The Writing Thread

I know the Bible actually has really trippy imagery and a wrathful "loving" God, but is it really to the extent of your story? wow I wouldn't know because I've never actually read the Bible.



Also, how does she ride off into the sunset if the ass is decapitated??

Here's some more Five Night's at Freddy's fanfiction I've written in between studying for finals. It concerns that purple serial killer. I don't think I'm too good at writing serial killers.

Many ask, how do serial killers become the abominable people that they are? However, there is no tragic backstory to explain who I am. My upbringing was pleasant and normal as the ideal. I was never abused or neglected by my family. I was never bullied as a child. No explicable mental illnesses are present in my family medical history. There are no definite answers to explain this atrocity known as myself. My twisted thoughts and actions are simply my nature, and I find absolutely nothing wrong with this. In fact, to the misfortune of many I had slain, I embrace it.

However, finding pleasure in watching living things slowly, agonizingly writhe in pain to the death is not deemed normal nor desirable by society’s standards. For this reason, I had to keep my true nature hidden to everyone but myself.

I did what proper society expected of me to follow its mores. I got married. I had a child with the person I married. I doted upon my nuclear family. But these were all simply superficial actions. Supposedly someone can repeat fake actions enough until they become this mask, but I never became my kindly persona. My true desire to cause pain and death never went away, as they have always been an integral part of me.

At times I had fantasized of what would happen if I gave in to my urges and actually killed my family. They would be far too easy of a target because they trusted me as their beloved husband and father. But I always abstained, and not out of any sort of familial love: they served as my mask. If they were gone, I would be exposed for my true nature. The convicted serial killers from the evening news were far too obvious. They were reclusive freaks. They didn’t blend in with proper society, and that’s why they were caught. I was determined to not be like them. Unlike them, I had the ability to hide and keep myself hidden.

But those animals, they were not enough. I needed something with more…feeling, to perish at my hands.
Oh sorry, the idol/beast was decaptitated. I should make that more clear.
Edit: I'm also focusing on the trippiness of the story rather than the wrathful aspect, it might have become more euphoric than I intended it to be.
There will be bigger fish in the sea than the regular gods
 
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New fan fiction-type thingy!
Bronze Tusk journied on for miles upon miles, searching for sanity. He passed lonely monasteries radiating with arcane energy, he passed caves writhing with ungodly figures, he passed magnificent palaces shooting bolts of pure magic at each other. All this didn’t concern him, as Bronze Tusk blazed on ahead. The day was getting older and older with every step and Tusk was getting closer and closer to giving up. As he slumped onwards, he caught sight of a humble little village. Thinking nothing of it at the time, Bronze Tusk checked into a sleepy tavern overlooking the sleepy town.

After a few ciders and a meal of flaming grass, Bronze Tusk retired to his room. Fittingly enough, it overlooked an Ancestral Field, a place of the dead Earth Ponies to finally slumber in peace, protected by magnificent earthworks reaching into the sky. As the sun leisurely descended, and the moon shot up in the sky for a split second before falling, Bronze hit the hay, dreaming of the Grassy Lands, where the Alicorns escaped the horrors of Hippoborea.

Bronze Tusk awoke in a temple to the gods of panic. The rest of the inn was smashed to smithereens leaving only him and his bed amidst a heap of rubble. The Ancestral Field was rife with holes and the whole town (All 200 of them) was running about, declaring sorcery and blaming each other. As Tusk took all of this in, an equine figure jumped on him beating him to pieces. As soon as he grasped what was going on, Bronze Tusk got up, and with a quick swipe, decapitated the being. As it hit the ground with a thump, Tusk noticed it was definitely a pony, or at least it used to be. Its skin was a purple marred by dust and it seemed to have a marking cutting down its face that was eventually sealed up. There was no blood surrounding it, nor did there seem to be any blood inside it. Bronze Tusk stared off in the distance, only seeing carnage and hate, smashed the head under his iron hooves and ran off towards the chief’s house.



The chief’s house was, to say the least, a splendor in the rubble. It was made of pure wood from the groves of St’aälion, breathing dazzling energy and life. At the top was a large dome, being savaged by the equine figures. Chased by hundreds of former ponies, Bronze Tusk ran into the majestic building and shut the door. Inside was as pastel colored as the ponies that have inhabited the world. Hidden in all of these colors were strange scribbilings, possibly a language, but indeterminate. In the center of all this was a throne. Its figure gracefully looped around the dome, directly in front of a mural detailing the Alicorn princess Feoirnifaern, the Mistress of Existence. There sat the chief, an olden Earth Pony, beard thick as blood, grinning and conniving.

