TnB Winter Writing Contest

Bennet Dyson

Non-Roleplay Department Administrator
May 22, 2011
4,825
Alright, so obviously it's a long way til Christmas, but generally I want to give people a long time to create their work and get it in, so everyone is going to have until the 5th of December to submit their story and the contest should be settled by a panel of selected judges by the 20th of December at the latest.

I was initially going to make the contest open to any sort of fiction, but in the interest of building, well, interest, in Half Life 2, it should be set in that universe. It doesn't have to be strict, it doesn't have to be 100%. Feel free to use head canon, feel free to use TnB Canon. Create something in the half life 2 universe that will build into a good story.

A group of three judges will be chosen among the general playerbase when the time comes to decide a winner.

E: The Prize is a $60 steam game that I'll put forward personally, winners choice obviously.

To clarify. Submit your work here in this thread. It will be opened up next Friday and all work can be saved here. Anyone taking the piss will be punished in unimaginable ways. To be clear, anyone chosen to judge the submitted stories cannot have submitted a story themselves.
 
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Bennet Dyson

Non-Roleplay Department Administrator
May 22, 2011
4,825
People interested in being a judge for the contest can send me a PM. Just outline your interest and explain why you believe you'd make a good judge. I'm likely to get a lot of messages so don't be surprised if you don't get a reply back, you'll know when the judges are announced.

The single requirement for a judge is that you're not allowed to offer advice or any critique to those that are writing the stories.

Along with the main winner, we'll probably include one or two runner up stories and offer some on server reward, such as stats or something.
 

Bennet Dyson

Non-Roleplay Department Administrator
May 22, 2011
4,825
Feel free to post stories now when they're finished. Still looking for judges, and just to clarify, you can't be a judge if you want to enter a story.
 

Stupid Snake

Zealot
May 12, 2015
1,161
Anguish. The worn feet running in the bloody snow.

Fear. The feeling of imminent doom as danger creeps around the corner.

Panic. The soldiers firing hot steel bullets to end your life.

Determination. The efforts failing to cut your life short as you run.

Hopelessness. Surrounded with no way out.

Humility and defeat. The shackles putting you into an inescapable bondage.

Dread. The unknown as they ship you to a city locked down, with no way out.

Uneasiness. The feeling in your stomach as you get assigned to a new life.

Suspicion. The feeling of wondering if there's a deeper meaning behind their deaths.

Revulsion. Knowing that humanity are the least humane creatures left.

Dismay. Caught by the soldiers.

Pain. Punished for your questioning and investigating.

Despair. Knowing that it will never change.

Confusion. As the buildings fall from the sky.



Anguish. The worn feet running across icy grass.

Fear. As the mechanical monsters chase you down.

Panic. The feeling of searing heat passing along the side of your neck from nowhere.

Determination. Almost to the other side.

Hopelessness. Caught and put to Deaths sights.

Humility and defeat. Thrown onto a train by men with armbands and cloth masks.

Hope. A star of light from a candle shines in the train car as the clock strikes twelve.

Filled. The feeling of hunger being washed away as the gritty, messy old man shares his food.

Friendship. A stranger turned important. A new friend.

Joy. The cycle is broken. Broken on Christmas Day.

screw me silly i didnt make a copy in word and ninety percent of my original story got deleted so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Hope you enjoy this shorter one.
 
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May 28, 2011
933
Well here I go, I figured I'd might as well give it a shot. So I hope you all like it, haven't written anything in awhile so I'm opened for criticism if you have anything. Have a good read.

