Member No.: 117
Joined: 16-April 12
QUOTE (DJay32 @ Aug 18 2012, 05:51 PM)
Your use of semicolons is a little faulty in places, and related to that are the occasional dependent clause standing around. I'd advise, for the final 'paragraph,' making it more clear that the feathery heads are birds. Perhaps add more focus on the guards, as they seem to just appear in the passage as a plot device, an excuse for the woman to pull the dagger. In other words, the passage seems to flow from "birds" to "lightning" to "woman" to "oh also look there are guards" to "woman cuts self and it ends."
Aside from all that, the story itself is sufficiently foreboding, much potential for unnervingness. Which isn't even a word, but you get the point.
I sort of hurriedly typed it out in a few minutes. Sort of have to hurry here, I'm in a rush. I'll fix it when I have more time.
Member No.: 36
Joined: 21-November 11
Bringing this thread back to life because I wrote something because sometimes I like to do that and make people's eyes bleed:
Stepping in motion, keeping within the time. We move as one, a synchronised display. All around us, the people watch us, not daring to come closer. We want to cry out, ask for their help, but she will not let us. Our bodies are no longer our own, for all we are now is her property. When she grows bored with us, her little pets, she simply snares another and the chaos begins anew.
They say our blood is hot. They say that we must not stop, that the act of dancing will cure us. They say that God is merciful and that through this mercy, we shall be saved. But I know God has abandoned us. We know, for there is no self. We are not people, we are worthless, mere puppets on her strings. She giggles as we begin to sweat. Every time one of us falls to the ground, clutching their heart, she simply laughs and infects two more. The citizens and the councils cannot see her pulling our strings from the balcony, but we can feel them deep beneath our skin. They are all too busy building stages, buying musicians, herding us indoors like we are naught but cattle. As we continue our dance, caged like animals, manipulated by this marionette, Her strings slowly seep into their skin, the musicians, the council. The innocents.
Within a fraction of a second, the music dies. She makes a minuscule motion, a slight movement of her hand, and yet that is all she needs. Her strings are suddenly flailing wildly. People run, but where one foot takes off at a run, it comes back down dancing erratically. We dance ever more quickly, those who have been snared. Everyone runs as we cascade down the streets, but I can see our mistress finally losing her enthusiasm. One more wave, and I can feel my heart start to beat faster. And faster. The quick beat floods my ears like a steel drum. As I fall to the ground, I see the others are just the same. My ears are drowning in noise, the ground hard beneath me. As my vision slips away and darkness clouds my vision, I see the Wooden Girl wander the streets of Strasbourg.
If your eyes aren't bleeding so much you can't read this, tell me how terrible it is.
Member No.: 117
Joined: 16-April 12
I've went back and refurbished the Convocation creepypasta I wrote back in August. I've given it the title "A Feast For Crows" after that one A Song of Ice and Fire book.
They came in flocks.
It started with doves, lightning-white, swarming across the sky like stratus clouds. They skidded across the rooftops, raking long cuts through them, creating the most horrible shrieking sound as they did so. Below, people stared, gawked.
Their eyes were beady and black, calculating, nothing even remotely natural in them. They only had one goal: to nest.
More birds came. Parrots, repeating back the screams of the people below; crows, bringing warnings of death; vultures, there to pick the bones of those that did not survive.
Their cries sounded more like thunder, and, indeed, lightning cracked, volts shooting through their feathers and connecting bird to bird. The electricity struck the ground over and over, shearing off entire patches of earth, ravaging it. Roofs caved in and fires started, burning brightly.
They gathered in a cluster, almost as if guarding something - or, as it was in this case, someone. In the center of the flock, the eye of the storm, were a group of monstrous-looking hawks, their skin blistered, throbbing with red, bulbous pustules. They carried a woman, dressed in a cloak of black feathers. She grinned madly, her teeth looking more like fangs.
The vultures carried her downwards and the woman landed on the ground in front of a tall, stone tower. Her smile didn't even falter as she was approached by several heavily-armored guards. Of course the place was guarded - she'd been expecting that.
"Halt," one of them cried, approaching her with an air of authority. "We know who you are. You are not permitted to come any closer."
The woman reacted with mock surprise. "Oh, I'm not? Why is that?"
"We know about you," the guard repeated, his comrades shifting impatiently on their feat behind him. "You're her - the Witch."
The woman's voice suddenly dropped into a deadly whisper as she moved closer. "You do not understand. My... friends, my children, they need to feed. The crop has been... ah, poor this year. They need to grow, and they can't do that without anything to feed on."
"You may not move any closer to the Observatory," the guard said, unyielding. "Do not make me use lethal force."
"Before my babies eat?" the woman crooned. "Oh, but that would would be rather cruel, wouldn't it? No, I think they should have a meal first. A feast."
She drew an old-looking stone dagger from her cloak's pocket, and traced the blade along her skin, drawing blood, and the heads of several birds emerged from the wound.
Where the hell am I? It looks like it's some kind of... field... except everything is made of stone. Even the grass is crunching into rubble beneath my feet. This is a very strange place. I'm holding my jacket tighter to my person and walk on. There seems to be a large circle of trees... all made of granite, of course. I head towards it, eager to find someone in this lifeless hole.
When I break off the stone branches in order to make it to the center, I spot a circle of people... I try walking up to one of them and prod him gingerly with my hand. He topples over and shatters into many pieces on the ground. It was a statue. Nothing but a stone statue. Fuck. I need to find a way out.
