Christmas Special: The Present

December 24th, 16:00

"Mummy! What do you think Santa will give me this year?" Little Samuel asked, skipping down the sidewalk, holding his mother's hand.

His mother smiled, "I don't know Samuel. We'll just have to wait until Christmas Day to see." 

Samuel grinned, "I've been a nice boy all year, so Santa must be giving me nice things this year!"

His mother smiled again, "Yeah, he must've."

They walked home, preparing dinner and waiting for Samuel's father to return for their Christmas Eve's dinner. By the time they were done, it was already well past seven. Samuel sat in front of the television, silently praying for his father's return as he watched. As they sat at the table, waiting for his return, Samuel's mother received a phone call.

"Honey, I might be back later than usual, you and Samuel should eat first." He said.

"John, are you alright? Samuel's still waiting for you." She asked, rather worried.

"Yes, I'm fine, Jane. I just have some work to finish. Go ahead, eat first." John said, smiling.

"If you insist. I'll see you then." Jane sighed.

"Alright, don't wait up." John said, hanging up.

John stood up from his desk, picking up his huge red sack. He put on a red hat, put on his black boots, and shouted to his colleague, Jack, "Let's go, Jack! Santa's in the house!"

"Mummy! Mummy! It's Christmas! Lets go see what Santa dropped off!" Samuel yelled as he opened the door to his parents' room. But there wasn't anyone inside. Instead, he heard his mother's voice in the living room.

"Oh good morning officer, how may I help you?" His mother asked as she opened the door.

"Mrs. Jackson? Hello, I am Detective Tennant. I would like to confirm that is  this your husband, John Jackson?" Detective Tennant said as he held up a picture of John.

"Y...yes. What's wrong? What... What happened?" She asked, apparently worried.

"Mrs. Jackson, I am sorry to tell you that your husband is found in an alley this morning. We suspect that he may have been mugged and killed." Tennant said, putting John's photo back into his pocket.

"Oh...oh my god." That was all She could muster. 

"Ma'am, please follow us to the precinct to make sure we didn't make a mistake." Detective Tennant said.

"Al...alright." She took her coat and grabbed her shoes. "Samuel! Mummy's going out for a while. I'll call the babysitter, she'll be here in a while. Sit tight. Alright?" She said.

"Alright! See you soon mummy!" Samuel said as he walked back to his room.

After a while, Samuel heard the doorbell ring. He dashed downstairs to see the babysitter opening the door, greeting an old man with a white beard.

"Hello, does the Jacksons live here?" He asked.

"Of course we do!" Samuel shouted as he walked towards the doorway.

The old man smiled, and took out a Bo with an envelope stuck on it. On the envelope were the words "To Samuel".

"Ah, you must be Samuel. Here, take this, Merry Christmas, boy." He handed the wrapped box to Samuel.

Samuel looked at the old man, "Are you Santa, mister?"

"Oh no, little Samuel. The Santa would be your father, my dear. Trust me, he'd like you to have this." The old man smiled, "Merry Christmas!" He said as he walked away.

"Mrs Jackson, reports say that an old man, specifically a man in his mid 80s with a long white beard found your husband this morning in a Santa costume with an empty sack beside him..."

Note: hi guys! Merry Christmas. I know it might a little late but here is my Christmas present to you all. It's a short story, and my first try at writing with Pathos. For those who aren't sure what it is, go look it up. Anyway, I hope this isn't too bad, relfections are appreciated. Thanks.

Exams, thou art a heartless bitch

Once upon a midnight dreary,

 while I revised weak and weary.

While I nodded, nearly napping,

suddenly there came a clapping,

"'Tis some literature", I muttered

Just a book slamming shut.

Only this, and nothing more.

  

Ah, distinctly I remember,

it was in the bleak December.

That I had to prepare for tests,

trapping me inside a net.

"Oh Examinations," I exclaimed,

"Why art thou a heartless shrew!"

Quoth my neighbor, "Diddly-doo."

I know I suck at poems. Just wanted write something. YES, I paraphrased Edgar Allen Poe's Raven. Stop complaining, I PARAPHRASED it.

 

Writing Challenge: Natalie

Natalie

14 year-old Natalie wasn't the brightest girl in class. But she wasn't the dimmest of them all, either. She wasn't pretty, but she's not ugly either.

In fact, if one had to describe her, "mediocre" or "average" would be the first words that will pop into your mind. But, her average life changed on that fateful day.

She was walking down the stairs of her new home. Holding her flashlight, she ventured into the basement, where she found an old parcel. She also noticed a door inside the basement, a door to another room. She turned the knob, but it was locked. She decided that it wasn't wise to kick open a door and possibly strain her ankle two days before her swimming competition. Doing what anybody would do, she picked up the parcel and left the basement.

Back in her room, she unpacked the parcel and saw two things- a key, and a Super 8mm film. She remembered her dad finding an old projector in the attic. She hauled it into her room and put it next to her chair. Putting the film inside the projector, she let it do its thing while she sat down on a chair, grabbed a soda and waited.

The first thing she saw was a girl, oddly resembling her, but with more scars on her face and a few bruises on her arm. She opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated. A few seconds later, the girl finally spoke.

"Look, I'm sorry it lead to this, and I'm sorry that you had to find this. But it's either this or..." Her voice trailed off. The girl shook her head, speaking again, "If you found the key, that means you have to open the door in the basement. The seal is rotting, and I need your help. Now, this may sound absurd, but your life may depend on this."

At this point,  Natalie frowns. What was the girl talking about? She drank another sip of her soda.

The girl inhaled deeply, "It's going to be dangerous, but if you don't do anything, it's going to get bigger and meaner until it consumes your whole family and nobody, absolutely nobody will remember you. But if you want to save your family, here is what you need to do. Don't blink, don't turn back, and don't look away. It's fast. Faster than you'd like to believe. That thing can look like anything, from a box to a giant spider. It gets you when you're not looking. One touch is all it needs. Once you open the door, remember: Don't turn away, don't look back, AND DON'T BLINK."

And then the film stopped. Natalie stared at the key on her table, wondering her next move. She took a deep breath, and grabbed the key. She went down to the kitchen, and grabbed the sharpest cleaver she found. She took her torch and headed down.

She turned on the lights. She faced the door, key in hand. She unlocked the door.

Click.

She opened the door and ventured inside, seeing nothing but a black, wooden box. Then she remembered.

"Anything from a box to a giant spider." The girl had said.

She unconsciously blinked. The box was gone. She heard a growl behind her and turned. A giant spider hung from the ceiling.

Natalie slashed at the spider. The head fell off. And then the body disintegrated. A low voice was heard from the spider's head.

"I'm back."

She turned around. A statue stood before her. The statue of a demon. Pointing at her. She stepped back and turned away, a mistake she couldn't afford to make.

She was thrown to the floor. The demon's face shifted from a frown to a wicked smile. His body shifting into a posture of a throw. She stood up and patted her arm, realizing that there was a bruise on her arm.

She blinked. Again. This time she felt a hot sensation run through her face. She touched her cheeks and felt three claw marks on her face. She backed away, staring at the demon. It wasn't moving. Her hands touching the door, she tried to open it. It was locked.