'The Talisman'

-Prologue-

Allen lightly jogged through the barren sidewalk alongside the paved road, vacant of any oncoming traffic with the exception of a few passing black trucks with green covers in the back concealing whatever cargo they maybe carrying. The August afternoon sun beating on the back of his neck as he became immersed in the eerily quiet atmosphere. It could've been 1430 in the afternoon, as the sun was just partially behind him. When he came upon a turn along the block of this small rural town, the majority of the 1980's homes had been abandoned, with their wooden boards and planks shielding the windows. The town of 'Henryetta' smack-dad in the middle of Oklahoma had been spared from the Earth stricken war, but had deprived itself into poverty due to the lack of resources.
The occupation was a year in, and the Conscripts have established outposts around the city of Henryetta, making it a stopping point for logistics and quarters for their troops. The population had stood in this town at three thousand and six hundred, now only a mere nine hundred individuals, not including the Conscripts stationed within the city.


Despite these circumstances Allen had learned to ignore, and since relocation into the newly built metropolitan cities was a slow process, he could ignore the change for a short time. He was carrying an old black knapsack with the clamps fixed around his chest which he'd been provided by a contact who called himself 'Halloway'. He was a supervisor of the black market organised every Friday within the abandoned super center just beside the main highway. There, they'd sell the necessities of vegetables and canned foods, as well as some luxuries like chocolate and toilet paper and remnants of the old world like stuffed animals for the children who still live among their families who hadn't been torn apart yet.
Allen assisted among the Black Market as a runner for his job as a Surveyer. Some of the local resistant movements who organize 'Sabotage Rallies' in an effort to weaken the Conscripts latch on their already stretched position by leaving behind roadside bombs, disabling power lines, and setting fire to the land they plan to use as an outpost or a structure of terror like a prison. Allen worked at City Hall before the war, and was forced to perform survey work free of charge by request of his supervisor. A tall lanky man with short cut brown hair, green eyes, and with a terribly ignorant mindset, bought out by the Conscription Chain of Command. Allen recalled one point when he was required to survey a strip of land which was to be converted into an airfield, requiring to go a hundred feet and measure the elevation with a Philadelphia Rod and a primitive instrument for up to two miles in a horizontal line.

Of course Allen had no problem sharing the information with his contact by copying the information from his records to a blank sheet of paper. He felt he was obligated to do so, as he was needed to support his own family. Allen had re-emerged among the street which he lived for his childhood. A once beautiful home now surrounded with dead yellow grass, a blue truck no longer in operation, added with a concrete porch which had been fitted with a broken green table and two plastic chairs and a swinging chair on the far left corner. There was also a rack of logs budded up against the house right next to the front door, left over from the winter. He'd leapt up the set of the stairs, inserting an aged key through the deadbolt as the door swung open with ease, however slightly difficult to shut in place. He lifted the door up from behind once he entered, so that it'd shut all the way.
The wails of a newborn could be heard ringing out from the next room, not far from the front door where Allen had came in from. He wasted no time in quickly darting through the den and breaking off towards the left, just before entering the kitchen where he'd find his once and only true love. A red haired woman standing at 5'6'' with light freckles about her face, adorned in a slightly worn summer dress which covered her shoulders all the way down to her ankles. She'd modified the window to be connected to a clothesline on the outside, hanging out their wet apparel which she'd previously washed with sheet metal and laundry detergent to dry out in the baking hot sun.
Rose, which was her name, spotted him from the noise when she pivoted in a hundred and eighty degree turn. Her red lips curled into a smile at Allen's introduction, entering fully as he wasted no time in fully embracing her. It was only for no more than five seconds, but it felt like five hours. Ending quickly to attend to his wailing infant, who was no more than six months old and adorned in his pajama's. The boy's name, Stansfield, stretched out his arms as Allen picked him up under the arms to cradle his one and only son. He was sick with pneumonia in the left lung, which was the reason Allen risked such attempt to copy the Survey information as the reward was worth it.


