearly psycho.
He pulled off one clean shot just as the girl began to bring the blade down. It hit her hard in the shoulder, knocking her backwards. She wasn't dead, but she wasn't going anywhere either.
"Somebody get an Ambulance here, now." Several Officers had already gathered around Rebecca's body, just to make sure.
"Looks like someone's gonna be spending some quality time in the nut hatch..."
Kabrowski walked over to the boy and stared down at the marks on the body. They gave him the creeps, and a small shudder went down his spine.
The ambulance arrived, and David's wounds were dressed. By the time he had come round, the paramedic had said he would need to take it easy, but other than that he would be fine.
Rebecca was escorted to the ambulance. She was conscious, but refusing to talk. She just led there, smiling.
David had been given some fresh clothes, and was just getting dressed and about to leave when he saw it.
She had put it under the bed, hadn't she?
Lying on the floor, just a few inches from his feet was the book. He bent down and picked it up. It wouldn't hurt to have a little souvenir of his ordeal, would it? He stuffed it under his shirt before walking out of the apartment.
He had never wanted to read anything more in his life.
- VS -
Entry 2
Lucy felt her son slip out of her hand and into the street.
The sensation lingered only a second before she heard the crunch of bone against metal. The screech of tires and the dull thud of a small body being impacted didn't register in that second. But the sight of her son's limp body being tossed through the air singed her mind. Time stopped in that instant, hovering in a second of overwhelming emptiness.
The emotions were still fresh in her mind as she replayed the instant over and over again. She sat in the doctor's office, waiting for him to return. He said he'd be back in a moment, but Lucy had lost all sense of time.
Everything leading up to the bland, sterile office was a jumble. The ambulance and the emergency room smeared together with seconds overlapping into a blur. But her son was awake, his mouth speaking silent prayers to himself. The doctors and the nurses didn't understand why they couldn't hear him. They thought he was having a seizure. He had been broken like a doll and they wanted to run tests on why he couldn't speak.
Lucy gripped the arm of her chair, still feeling the ghostly presence of her son's hand leaving hers.
She hadn't cried yet.
She refused to cry.
She was staring at the plastic plant in the corner when the door finally opened again. Slowly, Lucy lifted her head. Even if she jumped to her feet, what the doctor would say to her wouldn't change.
This was her fault.
Dr. Peterson had a kind face. Pediatricians should, Lucy thought to herself. He wasn't like the last doctor she had brought her son to.
He sat down with a sigh. He swung his chair from side to side. He looked into the white folder he was carrying and frowned.
"How long have you known your son couldn't speak?" he asked with a hint of a taunt in his voice. Lucy could hear it. He was mocking her. You're a bad mother, his eyes burned from his kind face.
Lucy cleared her throat. "He's never spoke."
Dr. Peterson shook his head. "Why didn't you bring him in when you first realized this? He's nearly six. He should be entering grade school and should have been socializing with other children for years."
"I'm home schooling him," Lucy replied sharply. "And I read that Einstein didn't speak until he was nine. Gus doesn't have a problem with speaking. A car hit him. Treat that."
He sat forward, resting his elbows on his desk. "Did you ever bring him to a doctor to get him properly examined?"
"Is my son okay?" Lucy asked, ignoring the question.
"Physically, yes. He's got some road rash and his arm is broken, but what we're most concerned about is what we found in his cognitive exams. We want to go ahead with a CAT-scan," he said as he opened up the white folder again. He pulled out a sheet and made a motion to hand it to Lucy, but she ignored him again.
"Just tell me when I can take him home," she shook her head. "I'll deal with his problems myself."
"Mrs. June, when did you husband die?" Dr. Peterson sat back, the sheet still in his hand.
"Paul died when Gus was four," she said, straining to keep her voice level. "He fell off the roof right in front of his son."
"That could be the reason your son's speech has retarded," he said with a small nod. "Or this could be autism. I've still got some more tests to run to confirm it, but..."
"My son does not have autism."
"We're going to go ahead and run some more..."
"My son does not have autism."
Lucy was standing in front of Dr. Peterson's desk. She channeled her anger at herself towards the doctor and his lies. Her son wasn't sick. Her son was all she had left and she wasn't going to let him be taken by some disease.