She looked away from the demon for a moment, trying to unlock the door. But it was too late.

The demon touched her with its palm.

That was the last thing she felt before blacking out.

She woke up in an ally. She walked out of the ally, catching a flying newspaper.

"January 24th, 1969"

She froze. She was sent back in time. That was what the girl had meant. Her brain made a rational decision: to record her findings and pass it on.

And then she realized. She was the girl in the video. She made the tape to make sure she knows her way out. 

She ran back to the house after a confusing run-in with the locals, stealing a camera afterwards. She closed in on the deserted house. Preparing herself, she kicked the door open.

The sunlight was shining through the windows as she walked towards the basement. She opened the door, an turned the lights on. The door was... open. She crept up behind the door, and heard faint breathing. She inhaled deeply, and peeked.

The statue was there. It was looking straight at the door.

She gathered her courage and slammed the door shut, using the key to lock the door. And then she noticed something on the door she haven't seen before: a seal. It looked like a ritualistic drawing. She stated at it, perplexed. 

The door shook. Like something was trying to get out from within. The seal is supposed to keep it from coming out, eh? She thought. She backed away slowly. Deciding that it wasn't a place for her to stay, she quickly left the basement.

She put the film in the camera, turning it on. She hesitated. Should she be doing this? But it was too late to turn back now. She opened her mouth, and spoke.

"Look, I'm sorry it lead to this..."

700- Anniversary update

700 views! Wow, 1 year and now we're here. I gotta say, didn't expect this. I started this like a normal, casual writing blog, just writing stuff whenever I wanted, and now look at me. Anyway, to celebrate the 1-year ANNIVERSARY, here's a short poem:

Roses are red,

It's been a year,

My blog is still dead,

And there's nothing you can hear.

There. That was some bad 2-minute poem. Anyway, here's gonna be the stuff you can expect me to post:

Long Halloween (Horror mini-series!)

Set Phasers to Stun (Sci-Fi Short stories)

Christmas Special (Wait for it.)

Serial Killer Chapter updates (FInally)

The Portrait Chapter updates (As in multiple)

.....And a lot of short stories.

Yei. That's all the stuff you can expect me to post in the *cough* NEAR future. Eh, that's it for now. Bye.

Halloween Special: Paranormal

II looked at the clock. 5...4...3...2...1... The bell went off. The stone faced teacher looked at me and a few of my friends,

     "You're free to go. Detention is over."

We said our goodbyes and walked out of the door,breathing fresh air. I walked alongside with my friends, Nick and Billy. We talked and laughed as we went our separate ways.

"See ya, Nick." I said.

"See ya tomorrow." He said, as we approached the gate.

"Wait, something's not right." Billy stopped, staring at the sky.

"Everything isn't right to you, Billy. C'mon." Nick said with annoyance.

"No," Billy frowned. "It's only 5:00. Look at the sky." He pointed towards the sky.

"It's pitch black." Nick made a comment.

"Congrats on solving the mystery, Sherlock." I said with apparent sarcasm. 

But he was right. Even though it was only 5:00 in the afternoon, the sky was pitch black. Billy approached the gates.

"It's locked, can't get it open," said Billy as he shook the gate.

I checked my watch. 5:12, October 31st. I sighed, thinking of the people coming to our place and raiding my candy stash.

Nick made a suggestion, "We should probably find the janitor or something, he should have a key."

We walked back into the school's main building, only to find it completely pitch black as well. I turned on the lights on the corridor, and was treated to a gruesome scene; the corridor was covered in blood, with a battered body lying on the side of the corridor, its finger pointing towards a painting of our principal. 

"Holy crap." Nick whispered.

"Is that dead guy trying to tell us something?" Billy asked, motioning towards the painting.

I stayed silent for a second. "We should check it out." I suggested, rather grimly.

Nick walked towards the painting, carefully avoiding the corpse, and move the painting aside. Behind the painting there was a stone tablet. Billy and I walked over, inspecting the tablet.

"Well I'll be damned." Billy cursed. "The names on this tablet are the guys who died in that serial killer's killing spree a few decades back." 

Nick stepped back. "Guys, it's Halloween."

I cursed. "So we're trapped in this twisted recreation of that spree because this is Halloween." 

"Basically, yes." Nick nodded.

I sighed again. We decided to retreat to a safer place and less bloodier place to rest. We walked towards our classroom and pulled down the binds, locked the doors, and finally turned on the lights. Not a drop of blood in sight.

Billy sighed in relief. "No bodies, so far so good,"

Nick slammed his fist on the table and swore, "Why the hell does it have to be us? And on Halloween as well. Dammit."

"Guys, we need a plan." I said.

"You're right, we do." Billy agreed.

"Plan my arse! If we're stuck in some crap like this, we're dead." Nick said. "I'm out guys, nice knowing you." That was Nick's last sentence before he walked out of the classroom.

Billy locked the door again as soon as he left. Approximately 30 seconds later, we heard Nick scream.

"We gotta go help him man!" Yelled Billy.

"It's too late for that, he's out." I sighed, closing my eyes and mourning my friend.

I reached into Nick's bag and pulled out his switchblade he got from a trip overseas. Billy took a torch from his bag. The chances were low, but we have to try.

"You ready?" Billy asked.

"Nope." I said. "Nice knowing you, Billy."

"Me too." He grinned.

We unlocked the door and wandered into the gloomy corridor. We noticed a blood trail leading to another room. Besides the trail was Nick's phone, with a bloody print on it, and the word HELP flashing across the screen. I nodded towards Billy, and we traveled towards the other end of the corridor, occasionally avoiding a bloody corpse hanging from a window or sprawled against the wall. The lights flickered and then I heard a spine chilling shriek, followed by Billy's blood curdling scream. I turned around, seeing nothing but a set of bloody shoe prints. I gritted my teeth and walked towards the classroom. As I entered, the first thing I noticed was Nick's severed head on a table, his eyes still wide in shock and his mouth frozen mid scream. On the black board there was a pentagram drawn with fresh blood, as well as the words I AM BACK. 

The lights flickered, and that was the last thing I felt before plunging into absolute darkness.

The long awaited 600 UPDATE

Hello, my fans(?). IT's me, your friendly neighbourhood writer. I just want to thank you all for viewing my stuff, thanks for the support, and really, THANKS.

I never thought my small blog could make it this far. I always thought it'd stop at about 200 or 300 views. But you people amaze me. 600 views? SERIOUSLY? Thanks, guys.

I just finished writing up a few short stories, might post it up after I finished my work, so... see ya next time. And of course, take care, everybody. K out.

......Delays

Hello, it's me. I seem to be having a case of writer's block these few months, so I couldn't really write much. My story, The Portrait, will most likely be delayed. Yes, delayed. Until my writer's block is gone, all you can expect is short stories and hopefully updates on The Serial Killer.

That's all I have to say for now, so take care, everybody.

Well....