Then I spot him. He was seated in his throne, in the center of the ring of statues. Another statue, this one of an old, corpsey-looking type, with sunken sockets and a stone, grey crown perched upon his head. He stares at me. I try walking a few paces to the right. His eyes were not on me now. I heard a crunch underneath my foot. I look down and see I have accidentally crushed one of the statues' feet with my boot. I look up again.
He's staring at me again.
What the hell? Walk a few paces in the other direction. I can't see his pupils anymore. I hear a noise behind me and I turn around. Nothing. I turn back again.
He's staring at me again.
This time I run completely around. Now I can't see his eyes behind his stone slab of a throne. I hear a noise behind me again. I look towards it and back again.
His head peers at me from behind his throne, his fingers clutching the top like some derranged peeping tom.
I'm running now. I can't deny the fact that I saw him move. I just keep running. I look behind me. He's standing now, an arm weakly outstretched towards me. His mouth is open in a silent scream. I look at him while I run. But I have to blink. He didn't go far, but he was getting closer every time I blink.
I couldn't bear it anymore; I collapse on the stone ground, dazed and eyes closed.
I hear the dull thud of his feet, but I can't do anything. I feel him lift me up, but in a caring gesture. I look at him. His mouth is in a wide smile. He just wanted to befriend me. I try to free myself from his grip, but I can't break free... I can't even move my arm. I look at my left arm. It was slowly becoming stone, the fingers are locked in their position. I can't feel anything. I feel the stone reach to my chest. I try to scream but my jaw is already becoming stone. My eyes gaze upwards at him. His mouth is now contorted in a very open frown, his eyes seemingly welling up with tears. I notice a mark on his forehead that I didn't notice before.
And then my eyes were stone.
Yes, this is indeed based off of one of the Abstract and told in a first person present perspective.
Member No.: 178
Joined: 17-August 12
February 9th: About a month ago I meet a man who calls himself Jack (just Jack for some reason) at a bar a few blocks from my home. He told me he and his employers have had a particular interest in my research in archaeology for some time. He said that it was because I’m willing to go into dangerous areas that other people would never go in a million years.
I don’t really care what the reason is, I’m just glad that someone is interested in my work. Jack told me about a newly discovered temple in Brazil. He wants me and my fiancé to study the temple along with a research team of his. I’m leaving tomorrow and will write my progress in this journal.
February 12th: An old man called Daniel Álvares drove us to the camp site. I’m not going to lie; I’m not that confident in the area we’re camping at. It’s a very rundown slum of a village in the middle of nowhere with thief’s and warlords surrounding all sides. I wonder why Jack would pick such a place to have us bring back such valuable artifacts.
"Isn't the forest just so beautiful Henry?”
“Yes it is, perhaps we can come back here one day, with Victor.”
“We are not naming our son Victor. And what makes you think it’s going to be a boy?”
March 21st: If I told the others this story they wouldn’t believe so I might as well write it down. After everyone else left to go to bed I continued looking though the vast temple. I found this stairway I never saw before and it lead me to a door with the symbol of a frog on it.
I opened the door and found a large underground city made entirely out of gold. I didn’t bother asking how it was possible; I was just amazed at the sight. There were four very strange golden statues near a fountain in what I believed to be the middle of the town. They looked like they were screaming.
March 22nd: I returned to the city today. I haven’t told anyone else about it except Marceline. I’m not sure if she believes me. Anyways this time I found another person in the city, a man dressed as a Roman Centurion wearing golden armor, counting golden coins.
“Three million seventy two, three million seventy three…”
He looked dangerous so I got away from him a.s.a.p. I found a heap load of gold coins in this hole. I don’t know why but I started grabbing as many as I could.
March 23rd: I spent the past three hours counting all the coins I grabbed. There’s six hundred forty two, plenty to live off of for about twenty years. I could just go and take Marceline to Hawaii for the rest of our lives. But I won’t. I want to get back to the golden city.
But I can’t. I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t find a single staircase.
March 25th: The glimmer of the coins grows more beautiful every day. You’d think something underground for so long would be scratched up. But they aren't. They’re beautiful...
March 26th: “Six hundred thirty nine, six hundred forty… They’re gone.
“What’s gone honey?”
“Two of the golden coins I found. I had Six hundred forty two but two are missing.”
“Why does it matter if there’s two missing?”
“Why does it matter? Why does it matter?! It means everything! One of you took it! I don’t know who but one of you took it!”
“Henry, please calm down...”
“Get your hands off me you thief! You took them! You’ve taken the gold I earned, just like everything else.”
March 27: Marceline is no longer a problem. She tried running away from me but she didn’t pay attention to where she was going. She tripped on a tree root and got her head impaled by a jagged rock. There are only ten left to deal with. After that I will return to the temple.
March 30: I was never so happy to see a staircase in my life. Last time I had nothing more than my hat and pockets to carry my coins. Now I have three duffle bags to carry my gold. These coins are so beautiful; they shine even in the darkness of the city. I can’t wait to start counting. Wait… my legs… why can’t I move my legs!
March 30: “Are you happy with your latest statue?”
“Very. Not many smile when it ends.”
This was the last thing I heard. My body is slowly turning to gold in random spots. My legs went first, then my mouth, followed by my torso and my eyes. The only part of my body not turned into gold yet are my arms but even as I write they are going nu-
Most likely the first Golden Titan creppypasta ever.
(Evolve or Die logo by Pandora) Collab Blogs: Search In The Tale (co-written with Pandora) Individual blogs: Game Time (took over this blog from ZacksQuest)