fhamersley
Lord of Altera
Technically not fan-fiction, but meh. These are some short, twisted stories I've written, some of them a while ago and some just for the thread. So yeah, enjoy!
This one was for English
-Killcount-
I pushed open the bathroom door with my elbow, my nose wrinkled up in disgust. There was mayonnaise and cheese all over my hands, getting under my fingernails and sticking between my fingers. Seeing the gluggy paste as it was, lumpy and smeared, I could barely believe I almost ate a hamburger with both ingredients on it.
I glanced around the bathroom. There was just one girl, carrying an anxious and depressed face, standing by the sink closest to me. Following public bathroom protocol, I waled around her to a sink a little way away.
Using the cleanest part of my hand, I turned the tap-handle and stuck my greasy hands under the spray. My preoccupation with the mess now flowing down the drain, I watched the sad-faced girl. She was a year or two older than me, standing over the bench a few sinks up. I continued to idly wash my hands while sneaking glances at her from the corner of my eye.
I was always fascinated by the real personalities I saw in public - on trains or in concerts, everywhere. It never ceased to amaze me how different every single human was from the next.
This girl was dressed in black jeans and leather jacket, with a grey uniformitarian shirt beneath. Her black, obviously dyed hair hung unwashed and lanky around her shoulders. Her skin had an ugly pallor to it, such as the colour of a person who has spent time in a hospital. Her nose was crooked, and she had a scar breaking her left eyebrow; a trail of pearly white snaking to the corner of her eye.
After completely cleaning my hands, I leaned into the mirror, checking my hair. The sad girl glanced at me, and I threw her a reassuring smile back. She sighed and rolled her shoulders.
'Hello,' I said politely, pulling out a bobby pin.
'Hello,' she replied, shoulders slumped. Her voice was quiet, yet assertive, as if she had spent many hours telling people what to do. Her eyes looked out at me from above dark, heavy bags from sleepless nights.
'I hate public bathrooms, don't you?' I slid the hair pin back in place with practised precision.
The girl shrugged, looking at her hands, and I smiled at her again, nonchalant concern clear upon my face. 'Are you alright?'
The girl looked up, a desperate expression on her face. 'Not really,' she said, her voice filled with need.
I took a step closer, frowning slightly. 'What's wrong?'
'I have a problem. I'm addicted. I c-can't stop,' she said, her voice cracking on the last word.
My heartbeat picked up a notch. 'Stop what?'
'The killing.'
Suddenly the bright, fake lights seemed to dim, and the shadows thrown by the cheap plastic stalls deepened. The door stood behind her, the only way out of the room. The figure of the girl watched me, stood straighter as my hands trembled. The linoleum creaked quietly as the girl took a step closer.
'Everyday,' she said, eyes hard and filling with tears. 'At night. I kill people.'
My breathing started to speed up; there wasn't enough oxygen in the room.
'I can't stop playing with these people a-and their lives...'
She had a wretched look in her eyes, like someone who has already done the worst they could. My heart was beating a tattoo on my chest, my palms sweating. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, past the crooked nose, highlighting the scar. I chanced a glimpse at my reflection - my face was paling, my mouth slightly open in shock. I rearranged my features to resemble a slightly less alarmed expression, but my pulse wouldn't slow.
'So many people,' she whispered, turning to me again. 'My brother...'
My throat closed, air slipping through in short, silent gasps. I took a fleeting glance to the door. It was too far away, if I ran now -
'I'm not in control anymore,' she sobbed, then laughed bitterly. 'Ironic, huh?'
My legs shook. The girl noticed and slid one hand into her pocket. 'I don't know what to do...' She whispered.
'A-are you going to kill me?' I choked out.
'I don't know,' she whimpered, her eyes locked on mine. 'I m-might have already. What's your username?'
This one was for English
-Killcount-
I pushed open the bathroom door with my elbow, my nose wrinkled up in disgust. There was mayonnaise and cheese all over my hands, getting under my fingernails and sticking between my fingers. Seeing the gluggy paste as it was, lumpy and smeared, I could barely believe I almost ate a hamburger with both ingredients on it.
I glanced around the bathroom. There was just one girl, carrying an anxious and depressed face, standing by the sink closest to me. Following public bathroom protocol, I waled around her to a sink a little way away.
Using the cleanest part of my hand, I turned the tap-handle and stuck my greasy hands under the spray. My preoccupation with the mess now flowing down the drain, I watched the sad-faced girl. She was a year or two older than me, standing over the bench a few sinks up. I continued to idly wash my hands while sneaking glances at her from the corner of my eye.
I was always fascinated by the real personalities I saw in public - on trains or in concerts, everywhere. It never ceased to amaze me how different every single human was from the next.
This girl was dressed in black jeans and leather jacket, with a grey uniformitarian shirt beneath. Her black, obviously dyed hair hung unwashed and lanky around her shoulders. Her skin had an ugly pallor to it, such as the colour of a person who has spent time in a hospital. Her nose was crooked, and she had a scar breaking her left eyebrow; a trail of pearly white snaking to the corner of her eye.
After completely cleaning my hands, I leaned into the mirror, checking my hair. The sad girl glanced at me, and I threw her a reassuring smile back. She sighed and rolled her shoulders.
'Hello,' I said politely, pulling out a bobby pin.
'Hello,' she replied, shoulders slumped. Her voice was quiet, yet assertive, as if she had spent many hours telling people what to do. Her eyes looked out at me from above dark, heavy bags from sleepless nights.
'I hate public bathrooms, don't you?' I slid the hair pin back in place with practised precision.
The girl shrugged, looking at her hands, and I smiled at her again, nonchalant concern clear upon my face. 'Are you alright?'
The girl looked up, a desperate expression on her face. 'Not really,' she said, her voice filled with need.
I took a step closer, frowning slightly. 'What's wrong?'
'I have a problem. I'm addicted. I c-can't stop,' she said, her voice cracking on the last word.
My heartbeat picked up a notch. 'Stop what?'
'The killing.'
Suddenly the bright, fake lights seemed to dim, and the shadows thrown by the cheap plastic stalls deepened. The door stood behind her, the only way out of the room. The figure of the girl watched me, stood straighter as my hands trembled. The linoleum creaked quietly as the girl took a step closer.
'Everyday,' she said, eyes hard and filling with tears. 'At night. I kill people.'
My breathing started to speed up; there wasn't enough oxygen in the room.
'I can't stop playing with these people a-and their lives...'
She had a wretched look in her eyes, like someone who has already done the worst they could. My heart was beating a tattoo on my chest, my palms sweating. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, past the crooked nose, highlighting the scar. I chanced a glimpse at my reflection - my face was paling, my mouth slightly open in shock. I rearranged my features to resemble a slightly less alarmed expression, but my pulse wouldn't slow.
'So many people,' she whispered, turning to me again. 'My brother...'
My throat closed, air slipping through in short, silent gasps. I took a fleeting glance to the door. It was too far away, if I ran now -
'I'm not in control anymore,' she sobbed, then laughed bitterly. 'Ironic, huh?'
My legs shook. The girl noticed and slid one hand into her pocket. 'I don't know what to do...' She whispered.
'A-are you going to kill me?' I choked out.
'I don't know,' she whimpered, her eyes locked on mine. 'I m-might have already. What's your username?'