Oh my god, how do I even say this? Well, as some people might know, I live in Hong Kong, so my wifi comes from my home, but I'm going to London for 2 weeks, so I'm not so sure if I can get wifi at the hotel. I've been having writer's block lately, so I'll try to slow down the pace, so don't really expect anything to be finished. :P

Well that's it. I'm heading towards the airport as we speak, so....yeah.

The 500 update

Hello, K here, what is going on? Today I want to say that my blog "Written Madness"(soon to be renamed) has reached 500 views. I want to say thank you to all my viewers. You helped a lot. I really hope that I can continue writing and you can continue reading. Let's not stop this, ok? I'm trying to finish The Portrait. Major updates will be coming in the summer holiday. Just wait and see.

This is it for this update, if you like what I'm doing, stick around, stay tuned, and follow me. :-)

Never expected this...

Hello people! just found out I reached 400! How the hell did I do that? (Am I that good?) Again, I'd like to thank all the readers for reading my stuff, I'll try to improve. In other news, a friend of mine and I are doing a collaboration Sci-Fi story, so I might post it here under a coming tab "Collab".

That's about it, I got nothing to say except "Thanks". BRB, gone writing. :D

Project HUMANISM

The last thing I remember was falling.

Falling into a bottomless, black pit.

And then, I woke up.

I was surrounded by white. Featureless, spotless, blank walls of solitude. I struggled to remember where I was before this. Nothing. Just a sheet of nothingness. I tried to think about something, my name, I thought. Still nothing. The only memory I have are blurry faces. Syringes, doctors, and a suited man. None of this makes sense to me until the voice came from well, everywhere. "Welcome, Subject No.5, welcome to the year 2054." The voice was emotionless, robotic even, and hard to bear. But I sat down, continuing to listen. "You have been cryogenically frozen from the year 2015, slight memory loss is predicted, and enjoy your stay here. End of transmission." The robotic voice died out.

I looked around he room. The room was bland, but still has a few things in the room; A table, a small bathroom, some cups, and a mug of water. I stared at the simple, locked door, thinking of a way to break out. I had a gut feeling that somehow the door wouldn't be as sturdy as table so I broke off a leg off the heavy metal table and headed towards the door. I swung the leg/bat hard, cracking the wooden door. I tried again, this time bursting the door. The voice rang out from the room again, "Please, do not do that. This is a breach of protocol." I stared at the metal speaker, and walked out the door. Behind the door was a dark, silent corridor. I looked around and saw a door, doing what a reckless amnesiac would do, I opened the unlocked door and went into a second room.

The room is just as featureless as mine; but the walls were gray and there was a locked cabinet of weapons on the wall. I walked closer, noticing the dead body slumped on a pile of ammo boxes. I took a look at the cabinet; digital lock, I'll need a combo instead of bashing it until something turns up. I further examine the man's body. Shot between the head, and then I saw a faint mark on the back of his hand, made by a marker. I held up his hand to take a closer look: it only reads 0816. I walked over to the cabinet and entered the code 0816, a click, and then I see the contents of the cabinets. A few Old-fashioned Colts, a customized S&W 500, and some futuristic-looking rifles. I took a backpack from the floor and put the rifle inside, and took the S&W revolver and then I walked over to the ammo boxes and took some ammo and some drinks left on the table, possibly by the man. I walk out pf the room, puzzled by the almost pitch-black environment. For some reason I took a wire from the digital lock, thinking that it would be be useful. That's when I heard a voice, "Subject 5 broke containment! His room is this way, just hope he doesn't run far! Go! Go!" footsteps followed. I hid behind a wall as a surge of memory came back, I held my hand against the wall, trying to be silent, re-experiencing the memory...

Russia Guerrilla Base, 15:56, 2014

I ran through the fortress' roof, avoiding guards. approaching a guard post, I took out my pistols and shot them and they're dead before they knew it. I advanced, my knives in hand. Seeing a guard below alone, kicking rocks and looking at the scenery, I dropped from the roof, landing on him as my knife entered his cranium, dealing the death blow. I brushed the dust off me and advanced through the doorway, and hid behind a corner; a pair of guards. I readied my garratt, and when they approached, completely ignoring me, I struck. I strangled the first guard and stabbed the other with my knife. They fell silently as I picked up their guns and advanced.

My vision ended as I returned to reality. I suddenly remembered the martial arts training I received and all the moves I used in my memory. My nerves hardened, momentarily turning into a cold-blooded assassin as they approached. "I think he's here!" Shouted a soldier. He approached the corner as I looped the wire over the light-armored soldier and I pulled hard. The soldier struggled and he went limp, his head almost severed. He dropped to the floor with a thud as his teammates rush over. I grabbed his rifle and with 2 rifles in hand, I started shooting. As the soldiers didn't expect their "Subject 5" to fight back, they grunted and fell. I dropped his rifle and searched the bodies. I found a survival knife, a torch and an ID with the name "Boris, Leader Beta" on it. I took all of them, and changed into his clothes an took Boris' helmet and breastplate, giving myself some protection. I walked to the end of the corridor, and bumped into a locked door with a flashing lock next to it saying "ID and retinal scan required" So I took Boris' body, scanning his eye and his ID, exiting the floor. I walked into another room, this time it has a laptop on a table. I take a look at the laptops last opened file, titled Project HUMANISM. I opened it and the contents of one of the files were... me.

Rapture Technologies: Project HUMANISM (HUMAN Innovation: SuperHuman) Phase I, Test Phase, Subjects 0-5

Subject 000 [Ragnarok] PROTOTYPE (Escaped)
Subject 001 [Shrapnel] (Deceased)
Subject 002 [Cell] (Active)
Subject 003 [Pulse] (Active)
Subject 004 [Echo] (Deceased)

Subject 005 [Switchblade] (Cryogenically Frozen) 
File:
Name: Connor [Surname Unknown]
Previous Occupation: Assassin
Abilities Expected: Extreme Agility, Active Camouflage, Disguise
Bio: [UNKNOWN]
-End of File-

I looked up from the computer. Switchblade was the only one that was frozen. Logically it should be me. But when did they... Forget it. I'll find a way out first. I turned the laptop off as I stood up to survey the room, noticing a door on the far side of the room. I walked over to the door and went through it, entering a scene of bloodshed. I walked further in, noticing a pile of dead bodies scattered on the floor. A man was running towards me, shouting something. As he approached, I started to hear him more clearly, "Run goddammit! They're coming! Phase II Experiments broke loose! They're coming!" He stopped next to me, examining my armour. "Boris? You're not dead yet? Thank god. We should go now, come on, they're advancing towards this room." I stared at him, and took off my helmet. "You? You're that guy right? The frozen project, Switchblade right? You're even better. Look, I need your help. Phase II went horribly wrong those things are killing everyone. I'm Pulse, by the way. Come on, we should go. My private weapons locker isn't far. We can go to the exit from there." Before I could react, Pulse dragged me to the exit as a horde of... people advanced towards us. Their skin was mangled and torn, and talons replaced their nails. Their messed-up faces were covered by a gas mask and they are wearing what seems to ba a tattered restriction vest. I raised my rifle, aiming at their heads as Pulse raised up his left hand and took aim with a SMG he held in his right. He looked at me and said, "Wanna know what the serum gave me?" he smiled and unleashed a shock wave, knocking back the experiments and tearing some of them apart. He let loose a barrage of bullets as I shot them in the head, one by one.