“What is it my child?” Asked the chief.

Bronze Tusk grumbled, pointing to the door, which was in the process of being destroyed.

“Oh right, the revenants! I forgot about those!” Said the chief, “We wouldn’t want to break the oath now, would we?”

Bronze Tusk took his sword out of his mouth to ask about what in the many realms of Tartarus this oath was. But before he could utter a syllable, the chief grabbed a ceremonial dagger and charged Bronze Tusk with full force. Bronze Tusk mumbled an esoteric swear and parried. He didn’t last for long, and was pinned to the ground by the great veteran.

“Allow me to introduce myself” said the chief, “My name is Chief Exposition. I could just kill you now to get my plan over and done with, but due to a serious medical condition, I have to explain my plan first.”

Bronze Tusk muttered another swear from ages past, as Chief Exposition rambled on.

“You must have been called by some sort of prince or princess long ago. Well, I was called by my loyal Feoirnifaern, Mistress of Existence. She sent me long, droning messages about how I should sacrifice half of my town and she would repay me with nookie.”

Bronze Tusk reached for his sword silently. He decided to humor Chief Exposition a bit, after all, he may explain something about what was going on.

“But then for some reasons, the people I slaughtered came back with a vengeance. I don’t think it was a bad thing though, I didn’t like my residents anyways. Unfortunately, my babe hasn’t come yet. Maybe through some sort of mystical occurrence, she’ll appear so I can bone her. You know, guy stuff.”

As soon as Chief Exposition mumbled these words, the ceiling burst open. Above the two Earth Ponies hovered an enormous palace. It was pure gold and encrusted with jewels of all shapes and sizes. There were balconies holding gardens of most exotic flora and fauna, sculptures of chimeras, centaurs and manticores, symbols of the other gods, truly a summation of all things living. The equine forms shuddered in fear as this flying palace descended. Out of this magnificence stepped an Alicorn. She was a light pink, and around her were animals of all shapes and sizes. Chief Exposition squealed in delight as he ran towards the princess.

“Hey babe,” Chief Exposition flirted, “What’s a pretty lady like you doing in a town like this?”

The Mistress of Existence bellowed a piercing scream. Her eyes turned an iridescent teal as she turned to the Chief and stared at him for a solid minute. She slowly wrapped around Chief Exposition and proceeded to bite his head off.

“This is what I get for following the rules of an ancient god! I remember when I was young, they said that I was going to –” The Chief screamed as his neck tore off from the rest of his body. Feoirnifaern smiled as she feasted upon his head, spitting out the odd helmet piece.

Terrified, Bronze Tusk ran for his life, slicing the occasional revenant in twain with his rusty blade. He could only wonder what kind of being would interfere with this mad ruler’s plans, certainly he would have done so if he got the chance. Maybe it would be better if he was able to know what was coming next. But maybe, just maybe, this weirdness was necessary for Hippoborea to survive. He shrugged it off and departed into the great beyond of Hippoborea.
 
New fan fiction-type thingy!

Uh, so if this is a fan fiction type of thing, what series is it based off of?? It seems similar to that original fiction of yours I've read earlier.

Because school is over that means I can write as much FNAF fanfiction as I want!

It was about the mid-1980s. My nuclear family was young and recently formed. A local new family entertainment center was opening up, Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. I was easily hired on as a night guard, and the company gave me a purple uniform. While this job did not have the best pay rate, not many jobs did in the post-Carter economy. At least this company was prospective since it was a new one, and President Reagan seemed supportive of small businesses at the time.

But it was by wonderful circumstance at this restaurant in which my greatest performance, the infamous “disappearance” of those children, occurred. My duties of a night guard were to ensure the safety of those goofy animatronic characters. The new company was concerned that the expensive animatronics were potentially lucrative new technology that thieves would want to steal for at least parts. A colleague of mine had called in for a family emergency, so my superiors had asked me to take his shift for this particular night.

A rare thunderstorm had caused the power to go out that night. It was dark in the security office and none of the security cameras were working without any electricity. My job was to watch over the animatronic characters, and I didn’t want to stay in the dark office doing nothing. So using my flashlight, I went off to the performance stage itself to watch over the animatronics in person. But it was here that I discovered the group of children cowering around near the animatronics on the stage, as if those lifeless machines would protect them from something. I noticed that some of the younger kids were around the same age that my son was at the time.

“What are you all doing here this late at night?” I asked them.

The children seemed relieved to have encountered an adult. One of older ones spoke up. “This place is so fun that we didn’t want to leave after the birthday party. We hid from our parents so they wouldn’t take us home. But now, it’s dark here and it’s stormy outside and…we’re scared, mister. We want to go home.”

