Cowardice

She

Was

Just

So

Unbelievably

Beautiful.

From the second she stepped into my life, she snatched my attention

Like a comic book convention captures fans

And I was her biggest one.

Because at her name's slightest mention

I'd imagine her face in all its perfection

And suddenly, BAM.

An extension in the length of my p-

Pencil lead, you perverts.

UPDATE: Blogiversary!

So... ahem, NaNoWriMo was a moderate success. Came nowhere near to the 50,000 word target, but given that I had a SO MUCH stuff happening at the same time, I'm pretty proud that I managed to pull out 8,000 words. Plus, I know exactly how every aspect of my novel should go, so give me until the end of winter and I PROMISE I will finish the novel by then. And I'll definitely post it on here, though I might have to break it up across a few posts, since 50,000 words in one post is gonna be one hell of a long page.

Anyway, on to the main point. My blog's one-year anniversary is coming up and I want to do something special in celebration! And to do that, I'll need your guys' help! I want you to go to my ask.fm and send in your name (or whatever name you want to show up in the story) along with a short biography of your character. I'll be handpicking 16 characters for the story, so the more interesting and exaggerated you make your biography, the more likely I'll pick you for the story! Keep in mind that I only ask you at least include your real first name. Your biography doesn't have to be accurate to your life, it can be completely made up, but I'd prefer the first name is yours. Last name can be whoever's. Deadline to submit the names/bios to my ask.fm (which, conveniently, can be found to the right of my blog) is December 13.


RECAP: Send in your name (preferrably your real first name, last name is a toss-up) and a biography of your choice to my ask.fm before December 13 and I might pick you to be in my anniversary story!

I'm planning it to be AWESOME, so send, send, SEND those names!


EDIT: Oh, and because the story's gonna be MASSIVE, I've decided to go on hiatus for the rest of December because of it. Sorry to take out your weekly fix of writing everyone, but it's a necessary evil for the greater good!

Night Terrors

At first, we thought someone broke into our house. On the first night it happened, my wife and I were jolted awake by a deafening boom and screams from Jonathan's bedroom. Panicking, we burst into his room and saw toppled furniture and dented walls. On the floor were clothes and shattered glass from a picture frame that fell off a nightstand. And in the corner of the room sat Jonathan. His face deathly pale and his eyes wide open, mortified. His knuckles dripped blood which stained his bedroom floor. And his fingers pointed to something inside of his closet.

Paranoid Pat and the War Pigeon

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Steady breaths. Steady breaths.

Pat controlled his breathing as he walked briskly down the sidewalk. Sweat dripped from his head and his heart raced from nervousness. His vision darted around at the suburban houses on either side of him, fearfully scouting for murderers, or snipers, or axe-wielding maniacs. Every time he heard a car approaching behind him, he would look over his shoulder, in case that driver planned on running him over. 

His eyes met with a neighbors, who, while watering his front lawn, smiled and took his right hand out of his pocket. Pat froze momentarily, anticipating his neighbor to pull out a gun, or a throwing knife, or a really, really sharp boomerang. But his neighbor just gave him a wave. Drenched in sweat, Pat walked faster and faster home.

Pat reached a four-way intersection, where he stopped. He glanced to his left, then his right, then his left again, making sure that there wasn't a single car in sight for miles. He was about to cross when he noticed two pigeons standing across from him on the other side of the street.

To Celie

The first hero I ever had wasn’t my dad, or my mom.
It was Superman.
And I mean, who wouldn’t call Superman their hero?
He has super strength, super speed, heat vision, he can breathe in space
And aside from a stupid green rock and magic, he practically has no weakness.
Prime hero material, right?
But as I grew up and I learned that there was no such thing as a perfect person
And that Superman was not only fictitious, but incredibly unrealistic,
I started to wonder.
Who in the real world could be a hero?