Half an hour after our encounter with the Phase IIs, We reached Pulse's weapons locker. He handed me a spare suit of armour with the designation "Switchblade" on it. "I thought you might need this. I found it in an unused weapons locker. Here, you'll need these as well." He then proceeded to hand me a new military backpack and some knives. "Your locker's over there. Knock yourself out." I walked over to my locker, taking all the knives from it and proceeded to conceal them in my suit. After equipping ourselves with the suitable equipment, we continued our journey to the exit.

I raced towards the exit, hoping that the hangar wouldn't be overrun by mutant experiments. But the only problem is a bunch of mutants blocking my way. I pulled out two blades from my back and engaged them. A slash and a hack, and they were down. Pulse was sending shockwaves towards the door, attempting to clear the way for the both of us. As we fought, memories surged back to me, and I remembered my initiation as an assassin, where I came from, how old am I, etc. The mutants kept coming, wave after wave, and we fought them until we reached the hangar. Everything in this ruined building is filled with bloodshed, chaos and death. After countless waves of mutants, we finally boarded the helicopter. "So, where to, Switchblade?" Pulse asked as he started the engine of the chopper. "Anywhere you want." I replied. "Alright then. Let's go to the closest city. Now, sit back and enjoy the explosion of Rapture Technologies HQ." He steered the chopper out of the hangar and fired some missiles at the mutant-infested building.

"We're going down! Brace yourself!" Yelled Pulse. I woke up from my sleep to see our chopper hurtling to the ground. He sighed and said, "It was nice knowing you, I sure hope I could save you, but teleportation is only limited to me. Bye, Switchblade." I stared, and said, "Yep. I'll be in the chopper if you need me, good luck out there," He smiled, and then he vanished. That was the last thing I saw before crashing.

I woke up to a shadow standing beside me, studying my body. The middle aged man looked at me and said, "Hey son, what's your name? Saw you crawl out from that chopper wreckage. Smart move, it exploded seconds after you went out." I struggled a bit and stood up, replying the man, "...My name is Connor, nice to meet you." The man's lips curled into a smile and he said, "The name's Donovan. Well Connor, welcome to Rockhollow City."

The Serial Killer Chapter 3: Hell is empty

-The king’s son, Ferdinand, With hair up-staring—then, like reeds, not hair—

Was the first man that leaped, cried, “Hell is empty

And all the devils are here.”

Dante closed the book. Finding the quote from the Bard's "Tempest" very true to his situation. He looked up at the ceiling and sighed, what was he doing with his life? He thought about the road that had led up to his current life of madness and murder. His mind flashed back to a few weeks back...

"What the hell was that, Lockman?" Yelled Dante's boss in his office. Dante, who was working as a salesman at the local Home Depot at the time, stood in his boss' office, silent. "You knocked over some mailboxes, and a few of our employees, and more than a few of our customers. Customers! Do you know how hard it is to reply to all these complaints while trying to save your arse, Lockman? I'm done with you, out the office, now. You're fired." Said his boss as he picked up the ringing phone and motioned him to leave his office. Dante walked out, head down as he passed his ex-colleagues and put the standard uniform down, putting on his old T-shirt. He walked out of the store, thinking about his plans now that he lost his job. It wasn't the first time he got fired because of some lame accident where he wasn't even responsible for starting. And when he reached home, he flopped onto the bed and slept. A few days later, he trudged to the toilet, thinking that he'd somehow be better. But deep in his mind, he snapped. He stopped dead in his tracks, sensing the psychopath in him unleashed., the hidden personality he had been unaware for years has been let out of his frail cage. He let out a sigh, looking at the mirror and seeing his true personality, a madman who has nothing to lose. He picked up a map of his neighborhood and the surrounding area, circling random houses and finally, the house of his old boss. And then, he looked back at the mirror, picking up his old hockey mask. And then, as slowly as he could, he picked up a dagger...

Dante snapped back into reality, waking up from his trip down memory lane. He took a look at his gallery of masks, and took the Guy Fawkes mask down from the wall. He took a nylon rope from his cabinet and twisted a knot in the middle. After doing all the preparation needed, he stuck the stuff into his bag and walked out of the door.

"How's it going, Poole?" Said Sergeant Payne as he entered the apartment of the victim. "Nothing yet, but I'm sure it's him. The "Messenger", that is." Replied Poole as he continued to snap pictures of the messy apartment. "The Messenger? Who's that?" Asked Payne. "Oh, so you don't know! They gave a nickname to the guy who killed uhh...... Freddie something."Replied Poole. "Ah, that guy. So, another clean cut?" Payne didn't stop asking questions. "Always questioning, I like that! Anyway, it would seem that our victim here was killed by the same M.O.-Which is, a clean cut to his throat. But I'd like to run some tests on the body." Payne looked at the dead boy- He couldn't be more than 25 years old, poor boy. "We're contacting his friends and family, sir." Chirped Milo as he walked in through the door. "You do that, Milo. Poole, send me the results as soon as you receive them." "Yes sir," replied Poole and Milo.

Dante walked towards Keanu Walk, passing the Rosewall Asylum, he remembered the tragic incarceration of his more or less crazy grandfather...

-1983, Rosewall Asylum, Shadowlake City-

"Wait! Grandpa! No! Don't...Don't take him away..." Little Dante's yell fell into a silent weep as tears streamed down his red cheeks. He watched silently as the men from the Asylum pulled his grandfather into a van, and his weep slowly turned into a sulk as the van disappeared from view. His grandparents and his father were his only family. And now his most beloved grandfather was locked into a nuthouse for being unnatural. Inside young Dante, a little part of his innocence died. That was the moment when he learned that life just wasn't fair.

Dante passed the now abandoned asylum and walked towards his target, leaving the tragic memory buried deep in his mind.

As he came out of the elevator, he looked at the door of his victim's apartment. Not wanting to waste time, he quickly surveyed the scene, making sure that nobody was around, and started to pick the lock. A slight click came from the door and before you knew it, he was silently creeping up his victim. He wore his mask, readied his rope and placed it around the woman's neck, and pulled back before she could react. The knot of the rope was right in the middle of the rope, accurately placed on the victim's larynx. Dante applied pressure on the rope, placing his foot on her back and kicked hard. The extra pressure crushed the victim's neck and she fell on the floor, lifeless.

Right when he finished his message, he heard a sharp scream come from the door. He turned and ran towards the window, and jumped. He landed on top of a parked car, and ran into an ally. He removed his mask and pocketed it along with his brush, before examining his injuries. Jumping from the first floor and landing on the car minimized his injury, but a nasty bruise was still left on his arm, the bruise being made from the top of the car. He tucked everything in neatly, making sure nothing seemed out of place and changed into a blue jacket, and walked out of the other side of the ally, walking home as he tried to shake the shrill scream from his mind.