I gave them a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. This is a safe place. The power is out, so I can’t call your parents. But I’ll take you all somewhere where we can wait this out, okay? It’s going to be alright. Storms aren’t scary if we’re all together, right?”

They trusted me as a friendly adult figure to protect them. But it was dark and there was no one else in the building besides us. I led them to a backroom, locked the door. And I betrayed their trust when I revealed myself to be the monster that I was. No one was there to hear the children’s screams for help, and that whole time I couldn’t stop smiling.

The best way to murder is by strangulation. With hands over the throat, the victim cannot breathe. They will not have the voice to cry out, the strength to fight back, or the ability to defend themselves from the assailant. In my hands, I could feel the struggle of the body. I could feel the hot blood racing through their carotid arteries as they writhed. And I could feel their lack of air as the windpipe collapsed between my fingers. Their neck muscles tensed up as their oxygen deprived bodies attempted to fight back, to even survive. But before long they went limp; the pulse would slow before stopping. And then the body would then go cold.

The beauty of strangulation was that there was no mess from blood to clean up. But the only evidence of the act, the expired bodies, had to be dealt with. Unlike other serial killers, I did not keep any “souvenirs” of my deeds. I did not harvest body parts or take any possessions from the victims. I knew that any accumulated physical evidence of my actions would only incriminate against me if discovered. For this reason, simple memories of my kills served as mementos well enough.

I had a place for those bodies. The animatronics themselves would be the perfect hiding places. They were so precious to the company that they required a night guard to prevent their theft. They were so innocent too, since they performed into the adoring hearts of children and their families. The small corpses of the children fit neatly within the metal endoskeletons. No one would assume that these animatronics were the vessels for the dead.
 
Uh, so if this is a fan fiction type of thing, what series is it based off of?? It seems similar to that original fiction of yours I've read earlier.

Because school is over that means I can write as much FNAF fanfiction as I want!

It was about the mid-1980s. My nuclear family was young and recently formed. A local new family entertainment center was opening up, Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. I was easily hired on as a night guard, and the company gave me a purple uniform. While this job did not have the best pay rate, not many jobs did in the post-Carter economy. At least this company was prospective since it was a new one, and President Reagan seemed supportive of small businesses at the time.

But it was by wonderful circumstance at this restaurant in which my greatest performance, the infamous “disappearance” of those children, occurred. My duties of a night guard were to ensure the safety of those goofy animatronic characters. The new company was concerned that the expensive animatronics were potentially lucrative new technology that thieves would want to steal for at least parts. A colleague of mine had called in for a family emergency, so my superiors had asked me to take his shift for this particular night.

A rare thunderstorm had caused the power to go out that night. It was dark in the security office and none of the security cameras were working without any electricity. My job was to watch over the animatronic characters, and I didn’t want to stay in the dark office doing nothing. So using my flashlight, I went off to the performance stage itself to watch over the animatronics in person. But it was here that I discovered the group of children cowering around near the animatronics on the stage, as if those lifeless machines would protect them from something. I noticed that some of the younger kids were around the same age that my son was at the time.

“What are you all doing here this late at night?” I asked them.

The children seemed relieved to have encountered an adult. One of older ones spoke up. “This place is so fun that we didn’t want to leave after the birthday party. We hid from our parents so they wouldn’t take us home. But now, it’s dark here and it’s stormy outside and…we’re scared, mister. We want to go home.”

I gave them a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. This is a safe place. The power is out, so I can’t call your parents. But I’ll take you all somewhere where we can wait this out, okay? It’s going to be alright. Storms aren’t scary if we’re all together, right?”

They trusted me as a friendly adult figure to protect them. But it was dark and there was no one else in the building besides us. I led them to a backroom, locked the door. And I betrayed their trust when I revealed myself to be the monster that I was. No one was there to hear the children’s screams for help, and that whole time I couldn’t stop smiling.

The best way to murder is by strangulation. With hands over the throat, the victim cannot breathe. They will not have the voice to cry out, the strength to fight back, or the ability to defend themselves from the assailant. In my hands, I could feel the struggle of the body. I could feel the hot blood racing through their carotid arteries as they writhed. And I could feel their lack of air as the windpipe collapsed between my fingers. Their neck muscles tensed up as their oxygen deprived bodies attempted to fight back, to even survive. But before long they went limp; the pulse would slow before stopping. And then the body would then go cold.