UPDATE: Junior Year, the Most Potent of Chronocides

AAAAAAAAAAAAGH. I am SO SORRY, but I won't be able to publish a new story this week. I have been SWAMPED in work for the past few weeks (which is entirely my fault for procrastinating), and the small pieces of free time I get are either dedicated to eating or immediately seized by the Bank of Sleep because of how much in debt I am. Seriously, Sophomore year, I averaged sleeping at 10, 11, but now? I'd be lucky to sleep before 1 AM with all my homework done.

So I'll be delaying the new story to next week. Rrrrgh, I really hate to be so inconsistent with posting, but aside from pulling all-nighters every weekday, there isn't much I can do to fix that until I learn to better manage my workload.

(Untitled)

(Psst: Looking for a title? Hit "CTRL+F" or "CMD+F" to quick search!)

Asterisks = Author's Favorites. Brackets: Genre

Titles in Alphabetical Order:

*12 Billion Eyes [Drama]
A Realistic Fighting Cartoon [Prose, Experimental]
Ad Council [Humor]
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and the Pillsbury Dough Boy [Humor]
*Alight Romance [Romance]
All You Wanted Was a Cookie. [Humor]
Alone Again [TO COME LATER]
Another Misguided Lamb [Humor]
AT&T VS. TMOBILE [Humor, Fanfic?]
*Blood Trails [Humor, Drama]
Brandchael [Humor]
Bunny Cafe [Humor, Murder Mystery]
The Bus is Late [Humor]
Chunks (It's About a Lesbian That Eats Her Own Vomit) [Humor]
*Cookie Clicker: The Movie [Humor, Script]
The Corner of Carl's Jr. [Humor]
Crab People [Humor]
Ephemeral [TO COME LATER]
*Fladeboe [Xkybo]
The Hash-Slinging Slasher [Horror]
*Hi [Horror]
Himchan Miracle Story [Humor]
Hotel Apocalypse [Humor]
I Gotta Feeling [Humor]
Joker&Bane: Friends4lyfe [Humor, Fanfic]
Mecha-Hitler 2.0: The Infinity Reich [Humor, Sci-Fi]
Megan's Adventure [Humor]
Mint Chocolate Sushi [Humor]
Mushroom Soup [Horror]
*Naruto [Humor, Fanfic]
Only You Can Prevent Wildfires [Humor]
*Oscar [Humor]
Paper Trails [TO COME LATER]
*Samuri the Last [Humor]
Story Title [Humor]
Superman Loves the Sun [Humor]
Tales from the Mushroom Forest
Unrecognizable [Humor]
*The Wonderful World of Wombats [Humor, Informational]
Author's Note

UPDATE: Proof that I'm Still Writing

Woah, whaaaaat? Three weeks without a new story? And back-to-back update posts? You can't be serious.

Oh, but unfortunately, I am, dear readers. I am really, really sorry about how long this stories post is taking. I didn't anticipate it to be so much work. Even though it's similar to my names story, it's actually a thousand times harder because I actually have to conceptualize each story, as opposed to "(Your Name Here)," where I could base stories off memories.

Plus, I'm now a Junior in high school, which has certainly added to my workload and I've been getting involved with the San Diego Film Festival, so my free time is very rapidly diminishing. I only have two or three hours a day to work on stories, so I'm only finishing two, maybe three stories a day at max, which is HORRIBLE.

I really do feel bad for taking this long to write a story, so as a sort of consolation, here's a sneak preview of one of the stories in "(Untitled)." One of my favorites.





Oscar

"And the Oscar for 'Best Written Non-Sexualized Supporting Actress Personality' goes to..." Justin Timberlake panted into the microphone. Andy nervously bounced in his seat. He was one of two nominees and he was sweating from anxiety. Was he about to win his first Oscar?

Justin Timberlake tore open the envelope. "Oh god..." he said under his breath. "Andy Wasillakowski!" Timberlake said unenthusiastically.

"HELL YEAH!" Andy screamed as he stood up. Nobody around him clapped. He faced Kenny (the other nominee), made a circle with his index and thumb, brought the shape down to his groin, and humped it repeatedly. "SUCK MY DICK, KENNY. EAT SHIT," he screamed. Kenny, who was only seven years old, started sobbing.