Every 100- The third milestone (and additional news)

YUSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!! We finally reached 300! It's actually greater than my expectations, I'm actually looking for 200-ish views in such a short time, but my readers(you) have been pretty enthusiastic to view my stuff and here we are! 300 views!!!!!

In other news, I'm currently working on the 3rd chapter of The Serial Killer, and planning the 3rd Chapter of The Portrait. I'm guessing it'll be posted in about 2-3 days (I don't know, I'm a lazy guy) So all of you out there watch out! I'm back.

Cancelled

I am sorry to inform my readers that the story I promised, "Geography" will not be written as I cannot form the idea scraps into a complete story. As it had started out as a small, incomplete idea during lessons, it never had the chance to develop. Therefore I am not able to fully write the story out. Again, I am sorry.

The Portrait Chapter 2: The second victim

Three days after the funeral, I was sitting in my apartment, thing about my next step. And then the telephone rang. Naturally, I picked it up and answered, "Hello?" "Hey, it's Charles, remember me?" Charles was another friend of mine, specializing in English Horror novels and making a lot of money with his talent. Of course I remember him."Yes, of course I do. I haven't seen you for what? 3 years?" I asked. "Yeah, give or take. I'm calling you to let you know that it happened. It happened again." Charles' tone suddenly got serious. I got curious. What happened? "So? What exactly happened?" "He's dead. Ian got a portrait and now he's dead. The people there saw his portrait fall off a balcony and the next thing you know his skull cracked. You think this has anything to do with Ryan?" Charles' grim voice rang in my ear. My only reaction was to reply with uncertainty, "Ummm... I think so. I mean, they can't both die right after they did something to their portrait and then die from  the thing they did, right? It can't be a coincidence. Thanks for the heads up, Charles. Working on a new novel?" "Yeah. This topic piqued my interest. Plus, Ian used to sit next to me in class. How can I not write something to honor him?" And with the lingering question, he hung up.

I started packing. I had to get to the scene of the crime and take a look at the body and the portrait. Thirty minutes later, I arrived at the scene. Fortunately, the body was still there, so I used my privileges as a P.I. to get into the crime scene. "So, if it isn't the Private eye. So, who hired you this time? The victim doesn't seem like any major character." It was Corporal Benny Chen speaking. I hated him, always getting in the way for no reason. So I looked at him and said in a serious tone, "No one. I used to study with this guy, it just piqued my interest. It's not everyday that you get to see someone killed by a painting. Any more questions?" The corporal looked at me and said, "No further questions, my honor," and he walked away. I took a look at the body, lying on the balcony. Ian hadn't changed his haircut, always so messy and uncut. His face looked shocked and his pair of yellow-rimmed spectacles were askew. He was bleeding from the top of his head, causing the blood to soak his messy, untamed hair. His jaw was open, like he didn't expect it. Well of course he wouldn't expect it, he got killed by his own painting! Thinking of this, I chuckled slightly.

I walked over to Corporal Chen and asked him if I could take a look at the portrait, and he said yes. Bringing the portrait to me, I got a closer look at Ian's portrait. In the painting, he was grinning stupidly, and everything looked normal, save for the askew pair of spectacles and bloody hair. It looked exactly like his corpse. I thanked the Corporal for letting me see the portrait, and I walked home.

Back in my apartment/office, I sighed and plopped onto my couch and got thinking. It couldn't be a coincidence that the two of them died after doing the exact same thing to their portrait that caused their deaths. I took out a piece of paper and started writing.
A study in the death of portraits

1st victim: Ryan Y. (Death by drowning)
2nd victim: Ian W. (Death by blunt force trauma; fell off a balcony figuratively)
Anything in common: studied at the same school, deaths caused by mysterious portraits

Portraits: Strange, mysterious, possesses powers that cause death. WITCHCRAFT?

After writing the long list down, it hit me. What if, the strange deaths were caused by the most cliche powers in a fantasy novel? What if they died from witchcraft and magic and stuff? I took a look at the capital letters WITCHCRAFT on my paper, and decided to check the library for anything magic related.

I walked out of my apartment and decided to go to the old library 2 blocks away. People say that the owner there had an extensive collection of witchcraft and magic related books.

Finally reaching the 200 mark-A Milestone

Well, Hello again. It's been some time(not really) since I posted. Now that I re-entered this blog after some absence and conjuring up ideas for my next short stories, I have gleefully found out that my dearing blog, dedicated to writing mediocre stories has finally reached 200. I truly thank all of my readers for supporting me, and I'm sure that I'll work harder(right?).

And this marks the end of this announcement, until next time.

Just some stuff

Well, it's been obvious that I'm an amateur at writing, so I wanted to tell about a friend who likes writing-really much. He's publishing a new book in 5 months and I think he did a nice job! Anyway, here's the link to his blog: http://blogwildfire.blogspot.hk/

This is the end of this announcement

---Dystopian Wolves---

[Note: I started creating this story after hearing Schoolboy's "Project No-Autotune", I'd say it's inspiring, but you can decide for yourself. Link(warning: contains profanity): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d1wGFgoocKk | I also took some inspiration from Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451, taking the element of people controlled by television. Enjoy my short story, hope you like it.]

There will always be times when tyrants ruled nations: Julius Caesar, Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, to name a few. But, what if the tyrant ruling you wasn't a person, but a form of media? Well, this is the case of Rockhollow City. And in the midst of mindless propaganda and television shows, rebels rose; They were known as The Wolves.

-20:55, 2056, 5th TV Station, Rockhollow City-

"We don't have time for this! Just smash it, the patrol's coming!" Yelled Connor. "Not yet, Connor, buy me some time." replied Donovan calmly, adjusting his mask. "You've gotta be kidding me, man. Me, Steve and Arthur against a unit of patrol drones. I'm too young to die, I really am." Sighed Connor. Donovan looked at Connor through his grey mask, fashioned like a wolf and spoke to him, "Grow up, Connor. It's killed or be killed here. Too late to turn back now, little pup, just do it." And after that, Donovan continued his work at breaching the radio station's security systems.

"Arthur, cover me. Steve, flank the drones, I'm going in." Connor issued commands as they went to work. Arthur whipped out his heavy-duty custom M134 Minigun and stared to rain a hailstorm of bullets at the drones. The drones, notorious robots shaped like a TV screen with guns, claws and wires protruding out of it, was controlled by the Uncle Sam of Rockhollow Media- Big Al. Big Al was presented as a man in a smart, striped suit with a TV screen as a head aimed his small army of robots and guerrillas straight at those he think is a danger to his society-namely, the rebels.

The drones effortlessly blocked the incoming rain of lead as they tried to find a way to start attacking the 'deviants' in their minds as Steve dashed behind them and fired at them with a slightly customized version of a Tesla Rifle. The results were immediate: The drones were paralyzed by the sudden shock, allowing Connor to move in and shoot them, one by one.

"There we go!" Donovan yelled with triumph. "The system should be down now. I suggest we continue to the core of the station." Donovan concluded. Connor looked at him, "Couldn't you finish this earlier? We wouldn't have to waste the bullets this way." Donovan stared, "Well, I wasn't here earlier, so no, doing it earlier isn't possible. Chop chop now, we only have 5 minutes before the backup kicks in." And so the group of four went merrily along their way to the core of the station.