The beauty of strangulation was that there was no mess from blood to clean up. But the only evidence of the act, the expired bodies, had to be dealt with. Unlike other serial killers, I did not keep any “souvenirs” of my deeds. I did not harvest body parts or take any possessions from the victims. I knew that any accumulated physical evidence of my actions would only incriminate against me if discovered. For this reason, simple memories of my kills served as mementos well enough.

I had a place for those bodies. The animatronics themselves would be the perfect hiding places. They were so precious to the company that they required a night guard to prevent their theft. They were so innocent too, since they performed into the adoring hearts of children and their families. The small corpses of the children fit neatly within the metal endoskeletons. No one would assume that these animatronics were the vessels for the dead.
It's of MLP (kinda)
 
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I recently completed an epic poem
Woe to ye, of land and sky,

of magick and of blood,

I have seen the end –

the light that may

erase all that is good.


The days were young, the sky was blue

an empire did survive,

withstanding the falls

ten thousand flew

into those that may have thrived


Six warriors, of a noble faith,

of unity and life,

of Harmony and Law

fought an ancient and ignoble race

but gave into greed and strife.


The race was black, with hearts of ice,

a race of death and fear

without the things of that which lived.

Their voices cut, much like a knife,

their eyes did e’er leer.


Upon their heads were sets of mouths

reaching from space and time,

chanting verse from far beyond.

They did not come from North nor South,

but from some uncanny, occult sign


Upon ashen wings they did fly,

killing gods – and mortals too,

practicing unspeakable rites

to the gods that will not die.

The land - a vicious hue.


By time the land was consumed

the end of civil cultures,

the last did struggle in feeble tribes.

Alas! A land did spring anew,

and fed all to the vultures.



Bathed in seas of sorcery,

the empire did expand.

Building ancient temples of eldritch magick

to eyes all too fond of barbary

they suffered at its hand.


Gods known from the paegan times,

of the warrior races of Thule

worshipped only in sacrifice

by those who commit unnameable crimes

under a Stygian rule.


They shall fall, much as we did

to daemons from above,

those who worship Squamous Things

to talk about I must forbid,

‘twould shatter Kingdoms of Love.


Woe to ye, of land and sky,

of magick and of blood,

I have seen the end –

the light that may

erase all that is good.
 
So I have a few ideas but I don't know exactly where to take them or what to do with them. The first one being a story idea that follows a Socialist revolution in a city then the governing body of the land comes in a wrecks the Socialists, leaving it in a state of despair then leading to a religion to take the city over. I don't know exactly what format to use for it though, I was thinking a television series but that may not work too well.

I also want to do a movie following the life of a crack dealer and how he becomes the king of the dope trade in L.A. I want it set in the 90's. I have a little bit of idea as to where to go for this but at the same time I don't know how well that will work especially with Breaking Bad being around.
 
Couple of short stories I wrote a few years back:
Hunting for Womanhood

Mukondi Djata slipped out of her leather sleeping tent with a spear and machete in hand. A gold sliver of sunlight crept up from behind the eastern plains to stain the twilight sky red and warm the sleeping women's camp. Despite this heat growing outside, streams of dread colder than spring water coursed within Mukondi's veins. Her spear's iron point ran longer than her feet, and she would need every inch of it for the test of womanhood that she would begin this morning.

The rest of the Djata clan's camp stayed asleep in silence. Not even the most excitable of the little girls scampered between the tents before their older sisters, mothers, and aunts woke up yet. The crimson arrow-shaped head of Sambu the Allosaurus, the Djatas' symbolic animal, emblazoned each tent. When she noted the emblem's jagged teeth, Mukondi gulped down a mouthful of air. The last thing she needed now was yet another reminder of the First Hunt which lay just ahead for her.

The throaty and hoarse blare of a hollowed animal horn shattered the silence. "Mukondi? Are you coming?" It was her mother Dyese calling.

Mukondi jogged to the fat baobab tree which towered in the heart of the camp. Two other women, her mother and her elder cousin Azandu, awaited below the tree's shade. Having reached her own womanhood six rainy seasons ago, Azandu looked exactly as Mukondi and every other Djata girl wished to look: tall and lithe, with firm muscles under skin as dark as a moonless midnight. Rings of fangs and claws from Azandu's kills hung from her neck, something Mukondi also wished she could earn in years to come. As for Dyese, the hide shawl she draped over her shoulders marked her rank as the Djata clan's matriarchal chieftain.

Dyese smiled as she patted Mukondi on the shoulder. "You can do it, my precious," she said. "Oyosi Herself sees to it that you will." She tilted her wizened face up to the sky where Oyosi Djata, the clan's great ancestress, rested.