Because the Oscars were live, the entirety of America saw and heard what Andy said. But Andy didn't care. He wanted to relish in his fame.

He sprinted down the steps toward the stage, slapping the back of James Franco's head on his way, sending James Franco's toupée flying into the people who sat in front of him. James Franco, who was only seven years old mentally, also started sobbing.

Andy stepped foot on the stage and snatched the microphone out of Justin Timberlake's hands. "WOOOOOOOOO!" He screamed into the mic. He tapped it a few times with the palm of his hand, saying "Is... is this on?" as he did so. The crowd in front of him nodded in displeasure.

He cleared his throat. "About time I've started getting recognized for my work. I knew from the start that I would win this because my movie's awesome, and Kenny sucks balls and should kill himself." In a distant corner of the venue, Kenny's wails could be heard.

"So, since I knew I was gonna win, I decided to write out exactly what I needed to say in thirty or so seconds on this here piece of paper." He pulled out a piece of lined paper from his inner jacket pocket, then cleared his throat again.

"Thanks a bunch to that nerdy old Liam McClencherton, AKA Stinky Pits, for letting me cheat off his tests in film school and for being a good sport about all the nutshots and the Sharpie tattoos drawn on his face while he slept, and the superglue on his pubes. Thanks a bunch, Liam!" The crowd was appalled, except for Seth MacFarlane, who burst a blood vessel from laughing.

"Mom, dad, thanks for giving me money for film school, even though I dropped out Sophomore year and used the rest of my tuition money to support my heroin addiction. No thanks to Maria Masterston, who refused to go with me to prom. I hope nobody finds out you have every STD known to mankind-I mean, oops!" he said sarcastically. At this point, the entire crowd wanted Andy dead. Gary Oldman actually whipped out his pistol and aimed it at Andy, but Christopher Nolan stopped him at the last minute.

"Jordan, you still owe me five bucks, you two-faced bastard. Nicole, I think this Oscar right here is plenty enough reason to dump your scumbag boyfriend and come have sex with me." At this point, Nolan regretted saving him and gave the gun back to Gary Oldman. However, it was in vain, as Gary Oldman had already fainted from Andy's rudeness. Thankfully, Andy only had ten seconds of speech left to give.

Andy's mouth went to maximum overdrive. "9/11 was an inside job, Hitler did nothing wrong, I think the civil rights movement was a mistake, women should be viewed as objects, I occasionally steal from charity collection boxes, eugenics is a wonderful idea. Good night, everyone!"

Everyone was furious. Several gunshots were fired at Andy, but Andy dodged all of their bullets and tap danced off-stage. He used his Oscar as a pretend cane and his tap dance shoes made an obnoxious "click clack" noise as he went behind the curtains and disappeared. The uproar of the crowd drowned out the lovely orchestral music they play at the end of every speech.

Andy quickly ran out of the venue and dove into the taxicab waiting for him outside. He took off the realistic, Mission-Impossible-style rubber mask on his face and revealed his true identity as Matt, the guy that Andy pissed off in 5th grade.

Matt cackled as he looked at the mask in his hands. "Revenge is a dish best served cold, Andy. Hope stealing my crayons was worth PUBLIC HUMILIATION!"

Matt drove away, throwing the mask out of the cab's window.

UPDATE: Delays

Okay, so I got caught up in a flood of work during the last few days of summer break, so I didn't have as much time as I wanted to work on 40 STORIES. So, I'll be delaying the release of the titles story to next Wednesday, September 11.

Sorry on the wait! I just want to make each story as good as possible!

On the Threshold of Life and Death

And I'm dead. In the center of my school's quad, I lay on the ground, bleeding while everyone around me panicked from the sudden noise of a gun going off.

It didn't hurt, save for the split second when the bullet pierced the roof of my mouth. Strangely, even though I'm still fully conscious, I can't feel the pain of the shot. I can feel the cold gunmetal in my hands, I can feel the side of my body touching the rough concrete ground, I can even hear the sobs of the other students. But I can't feel the pain of the shot.