Meanwhile, Big Al sat on his news anchor chair, looking at hundreds of TV screens at once. He smiled when he spotted a small pack of hooded figure inside the TV stations-the Wolves. He had personally ordered the guerrillas and drones inside the core, thinking of the dead bodies of the rebels, he smiled yet again, displaying his cold and heartlessness to the world.

They walked and walked until they walked into a huge metal door. Arthur smiled and whispered, "Jackpot." Steve walked closer and kicked the door open, but they didn't expect what was inside the door: A small pack of elite drones and a squad of guerrillas in front them with guns raised and aimed straight at the door. A raspy voice emerged from a soldier who looked like the leader, "Fire!" After he issued the short and clear command, both sides whipped out their weapons and started an unfair gunfight.

A few guerrilla soldiers in heavy armor produced a large MG-300 Spartan machine gun from their backs and started shooting at Arthur. Arthur took out his Minigun and fired back, gunning down several soldiers. Donovan on the other hand, was assaulted by the drones. He was the engineer of the pack, so he had no problem dealing with the drones. While evading their heavy acidic bolts, he pulled out a mobile hacker from his waist, and jammed a hack dart into a drone. Now gaining full control of a drone, he started a counterattack, destroying the drones with ease while he hid behind a barrel, controlling the hacked drone. As he saw his teammates battle, Connor took a deep breath and unsheathed his sword: with a white blade, with the guard shaped like an eye with the blade protruding out of the pupils. He gripped the demon-shaped hilt and charged. He took down the soldiers, slashing an hacking with his expert control with the sword. After a hard fight, they looked at the fallen enemies, and adjusted their sight to the core: A small metal sphere with red, glowing circuits. Steve then jammed a bomb and told the team, "RUN!!" and ran they did. Running into the dark, shadowy night, the sound of explosions broke the peace and tranquility of the night.

Big Al cursed silently as he watched his men gunned down by three petty rebels. He looked at the cameras, hatching an idea. It was time to turn the tables. It was time to pull out the wild card. "Lights, camera, ACTION." He whispered.

Back at the Base, where the remainders of the Wolves planned their attacks and lived, Connor was making plans for the nest attack, remarkably mature for a 25 year-old boy. One of the 2 survivors from the British branch of the Wolves, Colin approached Connor and asked, "What do we do now boss? There's only 2 stations left." Connor took off his mask, revealing a pair of blue eyes and a impressively average face, answered, "After the stations, we hit the HQ of those propaganda freaks." He smiled at the idea of releasing the people from the clutches of the evil media. "Alright boss, I'll go tell Arthur and the others," He glanced at the small crowd of operatives, talking and laughing. After hearing the news, the operatives cheered and looked at their new, young leader. Perhaps he wasn't so bad after all, thought Donovan, the eldest of them all. But what they didn't know was Big Al's plan to destroy them with the people they vowed to free; He was going to turn the people against them.

Steve walked warily down the street, scared that he would be caught on camera, and walked to a nearby grocery store. Just when he was about to enter, he noticed an unusual phenomenon. People were glued to their TV screens, which was flashing with a singular message: KILL THE WOLVES. And then as slowly as he could, he backed away from the store, trying to escape. But a pedestrian saw him and recognized his markings on his jacket and yelled, "There he is! He's one of them!" After the words left his mouth, the whole neighbourhood turned into an angry mob and started chasing him, taking a total of 45 minutes to get back to the Base unharmed.

After he briefed the situation to his colleagues, computer technician Hal spoke up, "So what do we do now? Mr. TV has turned the people against us, and there are still 2 stations and the Headquarters we haven't broke through yet." Arthur looked at him and said with a smile, "It's simple, isn't it? We kill the Big Al." Connor nodded in agreement, "He's right. If we manage to destroy the stations and kill off Al, things should return to normal. That is, if we do it before things go out of hand." And after a long session of planning, the packs went off to finish their mission.

-A few days later-

"Alright, we've managed to destroy the stations. Now, we'll break them, once and for all." Connor looked at his team of operatives as he made the announcement. Colin raised his hand and asked, "And how exactly do we do that sir? Break into 2 teams again?" Connor's face turned serious, "No, We'll leave you and Hal here for wireless communications and support. Cole will be the driver. Arthur, Steve, Donovan, you're with me." And as another set of commands were issued, the last of the rebels went off to their respective workstations, performing their duties to make sure everything goes smoothly.

-23:00, 2056, Rockhollow media HQ, Rockhollow City-

"This is as far as I can take you, boss. Anywhere closer and our ride will be riddled with bullets. Good luck, anyway." Cole, the driver spoke in his usual Irish accent. "Thanks Cole, we'll need the luck." After thanking their driver, the pack of four landed onto the wet soil not far away from the HQ. "Here we go folks, it's either now or never." Connor announced. "Anybody want waffles after this?" Steve suddenly asked. The rest of the pack looked at him. "I'll take that as a yes." mumbled Steve. "So, let's do this people!" Shouted Connor. And they charged into the facility with a roar, gunning and slashing everything in their way.

"Aaaaand action." Said Big Al, putting his TV like helmet on and connecting the wires to his neural system, controlling everything. "This, is going to very interesting. Send out all the elite drones and also, send out Thanatos to guard the doorway." "yes, master." Answered the robotic assistant. "It's show time!" Shouted Al for the last time.

Connor charged into another long corridor. Blocking his path to the door was countless elite drones. "Well damn." cursed Arthur. "Leave no survivors, NO SURVIVORS." Connor ordered. "Yessir." The pack answered. As always, Arthur took out his trusty Minigun and started to riddle the corridor with lead. Steve pulled out a Quake Hammer and attacked his enemies with a fury of shock waves while Connor was decapitating his enemies with his laser-edged sword; The upgraded version of his old saber. Meanwhile, technological genius Donovan produced his Circuit Saw and started slashing drones with his Saw. After a robotic skirmish, the boss of this 'level' appeared: Thanatos. He was wearing a cybernetic mask, and dressed in black trench coat and gloves, as well as red and black trench boots. He whipped out a Energy Scythe and said in a cold, steel voice, "Well, well, well. If it isn't the rebels. I'd give up on this little operation if I were you, because there's no way you can defeat me, one of the top 0.1% of the assassins. I am the best, after all." Arthur snorted, "You? The best? Stop kidding me, you look like a clown in black!" Connor stared at Thanatos, and attacked without saying anything. "Wow! Easy there!" Chimed Thanatos as he easily dodged Connor's slashes. Arthur started shooting Thanatos as Donovan scans his enemy's armor, looking for anything he can use for a counter attack. And then an idea sparked in his brain: the Mobile Hacker. He took out the hacker from his waist and rushed towards Thanatos, who was casually fending off bullets with his scythe and dodging Connor's attack. But he missed Donovan rushing behind his back, with his mobile hacker in hand. Once in range, Donovan jammed the dart into Thanatos' mask, and started hacking.