An uneasy silence shuddered through the office. Lucy clenched her fists before sitting down again.
"Tell me when I can take my son home," she said. She swallowed and firmed her face.
Dr. Peterson sighed. "He can be discharged tomorrow. But I'd still like to keep him for a few more days."
"I'll be taking him home tomorrow," Lucy replied as she stood. "Thank you for taking such good care of my son."
Lucy left, stalking out of the door and towards the elevator. She returned to her son's room, where she had sat before the doctor called her into his office to lie to her. It was the same batch of lies she had heard two years ago, just before her husband died. They had taken their son in for a regular check-up and their deceitful doctor had told them their son had a problem. He didn't give her any solutions, but he still said he had a problem. Why tell them something was wrong if you couldn't fix it?
The day Paul died had finally faded from her mind and this brought it all back. Her husband had been fixing a window while she made supper inside. Gus was outside with him and must have seen the whole thing. He wandered inside and came up to her, mouthing his ghost words.
He watched his father die and didn't make a sound.
He knew words but chose not to say them. That made him unique, not retarded.
Lucy sat next to her son and took his small hand. Both were bandaged, but a small patch of skin showed on his left arm. The other was in a thick, white cast. She rubbed his warm skin and exhaled.
His mouth was still moving, talking but not speaking. He would sleep through the night and she would take him home the next day. They'd put this behind them, just like all the other tragedies in their lives.
"You're going to be okay, Gus," she said softly. "Just like when daddy died. We'll get through this. I promise."
She held Gus' hand and let out a heavy sigh. He was so small. His soft brown hair was the same color as his father's. When his blue eyes were open and exploring the world, they were the same shade as her mother's. She'd lost them both and now their pieces were in her son. He was perfect. The doctors were just liars.
Her mother had died just after Gus was born. Gus was two weeks old when her mother came for a visit. Lucy had handed her mother her grandson and went to the kitchen to make tea. When she returned, her son was opening and closing his mouth serenely while her mother's head was slumped over. Still holding the baby, her mother had died. It was a stroke, they said.
Lucy shut her eyes. Her son had seen two people die. No wonder he didn't speak.
"Mrs. June?" A voice from the doorway shook her awake. She turned to face the nurse.
"Would you like some water or anything?" The nurse spoke again, looking somewhat like an angel in the bright light from the hall. Lucy ignored the feeling and shook her head.
"No, I should be okay," she replied. "Is he going to be okay, though?"
The nurse smiled tightly, readying herself to lie again. "There were no major injuries inside. Just the break and some cuts and bruises. It's a bit of a miracle, actually."
"Yeah," Lucy said. "He's my miracle."
Nodding, the nurse slipped away.
Lucy sat back, wishing she could feel her husband's comforting hands on her shoulders. She closed her eyes, trying to recall the last thing he said to her. 'I'll watch him,' he'd said. They both loved their son and she nearly let him die.
Her son's hand tightened around hers and she opened her eyes. He gave her a small smile then looked in the corner of the room and started mouthing unknown words again. Lucy grinned to herself. Her son would speak to her soon. He was just waiting to find the right words.
"Mommy's going to go to the bathroom, sweetheart," Lucy said softly. "Will you be okay by yourself?"
Gus just gazed off and silently spoke to nothing.
When Lucy stood, she saw an autism pamphlet sitting on the table near the doorway. She picked it up and studied the cover before dropping it in the trash.
She left her son's room and went looking for the bathrooms. She decided to herself that she needed some time to think so she went looking for the public washrooms. She couldn't find them and settled on grabbing a bottle of water from a vending machine. She took the elevator down to the previous floor, listening to the rhythmic hum of the car as it reached the stop.
Maybe her son was sick.
The doors shuddered open and she stepped out into another white hallway.
The machine dispensed her water. She stood and looked down at it. It sat at the lip of the dispenser, swaying from side to side.
If he was sick, maybe drugs could make it better.
She picked up the bottle and opened it. She took two drinks then tossed it in the trash.
Lucy took the stairs on the way up. The swish of her pants made her mind stop rolling over what may or may not be wrong with her baby.
