LogFAQs > #928011628

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Topic	Part 1 of my horror story in honor of Halloween
maoriwarrior 09/27/19 6:34:19 AM #3:	As he laid on the ground, debilitated in each and every sense, the voice came out. A soft whisper, piercing with a disruptive echo; Fool! You deserve each and every ounce of hell thats about to happen. Watch as your mother chokes on her blood, your unborn brother implodes, and youre arrested for crimes against humanity. He had lost. A war that he had obliged since he was six years old. Being entirely submissive to crushing thoughts that dictated his every move. Here he lay, descriptively destroyed. Timothy grabbed his backpack and performed the ritual to his standard ordinance. So weak, so fragile. His palpitations were still on fire. Every ounce of his being had been eradicated, every passion and every desire had been eliminated. Struck with an overwhelming anxiety that his mother would indeed now choke on her blood and his unborn brother would quite literally; implode. He carried, quite literally, carried himself into the living room. He could smell the aroma of freshly baked cookies and beef stew brewing in the pot. His mother was prancing along singing her favorite seventies tune with the kitchen window open. It was so freeing to see a soul so relieved of the trauma that he had just experienced. Exhausted, he sat on the lavishly green couch. Is this what life is? Is this what Im destined to feel for the rest of eternity? Timothy bewildered and confused asking himself. He grabbed his phone from his pocket trying to distract himself and as it was halfway out his mother screeched. Oh my god! It was happening. The gravest sin was finally happening. Tim tossed his phone, frantically rushing to the kitchen. The calm serenity that had just overtaken the entire ambiance had dissipated. The crushing voice had returned. See? How did you think you could avoid me? How did you have the slightest inclination to think that YOU could get rid of ME? Just watch you imbecile. His mother lay on the ground. Steaming hot stew dripping onto the solid white porcelain floors. Tim, Tim her voice draining. Ca-call a...an amb-u.... A foaming red color began to erupt from her mouth. Her solid blue eyes began to discriminately fade. She put her right hand out and reached for her son. He was trembling. Hands shaking, and the palpitations were beginning to hurt. The only thing Tim could perceive was his earliest memories of his beautiful mother teaching him to read. Her legs crossed in the air, browsing a Dr. Seuss novel Ah. Ah. She pronounced over and over. That makes an A. She smiled at a young Timothy, enticing him to make a similar noise. Crackling was heard in the deep halls of his mind. Ah, so sweet Timothy. Youve tried so hard to combat me. Its rather adorable. All of these ridiculous fucking movements you perform to applaud my threats. Go ahead, focus on the good memories. Its the last fucking thing youll remember. --- PSN: NihilismKills <cite>maoriwarrior posted [p:928011628] in Part 1 of ... [t:78045254]...</cite> <quote>As he laid on the ground, debilitated in each and every sense, the voice came out. A soft whisper, piercing with a disruptive echo; Fool! You deserve each and every ounce of hell thats about to happen. Watch as your mother chokes on her blood, your unborn brother implodes, and youre arrested for crimes against humanity. He had lost. A war that he had obliged since he was six years old. Being entirely submissive to crushing thoughts that dictated his every move. Here he lay, descriptively destroyed. Timothy grabbed his backpack and performed the ritual to his standard ordinance. So weak, so fragile. His palpitations were still on fire. Every ounce of his being had been eradicated, every passion and every desire had been eliminated. Struck with an overwhelming anxiety that his mother would indeed now choke on her blood and his unborn brother would quite literally; implode. He carried, quite literally, carried himself into the living room. He could smell the aroma of freshly baked cookies and beef stew brewing in the pot. His mother was prancing along singing her favorite seventies tune with the kitchen window open. It was so freeing to see a soul so relieved of the trauma that he had just experienced. Exhausted, he sat on the lavishly green couch. Is this what life is? Is this what Im destined to feel for the rest of eternity? Timothy bewildered and confused asking himself. He grabbed his phone from his pocket trying to distract himself and as it was halfway out his mother screeched. Oh my god! It was happening. The gravest sin was finally happening. Tim tossed his phone, frantically rushing to the kitchen. The calm serenity that had just overtaken the entire ambiance had dissipated. The crushing voice had returned. See? How did you think you could avoid me? How did you have the slightest inclination to think that YOU could get rid of ME? Just watch you imbecile. His mother lay on the ground. Steaming hot stew dripping onto the solid white porcelain floors. Tim, Tim her voice draining. Ca-call a...an amb-u.... A foaming red color began to erupt from her mouth. Her solid blue eyes began to discriminately fade. She put her right hand out and reached for her son. He was trembling. Hands shaking, and the palpitations were beginning to hurt. The only thing Tim could perceive was his earliest memories of his beautiful mother teaching him to read. Her legs crossed in the air, browsing a Dr. Seuss novel Ah. Ah. She pronounced over and over. That makes an A. She smiled at a young Timothy, enticing him to make a similar noise. Crackling was heard in the deep halls of his mind. Ah, so sweet Timothy. Youve tried so hard to combat me. Its rather adorable. All of these ridiculous fucking movements you perform to applaud my threats. Go ahead, focus on the good memories. Its the last fucking thing youll remember. --- PSN: NihilismKills</quote> ... Copied to Clipboard!
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