Rose was rustling through his knapsack which he'd brought back where what she found had astonished her by the look on her face. Penicillin, an anti-biotic which was common to treat such case of what their son had. Allen made the intense effort to ease the pained new born as he coughed and cried. Rose swiftly had been eagerly preparing the pill of penicillin by breaking down the capsule to where the substance was powdery. She had a bowl of baby food, it was chicken he thought, and scooped it up with a big spoonful with the powdered capsule mixed with the food. She walked over to Allen, holding her child by his head as he got the drift and lowered his jaw without hesitation. The bitter taste probably only lasted for a little bit, but it was enough as the effects were almost immediate.
This wasn't just any regular penicillin. This was from one of the many triage centers provided by the 'Combine', who demonstrated the masters of medicine. Stansfield quietly eased his wails, and instead clutched ahold of both Rose and Allen as his slow whimpers were surpressed with a bottle that had slipped inside of his lips, mixed with formula. The child was placed back inside of the makeshift crib, sturdy enough so it wouldn't fall. And just like that, his eyes clamped shut and he was on the bring of sleep with the bottle still clutched with his arms and legs.

The two turned back to each other with a sigh of relief, Rose however resumed rustling through the knapsack, but not without her looking like she was on the bring of tears herself. "You've no idea how much this means to me, Allen.. How much you've risked for us. You don't think they'll find out, do you?" She was talking about his deed among the Survey department. Allen was confident that nobody was onto him, and he dropped to his knees as she retracted a wad of currency, baby food, baby clothes, one of the stuffed animals on display, as well as a loaf of bread and cheese. "Absolutely. I'm smarter than most of these boneheads at work. They're too worried about watchin' out for their own ass than to give a damn about me."
Rose was pleased. She smiled whole-heartedly and delved back into a hug with her life long counterpart. However in this embrace, Allen had presented a carved looking talisman which couldn't have been more than 1-1/2 in diameter. It was engraved with a strange symbol, almost like a smooth triforce which was meant to resemble Earth, Water, Air, and Fire. "It's to protect you and Stansfield." Allen explained, "From anything, and anyone."
She couldn't stop smiling from ear to ear, it was almost thoughtful as she stared at her lover's eyes, which was like staring at her own mental reflection which he was smiling from ear to ear as well. "I think I should prep the oven." She explained, "Friday night, and I think you could use a meal.. and a bath." If Allen could blush, he would. He stood back up along with his partner as their lips joined quickly for what one would consider to be a three second kiss, only to separate in the end unfortunately. "It's a date then." Allen said rhetorically, backing out of the room as Rose finished up with the small stack of clothes left.

Allen was only nine-teen years old, needing to provide for his family in an occupation zone wasn't easy. He remembered, as he stood outside in the evening sun picking up scraps of trash that had swayed its way into his own end, he panicking on how he would take care of his then pregnant wife and support themselves. Luckily for him, he found a way and quick. As he reminiscent on the past, something caught his eye. It was quick, but he made out a figure at the end of the block looking at him with suspicion. He darted off quickly when he was noticed, and it had Allen's stomach churning in knots. Had he been discovered? Were the Conscription forces on to him? Or were they playing him like a fool?
Allen had to take matters into his own hands, so next to an oak tree was a lead pipe from an old faucet he remembered throwing out. He clutched ahold of it and raced towards the end of the road. Reaching where the man was standing, he made a three sixty degree rotation around his general area, however there was no sight of the man or any remnants of his location. He was seeing things, he knew. A sigh of relief had escaped his lungs, knowingly that this was just his mind playing tricks on his eyes. He needed to relax, nobody saw and he was perfectly safe. They don't suspect a thing.

It was a closure thought, but it was sadly not the truth. Allen spun on the ball of his heels as he heard a crashing noise, and the sight had caused his fingers to physically unbind around the shaft of the lead pipe as the clank caused his body to shake. His legs wobbled weakly, he felt the urge to vomit when he noticed that half of his home was engulfed in flames. The raging inferno grew fast as the dry weather made his home a tinder box. The side of the flames were where his wife and child resided, and he knew right there and then he'd made a terrible mistake. He knew he shouldn't have ever copied the survey notes, and that his contact must've been an agent for the Conscription Forces or atleast paid off.
His suspicions were proven true when he turned around to see atleast five fully woodland patterned men armed with 'Billy Clubs' and sub machine guns chasing down towards him. One leg went in-front of the other towards his house, as his adrenaline soared through his brain. He had to reach the house, it wasn't too late! If they were trapped, he could get them out. Allen's fear soon turned to rage as a massive black armored truck, unlabeled and lacking detail, stopped at the crosswalk of the block just by his house. Bursting out of the back doors of the armored truck were atleast twenty more soldiers armed with battle rifles slung around their necks, dragging what appeared to be a stretcher. It was for him.