I heard it's because of a survival mechanism, where if we get hurt suddenly, chemicals rush into our brain and we won't feel pain for awhile so we can get away from whatever's attacking us. I guess that makes sense.

Interesting thing, suicide. Movies always show it as instantaneous. One second, you're alive. The next, bam. Eternal darkness. Or an afterlife, reincarnation, whatever. But the truth is, nobody really knows how long it takes for your consciousness to die. So I'm just as surprised as you that I can still see what's happening around me. I can still hear what people are saying. I can still feel the blood dripping from my mouth. I can taste it too. I hate it.

The bullet tore through my brain. My heart stopped beating a long, long time ago. But my consciousness still lingers. On the threshold of life and death, my consciousness still lingers.

UPDATE: Crowdsourcing

Some of you might have noticed that the "Ask Box" has disappeared from the page listings above. I removed it because my Tumblr's been glitching out and hiding anonymous questions from me when I'm on the computer. I can only see the questions on my phone, which is really inconvenient since I don't want to check my phone just to answer questions.

So, as an alternative, I've decided to make an Ask.fm account. Same basic procedure goes, ask me any question anonymously and I'll happily answer it. You could also send it to my Tumblr ask box, but if you're anonymous, realize that it'll probably take more than a day for me to answer it.

Speaking of anonymous user input, I'm having another crowdsourced story! Remember the "(Your Name Here)" story I wrote a few months ago? Well, this next story will be similar to that one, but instead of you guys submitting names, you'll submit story titles. Send in any title for a story and I'll write a short story based on it! My only limitation is that you don't submit anything sexual, but other than that, feel free to be as creative as you want with the titles! Submission deadline for the story titles will be August 30, at 11:59 PM! The titles story comes out on September 4!



TL;DR: Send in your story titles to my Ask.fm and I'll write a story on it. I won't write anything sexual and the deadline to send in titles will be August 30, at 11:59 PM. All of the stories I wrote based on the titles you guys submit will be released as one huge blog post on September 4!

Go submit titles!

Trapped in Sharknado

"Wait, wait, wait, slow down, Richard," Doyle interrupted Richard mid-sentence. Richard panted, exhausted from the two-block sprint he just ran from his house to Doyle's. "You made a what?"

"It's a DVD player that puts you in whatever DVD you play in it," Richard gasped in between breaths. Basil entered the living room with a coffee mug in his hand. He took a small sip, recoiled from the heat of the drink, and blew into the coffee to cool it down.

"How'd you do that?" Doyle asked as he leaned forward to grab a slice of pizza on his living room table.

"Do what?" Basil asked while blowing into his mug. Richard sighed, but the other two mistook his sigh as heavy breathing from exhaustion.

"He made a DVD player that puts you in the universe of whatever DVD you play on it," Doyle explained, chewing with his mouth open.

"Seriously? Like inside the universe? Can you interact with everything?" Basil asked

"Yes!" Richard exclaimed as he threw his arms up and fell back on the couch's backrest. "You can interact with everyone and everything! You can even change the storyline!" Doyle did a fist pump.

"YES. Let's go try it out! I'll go grab a few DVDs," Doyle said as he ran to his bedroom.

Clarence Porter: Urban Survivor

Clarence was awakened by the sound of crickets chirping beside his ear. Startled, his eyelids burst open and immediately clamped shut from the intensity of the sunrise. A long blade of grass, nudged by the wind, reached over the top of Clarence's head and fiddle-tickled his nose. He sniffled one. Then twice.

And a cricked jumped up from the ground and onto his lips as Clarence let off the single most powerful sneeze known to man. The cricket was not only killed, it was vaporized, since it's a well-known fact that crickets aren't designed to travel in speeds excess of Mach 10.

Clarence stood up and licked the cricket guts from his face. He needed all the protein he could get if he wanted to make it out of the plains and into the big city before sundown. He picked up his backpack and camera and started walking towards the figure of a city in the distance. He pointed the camera to his own face and hit record.