Thanatos froze, and Connor looked at him, puzzled. Even Arthur stopped shooting. Thanatos looked behind him with all his strength, and saw Donovan smiling with triumph. He jumped back and looked at the screen of his hacker, now displaying a 3D hologram of Thatnatos' mask, as well as displaying his vitals and another bunch of controls and setting for the mask. Thanatos looked at him and tried to speak, but only managing to mutter "you..." And Donovan looked at his screen, tapped a few buttons and shut his vitals off. Thanatos, realizing his lack of his life support system now, swore for one last time. And then he dropped to the floor, motionless and lifeless. "Well, that was easy, wasn't it?" asked Steve as he pocketed his Hammer. "I wouldn't say that, Steve. I'm pretty sure there's another half a dozen doorways before we-" Connor stopped his sentence halfway through as he kicked the black, steel door open. Behind that door was Big Al sitting on a chair with his helmet, staring at hundreds of screen inside his helmet interface as he controlled the cameras and drones with his virtual control panel. When he noticed them, he turned his chair around like a stereotypical villain and bellowed, "I was expecting you, looks like I wasn't dealing with a gang of typical mobsters, huh?" "No, you weren't, Al. We're here to finish everything you started. We're here to end this mess." Replied Connor as he walked towards Big Al. Big Al, unable to move because of his heavy interface helmet, sat on his chair as he tried to remove his helmet. Connor inching closer. Big Al trying to remove his helmet.

Utter silence.

Finally succeeding in removing his helmet, Big Al revealed his true face. A man in his late fifties, an over-average face, with deep creases on his forehead and white streaks on his brown hair. He smiled coldly and said, "Kill me if you will. I might die, but the media lives on. I might be dead, but there will be another one like me, rising in the dark and taking over when the time is right. Someone who realizes the importance of...power. The show, you see, must go on." And with his last words, Connor plunged his sword into Al's stomach and watched the tyrant of media bleed and die. He picked up Al's helmet and threw it on the floor, lighting a match and dumped it into the interior of the helmet and the whole pack watched his helmet burn from the inside. "Sir? You alright? I hear fire." Asked a concerned Colin through the comms. Connor looked up and said in a solemn tone, "Today, we mark the death of a tyrant, and the end of his reign. The people will be freed from this tyranny on this very day." And with those words, the whole pack planted a bomb and walked their way back to the van. "So...Waffles? I mean, we're done here, right?" Asked Steve as he pulled the trigger of the bomb. BOOM.

And then the people woke up from their deep slumber, finally free from the tyrant's control.

~End~

My sources

I'm sure at least SOME of my dear readers (which isn't much) wonders where I get my names for cities, towns, streets and names. Well, I'm here to say that I have luckily found a website with a variety of generators to aid my adventure in writing. So the link will be posted here:

http://www.seventhsanctum.com/

It's good, I promise(?) Anyway, that's all I have to say in this announcement, so see you soon.

The Serial Killer Chapter 2: Payne

Allen Payne walked down to the 5th precinct of Shadowlake Police Department. As he walked out of the elevator, and Milo rushed up to him and spoke with a hurried tone, "Sir, you need to see this. The guys at autopsy found something." Allen fixed his cobalt blue eyes on Milo, and said, "What did they find?" Knowing that he had piqued the sergeant's interest, Milo gestured the way to the lab.

And at that moment when Allen walked into the lab, Dante put on his hood and walked down the street, planning to get away from his stuffy apartment, and of course, mentally prepare for his next murder. As he walked down the street, he found himself unconsciously humming "Highway to Hell" and heard himself slightly chuckling as he realized it. He eventually stopped at a pharmacy, looking for syringes, he smiled. Only this time, it was a calm, composed and easy smile compared to his usual manic, evil smile.

Milo and Payne walked into the morgue,where they were greeted by pathologist Samuel Poole. "Ah, Sergeant Payne. It's been some time since I last saw you, anything interesting happened?" Payne looked at Samuel and replied his question-with a question. "What do you have for me, Poole?" "Straight to business, I like that." smiled Samuel. Payne glanced at Freddie's body momentarily before gazing back at Sam, who was retrieving the documents."Well, all I can say now is that the killer's careful, didn't leave behind much physical evidence. But there is this." Said Poole as he held up a tray of evidence. "What's that?" Asked Payne. "THAT, my friend, is fingerprint not from our victim here. I believe it is from the killer.Now, I'm convinced that he's careful, but not THAT careful." "Great, run it through the database, see if you find anything." Ordered Payne. "Right on it," Replied Poole as he walked away."

Dante returned from his apartment, with his next murder in mind. He glanced at his map, showing circled houses he randomly chose, just for fun. He turned his sight to his wall, which is displaying a gallery of masks. He thought about which mask to wear and took his hockey mask from the previous murder, still stained with blood. He thought it'd be nice to leave clues about who he was going to be next so the police could get to him more quickly. After all, it was all about the fun, he thought.

"Benji! We're going to be late for the club meeting! Come on!" Yelled Harry through the phone. "Alright, you go first, I'm gonna be late." replied Benjamin "Benji" Gibson as he tried to put on his T-Shirt while talking on the phone. "Alright, whatever, see you at the club, I'll go first." answered Harry as he closed the conversation. Benjamin, who was still trying to put on his shirt as he ate his sandwich, heard a sudden creak. "I really need to change that old door." He muttered to himself. "Or maybe you need to change your lock, mister." Whispered Dante, his syringe pressed against Benjamin's neck. "Woah! Put that thing down, man! What do you want from me? I...I'm not as rich as that guy across the street! I'm just a store clerk dude! Go rob him instead of me, man!" Benji exclaimed. Dante whispered, but louder this time, "You know what? I don't want your money. I'm not here for the greens, I'm here for the blood. All I want, is you dead, 'cause it's fun. You think you can cooperate with me, man?" Benjamin looked shocked. "No way! I ain't giving my life away just 'cause some psychopath wants blood, go kill someone else!" "You see, the choice of whether you get to live or not is made by you, but me. So I say...... you die." And then he plunged the syringe into Benjamin's neck, inject a syringe full of air into his neck. Benjamin dropped to floor, and started to spasm. After a few moments of pain, he died. Dante looked at the messy apartment, and saw a perfect white wall and took out his dagger and brush, using his victim's blood to write on the wall.

Hello there, detective. Here's a tip: Gunfire plot on 32 K street.

I'll kill again.

~Everyman

Pocketing his brush and dagger, he walked out of the apartment and took off his mask and started his long walk home. And then he went to a phone booth and dialed 911, "Hello? I'd like to report a murder on 4th street, a man in his middle twenties has been murdered." He said calmly. The person on the other end asked, "4th street? where on 4th street?" "Hollowcreeks apartment, 5th floor, second room to the right of the elevator. And yes, I killed him." And then he hanged up.

The seismologist

Author's note: I did this poem in class as a homework, and I thought of giving it a name, and what I jotted down seems to have SOME connection with a seismologist, so here ya go.

The Seismologist

He went through all that pain,
only realizing what he did was in vain,
and for all the work there hasn't been gain.

After all he was no Batman,
nor was he like Jackie Chan,
he was just an ordinary man.