Mukondi pulled her mother's hand off. "You told Nzinge that very same thing, didn't you?"

"Don't mention her again!" Azandu banged her spear's butt against the ground. "You are smarter and wiser than your big sister ever was, Mukondi. You'll succeed where she failed, trust me."

A quivering Mukondi folded her arms together. "How can you feel so sure of that?"

Azandu groaned. "Look, do you want to be dropped off at a men's village and grow crops in one place for the rest of your life? Or do you want to become a woman?"

"I am no man!" Mukondi pounded a fist onto her breasts.

"Then don't whine like one. Now, while scouting last night, I spotted Sambu drinking from the river to the south." Azandu pointed towards the southern horizon. "He might still prowl over there." She laid her own hand on Mukondi's shoulder. "When you meet him, you know what to do."

"Aim for the breast or brain," Mukondi recited. She sucked in a mouthful of air to swell her chest upward and smiled.

"One more thing before you leave, daughter." Dyese pulled out from her hide belt the animal horn she had blown earlier and handed it to Mukondi. "It goes back to my mother's mother. Blow it, and you shall lure Sambu towards you."

"Isn't that cheating?" Mukondi asked.

"Not at all, but use it sparingly," Azandu said. "Blow it too many times together and Sambu will figure out what you're up to."

Mukondi slipped the horn under her own belt and bowed her head to Dyese. "I owe you so much for the gift, mother."

Dyese wrapped her arms around her daughter in a gentle embrace. "You owe nothing at all. Now go forth on your First Hunt, Mukondi. You leave our camp a girl, but you shall come back a woman, with Sambu's teeth in your hands. May Oyosi bless you."

Mukondi hugged her mother back with all her strength while more tears dripped from her eyes. This could have been the last time in their whole lives that they would see each other. Mukondi rested her head against Dyese's breasts while her mother in turn stroked her dreadlocks.

“If I do not come back alive, I shall always remain in your memories, mother,” Mukondi said.

After Dyese withdrew her warm arms from her daughter, the chill returned to sting Mukondi's blood. Nonetheless she jogged away from the camp, looking back only once.

###

Yellow grass tickled Mukondi's knees as she glided across the savanna. Perspiration glossed her limbs and face like polished ebony, for the sun burned with swelling fury while rising further up into the sky. Only a few scattered acacia, baobab, and palm trees cast any shade for respite against the heat. Unseen insects buzzed on forever while the bellows, moans, and rumbles of giant plant-eating dinosaurs swept across the plains.

The screech of Sambu pierced through this peaceful chorus. Mukondi froze in mid-stride with flesh crawling under her skin again. No doubt the beast that took Nzinge's life away lurked close by, keeping every bit of its strength in the two rains since her loss. Mukondi's eyes leaked tears as memories of her elder sister, always her playmate and protector, haunted her mind.

Yet Azandu must have spoken the truth when she said Mukondi outmatched Nzinge in intelligence. Nzinge did have a tendency to pick fights with animals more dangerous than she could handle after all, like that one time she attacked Nyati the Stegosaurus just to steal some eggs. She also didn't tend to think for longer than an eye's blink before she acted on anything. Mukondi had never witnessed her sister's First Hunt, but she was sure Nzinge had made some kind of fatal mistake. Otherwise the elder sister would have never lost her own life to Sambu's claws and appetite.

The sun climbed near its highest point in the sky. The savanna's horizons blurred into haze from the broiling, and Mukondi's throat dried like a waterhole in a drought. Thankfully the trees and bushes grew denser as she advanced southward, giving her more shade, until her feet squished into the dark mud of a riverbank. After scanning around for crocodiles and murmuring a grateful prayer to Oyosi, Mukondi plunged her cupped hands into the river and splashed it onto herself. She moaned with pleasure as the cool water cascaded down her face and washed the perspiration off her skin.

A muffled, inhuman purr sounded as a gust of warm air steamed onto her back. The stench of rotting flesh mixed with the natural mustiness. A shivering Mukondi snatched her spear and clenched her hands onto it.

From the shadows of a nearby brush patch glowed a pair of fiery yellow eyes over a mouth of glinting ivory knives. Mukondi staggered back and pointed the spear at the hidden face.

“Who are you?” she asked, but she already knew the answer.

With an ear-piercing screech, Sambu the Allosaurus burst out of his cover and charged on his two bird-like legs, shaking the mud with every stomp. He gaped his fanged jaws open while spreading his three-clawed wings apart. Mukondi crouched and drew her spear back, preparing to thrust it into the flesh-eater's breast. The moment she lunged, Sambu sprang into the air and kicked her into the river with eagle feet.