When she reached the top of the few steps, she heard something fall and rattle at the bottom. The garbage can she had dropped her bottle into had fallen over. Lucy frowned and slumped her head back at her clumsiness. Go down and pick it up, she chided herself.
She took one step forward.
The second she stumbled, she shut her eyes and braced for the fall. She felt each step as she fell. Each was a punch to the stomach or to her side.
She didn't remember hitting the bottom, but knew she fell when she woke up at the bottom of the stairs. Woozily, she stood and braced her hand against the wall. She felt her head and her ribs. Nothing felt broken. Everything felt okay.
"Okay," she mumbled to herself. "I'm okay."
She moved up the stairs and back to her son's room. He had sat up, fiddling with his cast. He turned and gave her a grin when she entered the room.
"Hi Mommy."
Lucy's body shuddered. She laughed nervously as joy rose up in her chest.
He spoke.
"Hi baby."
She grinned. She couldn't stop grinning.
"Can you come sit with me again?" Gus said. "I like it when you hold my hand."
Lucy was halfway out the door. "Just a second, sweetheart. Mommy has something important to tell the doctors."
Lucy sauntered confidently to the nurses' station. She saw Dr. Peterson talking with the nurse that had been to her room earlier. Perfect, Lucy thought to herself. Now they'll know.
"He just spoke," she announced. "Gus spoke to me."
They ignored her, going over a chart.
"Fine. Come see for yourself if you don't believe me."
Again, nothing. A phone rang and they turned their attention to it.
Annoyed, Lucy went back to the room. She sat next to her Gus and smiled at him.
"Can you tell mommy a story, Gus?" she said, taking his small hand. "Tell me a good story."
Gus nodded slowly, then looked to the same corner he had been talking to earlier.
He turned back and cocked his head at Lucy.
"Can daddy help me?"
Lucy froze, her smile fading.
Gus kept staring at the corner and Lucy slowly turned her head.
Her husband and her mother sat in two once empty chairs in the corner.
Lucy met Paul's eyes and he gave her a small smile. He reached over and put his hand on her mother's leg. Her mother was crying, tears slipping silently down her face.
"He just wanted to talk to you," Paul said. "He...he's sorry."
Frozen, Lucy's arms started to shake.
Her eyes were fixed on her dead family as a rapidly talking group of nurses and doctors wheeled past her door with an empty gurney.
"He's been talking to you this...this whole time?" Lucy forced words out her shaking mouth.
Paul nodded. "I'm sorry."
"He pushed me," Lucy said, looking away from Paul back to Gus. He had returned to playing with the material of his cast.
The gurney came wheeling back again, a nurse kneeling on Lucy's chest, compressing it and yelling something at the doctors.
Again, quiet fell over the room of the dead and the living. Lucy sat back, listening to her son cooing to himself. He turned and smiled at her. Lucy smiled back, feeling tears start to well in her eyes.
Her mother's sobs finally broke the silence.
And Lucy cried.
Entry 1:
Amontillado
Anansie
apollo88
Axolotl
babyg
CaptainThorns
DCWoody
Doodles
FunnyAsCancer
hour_man
JMG114
joedaddy
JoeyG
mr-bee
nrduncan
orph
peckerhead
PMN
rad1101
ripple
rob_berg
sicosemen
Sinistral
St_Jimmy
supadupapupa
TheUniter
TimetoDance
23 eligible votes (27 total) *
Entry 2:
_God
a_palindrome
august_sobriquet
Ballare
bob
Bubba2341
charminglybeef
Coleslaw_Murphy
Crystle
darko
Davros
drgoatcabin
DrogoRoch
EchoBoxing
ghola
helbling
Hiredugan
Hirilnara
horse87
HotWillie
indoninja
Jack_McCallum
JonnyX
justagirl27
LadyK
Natsukau
Sacrilicious
ScarfaceMN
sparkle_pink
SPECIALk
Stagger_Lee
stevie_says
thecaes
26 eligible votes (33 total) *
* Eligible votes are those made by users who had either (A) posted 3+ messages OR (B) written 100+ [lowered from 750+] reviews as of the beginning of the UberMadness! competition.