"I'm Clarence Porter. And I'm gonna teach you how to survive in the world's most dangerous artificial habitats. Our next stop: Chicago, Illinois."

Spooky School: A Choose Your Own Adventure

You and your best friend, Sam, are at your house on a calm summer Wednesday in suburban San Diego. You casually browse the Internet for interesting things to do locally, but have yet to find anything. Sam lies face up on your bed, casually tossing a ball up and down.

You hear the gentle ding of a phone chime. It's Sam's. Sam picks it up and checks the text that just arrived.

"Hey!" Sam exclaims, "There's a haunted school tour going on later tonight! Doesn't that sound awesome?"

"Eh... I don't know, haunted things are always filled with cheap scares and people with masks."

"Nah, but this one's different! It's a genuine haunted location, with murders and screams and a gigantic maze-like school from the 17th century!"

You seriously doubt that there's a school from the 17th century in San Diego. But Sam does look incredibly excited and there is nothing else to do today. So... you make your choice.

Morning Never Comes: An SCP Inspired Tale

Item #: SCP-1363

Classification: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: An instance of SCP-1363 is to be contained in the center of a chamber with dimensions 30 m x 30 m x 30m. An incinerator is to be placed in one corner of the room. Prior to entry to the room, all traditional writing surfaces (papers, whiteboards, etc.) must be removed. Once a month, a single piece of paper is to be "fed" to SCP-1363 by placing it within 20 meters of SCP-1363 and left for an hour, followed by immediate incineration. All personnel interacting with SCP-1363 are to be given a Class-C amnesiac immediately after interaction, followed by a week of thorough psychological analysis.

Description: SCP-1363 is a free verse poem titled "Morning Never Comes," written by ███████ ████████ and is composed of one stanza with twenty-six (26) lines. SCP-1363's exact date of composition is unknown. The earliest discovered instance of SCP-1363 is on a parchment estimated to have been created during the early 16th century, though older, undiscovered instances of SCP-1363 are likely.

Instances of SCP-1363 have the ability to spread to other materials exclusively purposed for writing within 20 meters of it, usually creating another instance within 30 minutes to an hour of being in its proximity. SCP-1363's spreading ability seems to be bounded only by its 20 meter range and not by any physical barriers between it and the new surface. It has been observed creating new instances despite being separated from the new material by solid iron walls, glass, and even a vacuum. New instances created by display identical spreading properties, essentially spreading like a virus. Instances have commonly been observed on notebooks, book margins, chalkboards, whiteboards, papyrus, and stone tablets.

SCP-1363 instances also exhibit a "hunger-like" quality when unable to spread to other writing materials for more than two months. SCP-1363's hunger seem to increase the materials that SCP-1363 can embed itself on. While hungry, instances have been observed on leaves, concrete walls, and even [DATA EXPUNGED], but materials are always within 20 meters of the original instance. The papers and other materials that hold instances of SCP-1363 are not anomalous and can be destroyed normally.

When an unedited version of SCP-1363 is read in its entirety, readers begin to feel a lingering sense of fear and paranoia, but only when consciously thinking about SCP-1363 or any fragments of the original poem, including its title. With every subsequent recollection of SCP-1363, victims experience more intense feelings of fear. Common effects of SCP-1363 include:

• Sudden drops in ambient temperatures.
• Goosebumps.
• General uneasiness and discomfort.
• A feeling of being constantly watched.
• Perceived rapid movement in peripheral vision.
• Anxiety attacks.
• Insomnia.
• Sudden bursts of irritability.
• Visual, auditory, and tactile hallucinations.
• Suicidal tendencies.

To date, roughly 45% of victims exposed to SCP-1363 committed suicide within a year of initial exposure, while 80% of total victims suffer from severe psychological trauma. Times between initial exposure and suicide vary from subject to subject. Shortest recorded time until suicide: 6 days. Longest recorded time: 37 years.