Despite the pain torturing her wounded chest, Mukondi zipped through the water back onto the bank and stabbed Sambu on the shoulder. He shrieked, throwing his head upward, and swiped his tapering tail into Mukondi's ankles. She fell back-first onto the mud. Sambu dropped his jaws down at her breasts, but she blocked him by ramming her spear's shaft into the maw. The beast bit down onto the spear, yanked it out of Mukondi's hands, and, with a great swing of his head, hurled it against a doum palm tree. The weapon splintered in half, with the head plummeting into the river.

Mukondi cursed under her breath and stabbed her foot into Sambu's underside. While he brandished his body around and shrieked in an agonized frenzy, she dove into the water, shot herself to the other side, and raced southward across the savanna. She halted to rest only when the river escaped her field of vision.

Mukondi panted her mouth dry. Every muscle in her body burned, most of all her legs and the bleeding scars on her front side. However, her greatest loss was her spear. How in the world could she kill a monster as massive as Sambu without her spear? With tears returning to her eyes, Mukondi roared out a curse for her misfortune. Perhaps she would never become a woman now. She may not have died as Nzinge had, but she could only return to camp without Sambu's teeth in hand. Her mother, as much as they loved each other, would never accept her coming home empty-handed. Tribal tradition demanded as such.

Perhaps Mukondi was doomed to a life of exile from the Djatas, staying in a village of men and grow crops all in one place for the rest of her life. Never again would she roam the land with her friends and kin like a real woman should. Instead she would be surrounded by strange men who would not hesitate to take advantage of a young woman's presence among them whether she liked it or not. Of course, even that horrible fate assumed that neither Sambu nor any of the other predators of the savanna caught her first before she even saw another human being.

Surely there had to be another way to slay the monster who had claimed Nzinge's life. If confronting him face to face with a spear had not worked, what would?

A gust of wind rattled the leaves of a nearby tree. Monkeys scurried up and down the tree's boughs, no doubt safe from the flesh-eaters that would prowl the ground. Mukondi wished she could join them so that she would no longer have to worry about Sambu as long as she hid in the branches. But then perhaps she could still jump onto him if he dared come near...

Unsheathing her machete and admiring her reflection on its blade, Mukondi lit her face up with a smile.

###

The sky faded from blue to indigo as the sun sank into the craggy ridge to the west. With the day's heat dying down, cool evening breezes swept across the savanna, rattling the trees' branches and brushing droplets of water off Mukondi's skin. She perched herself among the crooked branches of an acacia tree with her machete in hand.

Before the tree's roots rested a rotting leg of carrion which she had found and relocated. The stench may have swamped her sense of smell, and flies may have swarmed all over the dead meat, but Mukondi did not mind. After all, even the fiercest flesh-eaters like Sambu could not resist the chance for an easy meal. At least it would appear easy to him at first.

First, however, Mukondi needed to bring him towards her position.

She pulled out the horn her mother had given her and blew a gust through it. The deafening blare bounced between the savanna trees and sent birds fluttering off their branches. Now that Mukondi thought of it, the horn's noise resembled a large animal's holler of death, just what Mukondi needed to catch Sambu's attention. Sure enough, the carnivore's familiar screech replied to Mukondi's call from the distance. She puffed into the horn a couple more times before putting it away, and Sambu's cry came back louder and clearer.

Mukondi climbed further up the acacia's branches and immersed herself within their foliage to hide. The rustling of bushes and the crackling of grass joined the steady thumping of giant feet. Or was that her own heart drumming with anticipation? Mukondi's limbs twitched and the cold returned to her veins, but for once her grin did not fade from her fear. If anything, it spread wider.

Yellow eyes flamed from the shade of distant trees, and then Sambu emerged back into the twilight. The stream of blood trickling down his shoulder from a spear-wound showed that he must have been the very same Allosaurus who had ambushed Mukondi earlier. As he strode towards the tree where Mukondi's bait lay, he sniffed all around while his eyes darted about, growling as a human might grumble. Mukondi's heartbeat sped up and the perspiration returned to her brow.

Sambu stopped to smell the carrion and licked it. After scanning his surroundings again, he plunged his snout into the meat and sliced off bloody strips with his teeth. He devoured his meal so ravenously that half of it disappeared within a few eye blinks. Mukondi's muscles tensed up. If she did not act now, Sambu would finish and leave before she could complete her plan.

After whispering another prayer to Oyosi, she leapt down from the boughs, screaming the Djata clan's battle cry.