''WHAT'VE YOU DONE!?!'' It was all Allen shouted at the top of his roaring lungs. His face dripping with tears as he'd feared the worse. The men started to shift for his direction, Allen bolted towards the right of the group into the next yard. He was only twenty meters from his inflamed home, but it was as close as he was going to get. A man, twice his size, bearing a face mask had pummeled him into the ground. He was pushed back with ease, as another man joined in on the effort to seize Allen from gaining any closer towards his home. His cries of pain and horror roared as he became emotionally hysterical at this point. ''NO!~.. NO-NO, N-NOT MY BABIES!.. O-Oh god, I don't want to live!.. KILL ME!..''
It was no use. It'd required atleast six of the camouflaged men to pin him to the grassy meadow as an additional Conscript stuck was felt like a needle into his elbow, injecting an unknown substance which slowed his heart rate tremendously. Allen soon became incredibly drowsy, as the last image he ever caught was his home collapsing before him in a fiery black hole before a black bag had fell over his head, shielding himself from the reality he'd once lived and will never be able to live again.
 

Wheatos

Legend
Sep 27, 2015
1,334
I suspect this should be deleted when this gets across.

Can we all put pur stories in spoiler tabs to conserve room?
 

Wheatos

Legend
Sep 27, 2015
1,334

Flames were already licking the dry furniture into wild displays of combusted splinters and nauseating smoke fumes. Another fire bomb broke through the frail window, clattering against the floor. The damage only spreads across the unbearably hot apartment, setting the curtains ablaze along with whatever poor soul finds himself in a Molotov's path.

You see, the whole room was crowded with refugees. Literally packed. Children were hiding under couches and behind the upholstery, men and women tried in vain to retaliate with whatever weapons they scavenged from their respective journeys. One by one they dropped like flies, either too consumed in the suffocating grasp of smoke or vastly overcome with the pain of slowly burning to death.
Rita tightly held this rag over my face and wouldn’t budge for even a second to let me get a good breath in. So what if the room was practically toxic? Probably more breathable than some old snot rag my nanny carries around. That’s what Rita was. My nanny. Or “au pair” as she calls herself. Which -evidently- is a dumb French word for nanny.
My folks hired her around the time those tornados started popping up. They said I’d need proper supervision once they had to leave again. Which I always detested. Not the leaving part but the fact they thought I need an “au pair.”


Mom and Dad were always leaving for stuff. They were some stiff collar generals in some branch of the US army or something like that. Which is respectable and all, until that's all they’re known for.

Not the devoted parents of two beautiful children, but the stiff collar generals in some branch of the US army. I was two when they first left and even in the stories my sister tells me I can reckon they were the kind of parents to forget birthdays and send some lousy card with a check for 10 bucks in the mail for compensation. Made out to “cash” since they forgot your name too.

Fat lot of good that did-- the au pair I mean. Not even before I turn seven does she royally screw it up. I have to give it to her though, we did manage to last since 05’ right after those tornados I mentioned began.

People say the year is 2010 which is hard to believe since it feels longer. I think it's still 2005 and while the rest of the world continues forward in time normally, central Indiana was cursed to be stuck in some sort of alternate dimensional bubble. A bubble where monsters exist and nannies are called au pairs.

Even just thinking that I can hear all the adults saying, “You deluded boy!” or “This is real life, get over it!”. Ironic isn’t it? Now I’m ridiculous for saying aliens aren’t real. Its funny how entitled adults get when things go to crap. They think that the explanations they agree to just must be fact.