SCP-1363 was discovered on ████████ ██, 20██, after a local news station in █████ █████, ██ reported a mass suicide of students attending a local school, attracting Foundation attention. Mobile Task Force Zeta-6 (aka "School Boys") was sent to investigate. Ten instances of SCP-1363 was acquired for analysis, all other instances discovered were destroyed. Class-B amnesiacs were applied to the entire town and the school was demolished. See Incident 1363-01.

A Dae With Daehyun

Christina held the laminated concert badge in her hand, which read "B.A.P all-access VIP pass" along with a few pictures of the members of B.A.P on the front. Yongguk, Himchan, Youngjae, Jongup, Zelo, they were all there, in strange yet seductive poses, or at least seductive to Christina. She still couldn't believe that she won the pass in a boxing contest, pulling off a come-from-behind victory in the 32nd round against a seven-foot tall, steroid abusing, sexually frustrated lady that went by the name of "Shalilian."

How did she win the badge? Because of her sheer strength? No, she was actually quite weak. Determination? Almost.

Love. She won because of her love for B.A.P, unmatched by any other. As she held on to the badge attached to the black B.A.P lanyard wrapped around her neck, she glanced at all the members posing on her badge, but really only looked at one person.

Daehyun. She loved Daehyun.

The Purge

12 hours. That's all we have to endure. Once a year, every year, we have to make it through one night. Twelve hours. That's all.

Because once a year, every year, all crime is legal in America. All crime, including murder. Especially murder. There will be no government intervention, no police, no ambulances, and no firefighters available during the entire night.

Why does this night exist? The government claims that it "purifies" Americans, lets them "vent" their negative emotions.

But that's true only for those who can afford weapons, those who can afford protection, and those who are important enough to be exempt from the killing. Everyone else that doesn't fit into those categories dies.

I can't afford weapons. I can't afford protection. I'm not important to society. And neither is my seven year old daughter.

The Medical Compound

I'm sick. Totally and utterly sick. I've been bedridden for twenty days now, and there's no sign of recovery any time soon.

I can tell mom's becoming quite worried. She's taken my temperature every two hours. Every meal I've had for the past few weeks had been chicken noodle soup. Every four hours, she replaces the wet rag on my forehead.

It's been relaxing, to be honest, spending day after day watching TV, or surfing the Internet on my laptop, or reading. It really isn't that bad, even though I'm probably never going to recover. You know why?

Because I'm not sick. I'm just a genius. And starting from today, I'm on permanent vacation.

To the Ends of the Earth

October 25, 2024
Time to Impact: One Year

We lay side by side, on a vast emerald field, looking up at the night sky. A gentle wind glided over our thick winter clothes and scarves, running its hand over the fabric to flatten it. Blades of grass swayed with the ebb and flow of the breeze like waves across a viridian beach, occasionally breaking against towering islands of bark and wood. Hand in hand, we floated through a deep green ocean, surrounded by an archipelago of trees that sprinkled their leaves down on us like amber colored confetti, as if celebrating us.

But this was no time for celebration. This was a time for mourning.

Corvus C. Row

Hell yeah. Another day. I was still alive.

The light from the sun woke me up. I slowly got up and stretched lightly to jolt myself awake for what was about to be another day in my life. I turned my neck, cracking the joints as I exhaled in relief. I looked beside me and there was my wife, Brachy, still asleep. She was so hot, and everyone else I knew was so jealous that I married her and they didn't.

I sighed. 

Wait, no. No I didn't. I cawed. As loud as I could. I cawed as I jumped off the tree branch that I slept on all night and flapped my way to the ground, cawing and cawing the entire drop down until at the last possible second, right before I would have turned into a black bloody pulp, I spread my black wings and glided safely to the ground. I pecked the shit out of a worm that I saw crawling on the ground and immediately devoured it. 

"Caw, caw," I screamed at the ground, which meant "The early bird does get the worm" in your language. I said it to taunt the worms beneath the earth, to make them fear for their stupid little lives.

Fear for their stupid little lives because I, Corvus C. Row had awakened. I was a goddamn crow. And I was ready to conquer the world.