If this was a war then he wouldn't be winning,
for the disaster struck without warning.

Because all he had was speculation,
lacking any real information.

Now hundreds are hurt,
leaving buildings in the dirt.

He was...the seismologist.

Postponing

I am sorry to tell my audience that my series Geography will be postponed until my two ongoing series The Portrait and The Serial Killer is complete. Short stories will also be posted on this blog irregularily. The reason for postponing the story is because I can't write 3 stories at a time, biting off more than I can chew is NOT someting I want to see during my early writing career. Until then, this your friendly blogger, K:Squared.

The Serial Killer: Chapter 1: Dante

Dante Lockman put on a mask and looked at the mirror: He saw a madman; a man in a hockey mask, with a blue left eye and a red right eye reflecting the madness inside him. And then, as slowly as he could, he picked up a dagger...

Freddie Morgan was preparing for an incredibly important meeting, he took out a comb and started sifting through his hair as he talked on the phone, "Yes...yes...yes. Keenan, when will Mr. Knox arrive again? ......12:30? Okay, thanks." He hung up and checked his watch, the time was 11:45. "45 minutes left, I can still eat a small lunch!" He muttered to himself. And then a knife appeared before his neck with flash of silver. And a voice as cold as steel, spoke behind him, "Ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?" Freddie answered with a whisper, "N...no." He glanced at the mirror, and he saw a man in a black trench coat and a hockey mask, but he forced himself remain calm, "What do you want, sir? Take anything you want, I...I don't want to die!" The man, again speaking with the cold voice, replied, "Well, there is one thing you ought to know: I don't want anything from you except you life." Freddie, shaking now, his mind a mess, asked in a shaking voice, "Then, Wh...why do you kill?" Dante replied, "I don't kill for just anything, I kill for FUN." And as soon as he finished the sentence, Dante slitted Freddie's throat. He watched his victim fall into a pool of blood, it felt... good.

Freddie fell, looking at the man responsible for his death. And at that moment, he saw a mad, crazed murderer. He felt a cold sensation creep up to him, and then, he inhaled one last time, and closed his eyes.

Dante looked at his bloody, gloved hand. He felt a sense of satisfaction seep inside him, knowing that his murder succeeded. He was looking at the corpse now: Freddie, now dead, is laying on the floor, his perfect hair soaked with blood and his neck a bloody mess. Dante found himself smiling, and took off his mask. Calmly, he started to wipe the blood of the serrated blade of his knife. And then he left, silently, just like the way he came.

-1 day later-
"What's his name?" asked Sergeant Allen Payne of Shadowlake PD. "Freddie Morgan, sir. Chief Creative Officer of Oldwall Techs, 32 years old and currently single." replied Detective Milo Johns. "How did he get killed?" "Clean cut to the throat, severing major arteries, Blood everywhere." "Any prints or DNA, Milo?" Payne asked again. "No sir, the only thing we got from the killer is a note." "A note?" Payne repeated Milo's words with uncertainty. "Yes sir, a note," Milo ruffled his tousled hair. "Right this way, sir." Payne followed Milo into the room Freddie Morgan was murdered.

True to Milo's words, blood was everywhere. But the note was not what he quite expected. The so-called 'note' was a brush-painted message left on the wall, painted with Freddie's blood. It read,

Good luck catching me, people. Here's a tip: Jason and a dagger

~ From your friendly killer, Everyman.

Payne read the message, puzzled. As he walked backed to his car, Dante prepared his next murder.

Dante Lockman sat in his apartment, with his eyes pinned to his bloody hockey mask. The hollow eyes of the mask seemed to be urging him, urging him to put on the mask, and strike again. He laughed, looking at his dagger, an interesting weapon, a serrated blade and an intricate handle, looking at the mirror with his bloodshot eyes, he saw a person with wild, brown hair and a hint of insanity on his face. He took a deep breath, and put on the mask, becoming the Everyman.

Over 100-YAY!

*clears throat* Hey guys! I'm just here to say thank you for all you readers for viewing my blog. As of March 2nd, 2013(Hong Kong time), there are over 100 views. I really, sincerely thank you all for viewing my blogs. I'll write harder, just for me and my readers.

Again, thank you all, and I HOPE I'll work harder in the coming year. See you later, mi amigos!

Chess --- a short poem

Author's note: I was inspired to make this poem after listening to EpicLloyd's "PAWN" when I was doing my English homework. Everything in my poem is original, and the inspiration of this short poem is credited to EpicLloyd(Lloyd Ahlquist). (He's a pretty cool guy, go check him out! *flashy grin*)

Chess

The sound of battles broke the sound of the night,
with the checkered board as the battlefield for the war of black and white.
The stables burned and the buildings razed,
but the army was nothing but grazed.
The Rook clenched his fist,
sword gripped ,neck twist,
to see's who coming next.
But there's nothing left,
all round him was nothing but death.
Save for a king lost and facing his fate,
And the Rook whispered "Checkmate."

Upcoming short stories: "The Portrait" and "Geography"

Hello, K here. I would like to announce some upcoming titles, such as "The Portrait" and "Geography" among others. The ideas that inspired the two stories featured in this article are created by my friend Chris and I. Since he isn't too enthusiastic in creating the two stories, I took the pleasure for myself. My stories will be posted in chapters so you might have to wait for a while before the whole story is published. Stay tuned, and until then, goodbye.

~K

The Portrait, Chapter 1: The portrait drowned my friend

I stood silently as I listened to Ryan's eulogy. And why am I at my friend's funeral you ask? Well, It all started a month ago......

-1 month ago-

"Watch out, it's fragile!" shouted the man with the bowl haircut, Ryan. Widening his already large eyes. I brushed past him as he carried the new portrait of him he got from an old artist. As I walked towards the door, a soft 'splosh' reached my ears. I turned back to see Ryan freezing on spot, his portrait soaked in a bucket of water. He looked at the portrait and then water started to appear on Ryan, soaking him wet as water surged out for his nose and mouth, and before he spontaneously drowned, I heard his gargled, last words, "Help..me...it's the... por...portrait." And with those words, he dropped to the floor, lifeless.

Some time later, an ambulance arrived. I picked up the portrait from the bucket, thinking about his last words. I took another look at Ryan's body, which was getting dried up as he was hauled into the ambulance. I stared at the portrait again, strangely dried up in the time span of 20 minutes. Now that I think of it, Ryan drowned at about the same time the portrait was soaked......

Back at the funeral, for now. Before I left the funeral parlor, I took a long, last look at corpse of Ryan. As I walked out of the funeral parlor, I saw Ryan's best friend, as well as a famous writer, Chris. He approached me and started a conversation, "It's funny, you know. I've spent my life in the society writing fantasy and fiction novels, and then my best friend dies of paranormal reasons, right AFTER my book has published... Now, the least I can do is make a book based on his death, as a tribute to him. Well, I better go, books don't write themselves, right?" and then he was gone in the wind.

His little speech got me thinking, could it really be? Paranormal reasons... That could perfectly explain Ryan's death! And so, I started looking into my deceased friend's death.