User Reviews
Submitted by Hirilnara (user info) at 2006-12-08 08:31:04 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This was such a hard choice!
Submitted by DrogoRoch (user info) at 2006-12-08 04:30:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Damn they were both good. I really thought I would vote for #1 then #2 just got to me, loved it.
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2006-12-08 02:05:11 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2006-12-08 01:42:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2006-12-07 23:53:01 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Jesus, what's all this "too Sixth Sense for my taste" crap? A movie comes out seven years ago and it's still not okay to write about anyone who can see ghosts? That's like saying I didn't vote for Entry 1 because the evil book makes it "too Evil Dead for my taste."
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2006-12-07 23:45:26 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Both these entries were good. Entry 1 had a nice and creepy ending, but I thought the stuff with the cop was a little too "standard" and honestly wasn't necessary. That being said, I would have voted for Entry 1 when stacked up to most stories I've read so far.
Except for this one. Entry 2 did an awesome job of portraying Lucy as a really emotionally damaged mom, and then had a wicked-awesome twist at the end. That was some excellent storytelling. Good characterization, nice setup, excellent pacing, fucking awesome. Best entry I've read.
Submitted by rob_berg (user info) at 2006-12-07 17:50:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Crystle (user info) at 2006-12-07 17:37:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Both were good.
Submitted by Davros (user info) at 2006-12-07 14:23:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Close call.
-Dave
Submitted by sicosemen (user info) at 2006-12-07 07:52:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by SPECIALk (user info) at 2006-12-07 02:10:59 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
corny ftw
Submitted by bob (user info) at 2006-12-07 02:08:53 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Ballare (user info) at 2006-12-07 01:52:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Anansie (user info) at 2006-12-06 22:50:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
I wasn't really sure which of these to vote for. They are about even to me. I guess that means this vote is arbitrary.
Submitted by Sinistral (user info) at 2006-12-06 22:15:22 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by joedaddy (user info) at 2006-12-06 22:00:37 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
..
Submitted by LadyK (user info) at 2006-12-06 19:26:47 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by St_Jimmy (user info) at 2006-12-06 13:36:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
#1 was freakin' amazing!! #2 was good, but a bit too "Sixth Sense" for my taste.
Submitted by PMN (user info) at 2006-12-06 12:11:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Great use of the given title by both entries. Voting was very difficult; even though my vote won't officially count, I selected entry 1.
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2006-12-06 00:07:08 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Both really good. #1 was a really good story, well written.
#2 just had a bit of a creative edge I enjoyed a bit more. Tough call.
Submitted by sparkle_pink (user info) at 2006-12-05 23:40:50 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by justagirl27 (user info) at 2006-12-05 23:35:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by JMG114 (user info) at 2006-12-05 23:29:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Nothing like a nailbiter. Good luck to both.
Submitted by a_palindrome (user info) at 2006-12-05 22:42:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by supadupapupa (user info) at 2006-12-05 22:33:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
these were both really interesting I though, but I'm gonna go with number one. The ending of #2 was a little staccato, it didn't mesh with the earlier flow.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-12-05 22:11:53 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-12-05 22:10:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by _God (user info) at 2006-12-05 20:10:49 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Well....a bit reminiscent of the Sixth Sense, but damned fine writing.
Both stories...damned fine writing.
Submitted by Natsukau (user info) at 2006-12-05 19:37:39 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-12-05 18:05:37 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
These are both really good.
I have to go with #2 since the flow of the story was more seamless - #1 had some bits that jumped around and I could figure out what was happening for a little bit.
very close call between these two.
Submitted by DCWoody (user info) at 2006-12-05 17:54:02 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by JMG114 (user info) at 2006-12-05 17:08:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Entry one reminded me of Johnny the Homicidal Maniac, and anything that reminds me of Johnny the Homicidal Maniac is grade-A material. Very creepy and imaginative. Great job!
Entry two was well-written, but it seemed too similar to a lot of other "dead but don't know it yet" stories. I still liked it, though.