She landed onto Sambu's feathery neck. The beast screeched with surprise and thrashed his head sideways. Clutching onto his mane with one hand, Mukondi banged her machete against Sambu's thick hide. The blade barely dented it. Sambu reared up and shook himself so that Mukondi lost her grip and crashed onto the savanna floor.

Mukondi jumped back onto her feet the moment she hit the ground. Sambu lunged his open mouth at her again, but she bolted sideward and let him snap the air. Twirling around, she slashed through Sambu's left eye with her weapon. The monster recoiled on his feet, wailing and rocking his injured head. Mukondi stretched her right arm backward, clenching a fist onto the machete, and then hurled it into Sambu's breast.

“For Nzinge!” she yelled.

The weapon sank deep enough into him that only its hilt stuck out with a fountain of blood.

Sambu's shriek broke up into a spasm of gags and rattling as his flank thudded onto the ground, throwing up a cloud of dust. His tail curled and twitched a bit before finally flopping down with the rest of his body. Sambu the Allosaurus, top predator of the savage savanna, was dead.

For a moment Mukondi merely stood still, panting and scratching her hair in disbelief. She had just accomplished what her older sister could not two rainy seasons before, and she had not even needed her spear to do it. With pride swelling like a tide within her, she pulled her machete out of Sambu and started hacking his teeth out of his mouth. One she had a handful of fangs, she raised the weapon into the air and roared out the Djata battle cry again.

Mukondi had left her camp a nervous girl that morning. Tonight she would return to her clan, and most importantly her own family, a woman.

Public Nuisance
The Tyrannosaurus rex opened his fiery eyes and jolted his head off the spongy earth. His neck’s mane of green feathers straightened up on end. The low thumping he heard drowned out the crickets and other nighttime creatures whose songs should have resounded within his black rainforest home. The beats’ rhythms repeated without falter, nothing like the footsteps of a passing animal, and no leaves rustled with them. Nor did the tyrannosaur feel his own heart and veins convulsing with the pulse, though it did pound against his eardrums. If the noise did not match anything he recognized from nature, something alien must have come to the jungle. Yet the moonlight shafting through the treetops revealed nothing unfamiliar.

Perhaps the tyrannosaur’s dreamtime imagination tricked his senses again. With a confused grunt he lowered himself back onto the forest floor and closed his eyes again.

The thumping did not die. If anything it bombarded his hearing with even stronger fury, forcing him to writhe with discomfort on his scaly underside. Shrill cries somewhere between shrieking and raving matched the throbbing’s rhythm like some strange creature’s song, joined by raucous chattering and hooting. The tyrannosaur pressed one of his earholes against a tree’s buttress root to shut out the clamor, but even he could not block his other ear.

He had put up with more than enough already. He sprang up onto his three-clawed feet, gaped his cavernous jaws open, and roared. Most times when he did that, the entire jungle would silence on his command. This time, however, the cacophony’s loudness only worsened.

Rage burned like wildfire within the tyrannosaur’s soul. His mouth dripped with drool and blood as he snarled. If these noisemakers would not obey the tyrant king of beasts, they would pay for their insolence the hard way.

With his keen sense of hearing, he traced the sound to the east and so stormed in that direction. The ground quaked and plants rattled their fronds with his every stomp. He ripped through branches and vines with his passage, spooking birds off their perches. The tyrannosaur did not like to make so much noise when hunting during the day, but whatever kept him awake this time needed to hear his wrath.

He crashed out of the jungle’s edge onto a black asphalt road leading to a complex of boxy condominiums. Now that vegetation did not muffle the noises any more, the tyrannosaur could make them out much more clearly now. The thumping became techno music, the shrill cries into pop stars’ digitized singing, and the chattering into the voices of young humans.

The tyrannosaur halted and stepped back as his anger cooled off into dread. Childhood memories of his mother falling to the blasts of the humans’ thunder-sticks flashed in his eyes, and he whimpered. The hairy-headed invaders may not have appeared imposing by themselves, but they could wreak damage unsurpassed among animals with their tools and machinery. Not even tyrant beasts were safe from their ravages.

But then, if the tyrannosaur turned back, the noise would never go away. He and all the other creatures of the wild, including his mates and children, would suffer from its torments until the humans tore more of their home down. He could not let that happen. For the good of his species, for the good of the whole jungle, and to avenge his mother’s memory, the tyrannosaur would smite the plundering primates once and for all.

The road passed a security guard’s booth on its way to the condo complex. The tyrannosaur retreated into the jungle’s shadows on the other side to steal past it. No longer did he stomp or tear through foliage, for that would draw attention to the men with thunder-sticks. One of the guards did poke his head from the window to scan outside, so the tyrannosaur crouched deeper into the verdure and held his breath. His heart drummed like the music.

“Must be the Budweiser again,” the guard muttered and then withdrew back into the booth.

The tyrannosaur resumed sneaking until the road opened into a parking lot just outside the complex. The music and raving now rammed against his ear drums with even greater violence, but at least it would mask the sounds of his infiltration. After stepping over the cars and slipping underneath an arched gateway, he tiptoed between the condos until he entered the complex’s central area. The odors of barbecued meat, pizza, alcohol, and chlorine flowed into the tyrannosaur’s snout.

Coconut palm trees surrounded a glowing swimming pool around which a chattering mass of subadult humans gathered. The bipedal apes went around without their shirts, exposing torsos which varied in color and girth. Most either shook their bodies in some kind of dance, embraced and kissed each other, gorged on food from a poolside buffet, or swigged bottles of brown liquid. On the opposite side of the pool, a giant black stereo vibrated with the techno music it boomed out. So these were the little monsters who dared disturb the tyrannosaur’s peace!

He clamped his jaws onto a palm tree, wrenched it out of the soil, and hurled it across the pool. The tree smashed onto the stereo, which erupted into yellow sparks and smoke. With the infernal music finally silenced, the tyrannosaur breathed in a great mouthful of air and released a thunderous roar which bounced between the condos. The crowd of teenagers stampeded away shrieking shriller than panicking hadrosaurs. The tyrannosaur charged after them, snatching them by their swimsuits with his teeth and then tossing them about. Blood muddied the pool red and bodies splatted into the condos’ walls.

The banging of guards’ firearms rang over the chaos. The tyrannosaur turned away from his victims and stomped out of the complex, bursting through its exterior walls, and plunged back into the jungle beyond. He did not know whether the humans would pursue him so deep into his native habitat, but nonetheless he snorted with relief. At least he had taught the human invaders a lesson it should never forget.

Tyrant lizard kings crack down very hard on public nuisances.
 
I've decided the worst part of my writing is the fact that my characters suck. Anyone have any suggestions as to how I can actually write decent characters? Maybe one of those sheets where I can get all of their details set in place, at least for the start?
 
I'm writing up a society for some people to follow in RP.
I based the idea on the Qun, but I won't tell them that.

I'm writing it alongside a website template too.
 
I've decided the worst part of my writing is the fact that my characters suck. Anyone have any suggestions as to how I can actually write decent characters? Maybe one of those sheets where I can get all of their details set in place, at least for the start?

It helps if you can understand what motivates your character. Do they want to be accepted by others? Do they want to seem unique? Do they want material wealth or something else?
 
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After a brief discussion with "ShitNeurotypicalsSay", I wound up using one of his posts as a writing prompt for a psychedelic, humorous fantasy adventure (about how ridiculous tumblr culture is) which I've mapped out the story of and plan to update every Sunday.

http://thetumblwars.tumblr.com/

If you like it, and know other people who like reading such things please spread it around.

“What a joyous occasion.” said the most attactive, rich, aryan man. A name upon my lips “Chad Thundercock.” By god I had found him. The one of legend and speculation, here he laid before me upon a carried throne made of pure, glimmering white privelege. I fell to my knees before his magnificence.

“Your time of reckoning has come.” He chortled, and rolled off his palanquin onto his feet as if the air carried his every step. Slowly he approached me. I was struck dumb. He placed his hand upon my forehead as the fifty, no, now hundreds of other neurotypicals chittered, cackled and howled surmounting in an all-consuming cocophany that gripped my consciousness.

In this unnatural setting I beheld that, in fact, these creatures all bore riders. Of all races, sizes, and walks of life they saddled themselves upon a feral animus from what origin I cannot describe for they all were so varied. One could not be hushed: She rode upon a larger version of herself cloaked in translucent veils of darkness and continued to swing a mace at one of the neurotypicals who was always mere inches away from her blows. “Stop exercising your amorphous privileges you fucking scum! I’m literally crying right now!” she screamed.
 
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I'm working on a "whodunnit?" short crime fiction/slice of life story, with some wacky (but hopefully believable) characters based on those I've run into in my 30 some years of living in Central Pennsyltucky and a brief stint in law enforcement (they say write what you know, after all)

If anyone's familiar with Carl Hiaasen's work, it's along those lines, the goofiest you can make a person and still think it totally believable you'd run into them out there.

I just managed to resurrect my first rough draft from being lost in a computer crash, that was a cold sweat moment, they say save often and save more than one place, I'll be doing that from now on, trust me!
 
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