Right. Building fire. We’re shuffling towards the next room over now, careful to avoid falling chandeliers, burning carpets, or random alien appearances from the outside. Someone picks me up and tosses me out of the kitchen window. I fall a foot or two before landing on a fire escape with a thud. A few more children fall like raindrops next to me. See how rude they are?

Rita hops down next being relatively young herself. She offers me a stare equally fiery to the apartment above, likely pissed I hadn’t moved from my spot on the ground. She takes my hand and some other little girl’s hand and moves us down the metal steps until we have to trek down a rusty ladder. We hop off and plant our feet in some dead grass before being tugged along by Rita in a sprint. We keep running and don’t stop until the giant three-legged spider is out of sight.
~CITY HALL CAMP~

Everyone rendezvous at the old city hall in town square. It was the only “secure” place at the time. It wasn’t even the real city hall in Indianapolis. It was some old, run-down city hall they used when Indiana was still run by Native Indians and Colonial whites.

The big, formerly white building was well camouflaged by vines growing up the sides of the walls and pillars. The dome up on top was caved in but luckily for us someone salvaged a blue tarp big enough to cover us from the rain and occasional flying aliens.

The inside was equally drab. Instead of marble floors and towering statues like the newer city hall, this once was lined with beds of sick and injured people. The stench of urine and coagulated blood hit you in the face once you push past the big wooden doors. It was meant to be a clinic, food stock, and armory all in one. Before it was just zombies, meat-eating spiders, land squids, and other extra terrestrial vermin. Approximately two hours ago we got some fresh new visitors to Greencastle, Indiana. The more the merrier, right? Except these visitors were obviously trying to annihilate us...translation errors probably.

Everyone sort of just shut up like they were trying to hear something no one under the age of thirteen could hear. They were probably listening in on their fancy radios. I wasn’t allowed a radio, you see. Either I was too young or too immature, I can’t remember. Not five seconds later do all the grown ups and big kids fly out of their cots, guns blazing and grenades ready to toss. This was different though; usually we only need a small team of folks to take down a monster, or even a group of them.

Ever since they came people started busting out the big guns. And I mean big guns. We’re talking tanks I didn’t even know they had in the Midwest much less laying around Indiana. While the little kids and Rita intently listen to exploding missiles and the off-putting howls of sub-mechanical beings, the city hall sometimes livens up with the dramatic entry of a lethally wounded soldier. I guess that’s the queue for all the moms to rush them onto beds and get to work cutting them up and putting them back together again. Funny nurses do that.

I just sit there, biting my nails and all, nervous as hell. That’s really all I could do. After a few hours less and less people starting coming back. It doesn’t take that long to blast a few behemoth bugs, does it? I start getting that weird feeling you get in your stomach when you eat a bad grain portion. Like I’m gonna throw up but I can’t because “That is a TERRIBLE waste of resources, Jamison!” God, I hated when Rita calls me by my full name. If I could grow up ten years right now, and be her au pair, I’d start calling her by her full name and see how she likes it. I really would.

I get a strong nudge and wake up from my nap. You see, after so many years the sound of gunfire doesn’t faze someone from taking a nap or two. Its Rita, as inconsiderate as ever, telling me I had to get up. She says my bag is already packed and my sister Tabby’s already waiting in the Jeep. Almost immediately I notice the courthouse is different. All of the lanterns are turned out so I can barely make out Rita’s face. It’s cold too, like all of the heating lamps had been switched off. I start to move on to the front door when I realize there is no front door. Or walls or dodgy ceiling, or courthouse for that matter. We moved while I was asleep.
Anyways, I follow the sound of the engine, careful not to trip over these big lumps in the ground. One of my bare feet (I didn’t have my shoes on) hit this warm, sticky rock. But it wasn’t a rock. It was softer than that, a lot softer. Me being the curious bastard I am, I crouch down and feel around for a bit. It was probably just a zombie or something. Its damn near impossible to walk two paces without stepping on an alien. I reach into my backpack and shine it on the body. It’s not a zombie, but a person. Someone from the camp, who I recognize too. She was one of the medic girls. No older than Rita, around 18 or 19. Her face was pale but that's because she was dead. She had freckles all across her nose and cheeks and her hair was red. Actually it was blonde, it's just covered in blood. Hot sticky crimson. I guess she would’ve been pretty had she’d not been horribly hurt. That sucks. Someone so young and pretty like that just dying. I didn’t even know her name either. The young, pretty medic who died without anyone knowing her name. I guess that happens a lot though because Rita doesn’t seem to be bothered by it when she takes me by the ear and drags me to the jeep.


We get to the Jeep which is parked behind one of many destroyed building. I recognize it too because of the intact crucifix. Its the old Church of St Bernard. I used to go to nursery school their before those storms. Kinda sad seeing it all torn up and useless. Not that it wasn't useless before it got bombed, I mean I spent an entire year learning how to say an "Our Father" rather than my ABC's which I only now know up to S as of right of now.

I see a glint of milky skin from Rita's flashlight and I know its my sister, Tabby. She's all sickly and pale from her cholera. When I see her she reminds me of the young, pretty medic. Except she's still alive...though just barely. I feel like I should have remorse or maybe pity for Tabby. But all I can muster is a depressing realization of mortality. Like when our cat got eaten by a land octopus. It was kind of sad, but mostly an inconvenience since we had all of these handmade toys that were now pointless to have.

We're getting to the car when this old fellah, about 40 or 50 yelps. It startles Tabby pretty bad which I get a good laugh over. Rita's not laughing though, she drops our bags and runs over to the car her gun in her hand. I didn't get to have a gun. The old fellah who screamed just a second ago falls out of the Jeep like a dead body. Which he was since it looked like someone just stabbed him through the chest. Rita raises her gun and starts firing at something I surely can't see, and I don't think she can see. Out of nowhere this white-clad ninja starts jumping around, doing flips and tumbles across the pavement. I get a good look at it when it cartwheels under a street light. She -definitely a she- is wearing this skin tight white outfit that has some bullet proof vests and guns all strapped onto it. She has a helmet or something over head, with a big red eye in the middle of it. The gymnast with guns aims her firearms up towards Rita. I can tell Rita's scared as hell. Her breath's all shaky and you can almost hear her bones clattering.

"<::DROP THE FIREARM!::>" says the female soldier in this weird metal voice.
"Jamie." says Rita, obviously scared out of her wits. She's still trying to sound calm though "Go."

I can tell she's crying but I don't know why. I've seen Rita kill whole kinds of monsters. Big ones all by herself. Rita starts firing some bullets from her gun, missing each time. Not because she's a bad shot or anything, but because the robot woman keeps jumping and summersaulting like she knows where the bullets are going to hit every single time. The soldier raises her own dual guns and fires straight towards Rita. Rita, not being a super gymnast, can't tumble her way out of it. She takes a good burst of bullets into her chest and crumples to the ground.

Tabby just about goes bezerk. She's screaming and yelling like it'll do any good. I can't say I feel completely normal. In fact, I don't feel good at all. But I haven't felt good in a long time...

~THE INSTITUTES 2018~

They say I'm "mentally unfit." That I can't be sent to whatever shit hole slave plantation they have set up outside the grads. The strict ass cunt with the tight bun and wrinkly old twat face goes through my list of 'demerits.'

"Misuse of writing utensils" She says slow as hell. That was the time I stabbed a kid in the eye with a pencil for picking off of my ration tray.

"Caught violating the space of a fellow student." That was when I hooked up with this underclass girl. I thought if she was unconscious I'd get away with it. I hadn't taken cameras into account. Whoops.

"Vandalizing your work space." That was when I drew a picture of a naked Jenn Lowry on my desk. Was pretty accurate too.

I tuned out after she hit about the twentieth since I remembered all of them. Every single one down to my first "misconduct." I shift on the metal table I'm sitting on and swallow real hard. I'm not nervous or anything; I just get thirsty when I'm listening to a load of bullshit, I really do.

Anyway she says someone with my caliber of incompetence has no business being a worker of our glorious Union. That I can't spread my "disease" of malignance. Too bad- I'm pretty sure I gave that twelve year old I mentioned the clap- looks like the disease is already spreading.

The lady notices my coughing and gulping and offers me some water. I take it since I'm thirsty as hell. Its bitter. Not like clean, regular water. But nasty and conspicuous like Breen's usual piss reserve. It hits the spot though. I'm not swallowing anymore and I'm a lot more relaxed. Like a weight was lifted off my shoulders.

Next thing I know the cunty teacher is handing me a syringe. One of those big ones the nurses use on the kids that go insane and start killing everyone they see. Happened to my friend once. He had a name I think....she gives it to me and says in a nice calm voice:

"Do it."

I don't know why but I find myself injecting the cold meds into his forearm. Like I've done it a hundred times. For some reason, my head starts drifting. I think back to faces I haven't seen in a while. My old au pair, my sister, my parents. I almost forgot I had any family. I think about how fucked everything got after the Portal Storms. How fucked I got. I never had a bestfriend. Or a birthday party. Or a Highschool graduation. I start thinking about what life was like. How shitty it was and shitty it was going to be. How shitty it is. Without knowing it I remove the needle and lay down. I'm calm. Oddly calm. I'm usually drumming my fingers on something or biting my nails- ADHD they said, but right now? I'm just still. Like I never have to move again. The teacher - I almost forgot she was there- asks me something.

"Do you want to die?"

Its a weird ass question. Why would anyone even fucking ask it. Of course I don't want to die...do I? Its a scary thing to think about but, maybe I do. Maybe I should die. My head goes back to thinking about my nanny and sister. My
parents. The people at the old Indiana camp. I feel tears on my cheeks. I feel sad. I feel like it won't get better. Not ever..

"Yeah." I find myself saying. "Yeah I do." and I do. The teacher gives me this pill and I swallow. Simple as that. I feel it going through my throat and then hit my stomach. And then I go numb. I want to turn my head, I want move but I can't. I feel people coming around me. I see the cunty teacher staring over me, as dead faced as ever.

I can sense more people coming in. I hear a voice I've only ever heard over the loud speaker. A deep, Southern, manly voice that could only match the image or Satin himself...or maybe Bill Clinton.

"Is it done?" He asks softly. I can tell he's looking at me but I can't look back. Still paralyzed.

"Almost." Answers my cunty professor. "His body's more resistant than I thought. The dosage was enough, I can assure you, sir."

"Well I sure hope so, Dolores. We wouldn't want Mister Carlyle here crawling off of the conveyer belt before he's properly packaged."

"Of course, Doctor Wharton, sir." says cunty "Dolores". I try to process what they're saying but it just goes out my other ear. My natural talent for ignorance has grown too powerful.

I start to drift off again. Everything goes fuzzy. I try to grasp on to what I can. Reality. It's slipping away. I try to grasp onto what I can. Everything's fuzzy! What'd they mean by dosage? Packaging? Am I a hotdog? Have I been a hotdog this whole time. That might explain why I've felt so trapped all this time. My heart was pounding like shit before but not anymore. I try to say something. No, yell. I'm trying to scream but my vocal cords are failing me. All I can get out is a raspy whisper. Its enough to get their attention I think.

"Hotdog." I murmur.

That was my last word. Hotdog. Fucking hotdog.
:late: x1

LAST EDITED: 2/9/17
 
Last edited:

shotcopper 9000

Dead Soul
Jan 18, 2015
7,113
i was going to write something but a whole torrent of bullshit plus my own bad memory and utter lack of temporal awareness meant i didn't actually even get a proper start

there's always next year i guess
 

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