Submitted by horse87 (user info) at 2006-12-05 16:47:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by nrduncan (user info) at 2006-12-05 16:40:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by august_sobriquet (user info) at 2006-12-05 14:33:06 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
cool story number 2
efficiently fit in a nice little plotline.
one was a bit cartoonish, a bit like a bad, condensed television horror drama.
Submitted by EchoBoxing (user info) at 2006-12-05 14:30:12 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
ugh
Submitted by darko (user info) at 2006-12-05 14:18:45 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
filename = title.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-12-05 14:03:21 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
I have to go with Entry 2.
Entry 1 had the BETTER concept, but poor execution. Here is one example... It's purely personal, but I cannot stand reading sound effects in a story.
"Hey, you can't talk to me like -"
BANG. BANG.
The two shots from the .380 ACP punctuated the rest of the sentence.
--
Better to do it like this...
"Hey, you can't talk to me like--"
There were two flat bangs as shots from the .380 ACP punctuated the rest of the sentence.
Let's say someone is hearing a pinging sound.
#1.
He walked down the dark hallway, hearing a strange sound.
PING PING.
-That blows.
#2.
He walked down the dark hallway, hearing a strange pinging sound.
-That's okay.
#3.
He heard a strange sound, a ping-ping as he walked down the hall
-Barely acceptable.
Anyhow, #2 was a smooth read. If #1 lost all the rough edges it may have been the better tale.
Submitted by TimetoDance (user info) at 2006-12-05 13:42:28 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by helbling (user info) at 2006-12-05 13:00:50 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by peckerhead (user info) at 2006-12-05 12:58:28 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Entry 2, I spotted one small typo, just in case you keep this for posterity: "When did your (not 'you') husband die?
Submitted by FunnyAsCancer (user info) at 2006-12-05 12:51:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
I dunno what happened in #2.
Sixth Sense scenario?
Submitted by peckerhead (user info) at 2006-12-05 12:50:04 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Entry 2 was very good and flowed nicely. I was not completely comfortable with the ending.
Entry 1 had me from the 2nd or 3rd paragraph. I think the general Uber population would really like this story and it's a bloody shame that so many members seem to be anti-Ubermadness.
Great job by both authors. I'm betting this one will be close.
Submitted by Coleslaw_Murphy (user info) at 2006-12-05 12:33:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Both very good.
Entry 2 by a nose.
Submitted by babyg (user info) at 2006-12-05 12:25:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by HotWillie (user info) at 2006-12-05 12:16:35 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by stevie_says (user info) at 2006-12-05 11:45:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by drgoatcabin (user info) at 2006-12-05 11:35:19 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by orph (user info) at 2006-12-05 11:13:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by charminglybeef (user info) at 2006-12-05 10:55:01 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
That's a tough one. Number one wasn't as well-written, but it almost won my vote with the last line.
Number two was strong and flowing but reminded me of The Sixth Sense.
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2006-12-05 10:35:49 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-12-05 10:19:19 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2006-12-05 10:01:23 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
i read the last lines of both
number one's was slightly less cringe worthy.
Submitted by ripple (user info) at 2006-12-05 09:39:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by hour_man (user info) at 2006-12-05 09:19:27 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Doodles (user info) at 2006-12-05 09:18:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Number 1:
I enjoyed it but there were a couple of phrases that pissed me off just by their redundancy like
'who shot dead thirty-five year old lawyer' shot dead just pissed me off, badly
'caressing it gently like a domestic pet' are there any real pets that aren't domestic?
Other than things like that and a few small typos, very good.
Number 2:
A little bit more predictable, but still enjoyable.
Submitted by Amontillado (user info) at 2006-12-05 09:06:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Hiredugan (user info) at 2006-12-05 08:58:13 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by mr-bee (user info) at 2006-12-05 08:50:08 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by indoninja (user info) at 2006-12-05 08:42:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by ScarfaceMN (user info) at 2006-12-05 08:28:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by JoeyG (user info) at 2006-12-05 08:20:21 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
I thought these were both pretty cool. Shame to choose, but #1 just gets it.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-12-05 08:15:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
These both seemed quite long when I was reading them, but it only took me ten minutes. Odd.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-12-05 08:12:46 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment