Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)
RedSeven
Planetoid
- Joined
- Jun 9, 2013
- Location
- Eastern US
Ok, so I've considered myself a writer since I've been in my teens, even though the only thing I've ever had published is a poem in my community college literary journal. (Don't worry, I don't do poetry any more so I won't subject anyone to bad, dark poems.) But, I've always felt writing is state of mind. Well, actually, for me it's more of something that's always been in me, my mind is always swirling with ideas and stories, some that I never get out.
Anyway, as a would be writer, sometimes I like to exorcise my darker side onto paper, or electronic bits as it were these days, and get it out of me. And while I adore the people who write with me (if it wasn't for them I probably would have given up on writing period) in my RP projects, there are some things either too dark to want to subject anyone to or to special and personal to want to let anyone else tell it. Most of these stories will fall into the former category, though hopefully I'll have another post for the latter eventually here.
A word of warning. I can be very over-dramatic/melodramatic as well as very cinematic in my writing. For the more technical minded, this can annoy. As these are my stories, I don't care, I embrace it. Also, I do spell check and grammar check as I write, but once I'm done with a project, I'm done unlike if I was trying to get it ready for publishing. Since these are personal exercises not intended for a publisher, you will probably find some spelling errors and other such things. It happens when you don't have it proofread.
Since I plan on posting my darker stories here as they come up and need to get out of me, I ask that people don't post in this thread. I love comments and constructive criticisms and welcome them but please use my Journal or PM me. I will always welcome anything people have to say about my stuff and let's face it my journal won't get much other use if you don't use it.
Also, please note, these being my darker story, they may not contain a lot of sex, so if you are just looking for some erotica this thread may not be for you.
So, on with the stories starting with the one this thread is named for:
Rage
Neil sat in the cold rain of the late February rain, a chill still in the air. Sipping on the hot coffee in the Styrofoam cup sitting in its holder between the seats, he tried to see through the speckled windows at the house standing only yards from his beat up Ford Taurus. It was the address on the slip he’d received in his mailbox of his apartment building, addressed simply with his name on it. The words had chilled him to the bone and brought him to this moment, a moment he’d both been anticipating and dreading for years.
Taking a deep breath, he finished off the coffee with one good gulp and slipped from the car, looking up and down the rain drenched streets. His breath showed in the cold night air as he pulled the trench coat tighter around him. Shuffling to the bad door, he pulled out the pump shotgun he’d purchased and shortened so it would fit under his jacket. He stuffed it under the trench, holding it to his body, and going over everything once again in his head.
He’d been planning this since he’d received the note almost a week ago. Under the trench coat he wore a pair of combat boots and baggy black pants stuffed into them. A black turtleneck was over that which made the small, silver cross he let show appear brighter against the darkness. A pair of square rim glasses covered his somewhat greasy face thanks to hours of sweating, worrying about this moment. His long, black hair was tied back in a ponytail and he wore dark black stubble over his chin and neck.
A thrill of anticipation showed on his face as it all settled in, his chest rising and falling. His boots clomped on the pavement as he walked across the street and up the front steps of the brownstone, so different from the large house he’d remembered next door to his parent’s homes. Perhaps they thought city living made them feel more cultured and upscale.
Stopping at the door, he rang the bell and waited, his hand slipping down to get a hold of the pistol grip he’d attached to the shotgun. He watched the young man walking to the door and he recognized his old friend, Paul, in the older face walking down the hall. They had grown up playing in their back yards and making wars with their action figures.
Just as he was reaching for the door, Neil lifted his foot and slammed it into the lock area of the door. The wood around it splintered and flew off into the air as the door swung wide open, the surprise throwing the man backwards. His sandy blonde hair was a mess as he fell to the floor, his hands coming up in surprise making it impossible to break the impact of his ass on the wood floor. For some reason, that little extra pain made him smile as he raised the sawed off barrel of the gun, smiling as he looked at his old friend.
“Whatever you want…”
“I want the pain gone,” he snarled, pulling the trigger. A mist of red burst out from Paul’s chest as the large, round stainless steel balls penetrated his skin, the shockwave of the shot pounding his flesh. He flailed out with his hands as he collapsed to the ground, his last breath already leaking from his lungs.
A scream issued out from down the hallway and he saw a younger woman standing there in a simple white sweater and tan dress, her eyes glaring at the body on the floor. Shock held her in place even as Neil moved closer, figuring it must have been Paul’s girlfriend or wife. She wasn’t part of the issue at hand but she was just collateral damage, like his entire life. Her terrified face reflected in his glasses, a cold expression on his face, as he held up the gun again.
Brain and skull decorated the hallway as he pulled the trigger again, a fine mist of blood hanging in the air. He was surprised at how much damage the gun did at close range, though his wrist was starting to hurt from the recoil. The only consolation he had was that it would probably be a few more shots needed.
Stepping over the body slumped in the hallway, his boots clomped on the wooden floor as he came around the corner into the dining room. He saw them both there then, quickly backing up as they had tried to run out through the hallway into the kitchen which was not at his back. His eyes narrowed as he faced the older couple, the years vanishing as he remembered when Paul had first introduced him to his parents. They had helped organize the cub scout troop in the area with his own parents and had earned his families trust. They had earned his trust.
And then they broke it. They broke him. He had felt dirty and wrong for years afterwards, no matter what the doctors had said, at lease a part of him. The other part of him, the part that survived, knew it was their fault. They were evil. They were a blight on this world and needed to be removed. No one had believed him when he told his school counselor and the police investigated, letting it eventually drop. They moved away and probably didn’t think again about it, but it had never left his mind, the scars always fresh and raw.
“Please, sir,” Mary started, holding her hands out. She always had to try and protect her husband, her lie of a marriage. He could still remember the disgusted look she had given him when they had moved out, like it was his fault why they had to leave their little suburban paradise. The barrel of the shotgun flamed to life again sending the old lady flying into a china cabinet, plates falling and breaking around her bloody form. Blue and white fragments littered the floor as pools of red moved between them.
“No one left to protect you,” he said, his voice hollow in the room. He glared at the older man who looked at him with horror, the monster he’d created.
“Pl… please I… if you want money..”
“Do you think you can buy away the pain you put in me?” His voice flared with anger as flecks of spittle flew from his lips. He was still trying to hide away and run from his troubles, to pretend it was the world against him.
“Do… do I know you?”
Neil reached out a hand and tossed the dining room table with one rage filled throw, flipping it on its side so it blocked the only other exit out of the room. The older man cowered in the corner not so large and overpowering as he once had been to a child. His hand came up to try and cover his face and chest as Neil held the gun out a little, placing it against his knee a second before pulling the trigger.
Mr. Janus, Tom to his friends, screamed in agony as the hot gasses had nowhere to go but through the newly opened holes in his flesh. The shot nearly took off his lower leg, leaving it only attached by a few singed pieces of flesh. The back blast had covered his lower legs and coat in the man’s blood, a fact that he found amusing. He smirked as racked the gun to drive another shot into the chamber as the man wailed on the ground, slowly turning and trying to crawl away.
It was a fittingly pitiful escape considering how hard it had been for him to get away when he was a kid. His boots banged on the floor as he walked up alongside of him and placed the barrel of the shotgun at his shoulder, pulling the trigger. Red mist filled the air as his shoulder practically disintergrated, the steel shot embedding in the floor below. “Please,” he cried out, his one working hand clawing at the floor. “I’m a good man. I don’t deserve this.”
Cocking the slide again, he crouched down at the man’s side and smiled, hoping he would recognize him in the last minutes. He slowly held out the gun until it was pointed at his face, his finger shaking on the trigger. “’Deserve’ has nothing to do with it,” he muttered before pulling the trigger. The last of the Janus’s family died in that instant, blood moving like ripple out from his body.
Rising back to his feet, he slowly walked out into the hallway and found the living room. He pulled the pump handle back to rack the final shell into the chamber and found a nice comfy chair, it was probably his. He held the shotgun barrel up just under his chin, the pistol grip almost in his lap as he awkwardly held the gun and tried to pull the trigger. Closing his eyes, he pulled back on the trigger and only heard a click. He pulled again and nothing.
“That’s not part of the deal,” a voice called out.
Neil looked over at the couch with a puzzled expression as he caught sight of the man sitting there with a leg up over his knee staring at him. He was dressed in a fine black suit with a blazing white smile, looking as if they were discussing the latest stock quotes. He had short black hair that was ruffled like he’d just gotten out of bed and dark red eyes that appraised him carefully.
“What,” Neil asked, wondering if he was dreaming.
“Look at the note,” the man said plainly.
Neil pulled the note form his pocket and unfolded it, carefully reading the note again that had started this whole things. It simple said: ‘They are here. If you can live with it, you can repay all you have ever wished.’ And then it gave this house address and his name, the name he would never forget. “I don’t understand.”
“Now,” the demon said, grinning, “You get to live with what you did. To face the justice you were robbed of. Consider it a fitting end to a sad tale. Perhaps you’ll make people see truth.” He smiled until his teeth showed, the sound of sirens in the distance.
Anyway, as a would be writer, sometimes I like to exorcise my darker side onto paper, or electronic bits as it were these days, and get it out of me. And while I adore the people who write with me (if it wasn't for them I probably would have given up on writing period) in my RP projects, there are some things either too dark to want to subject anyone to or to special and personal to want to let anyone else tell it. Most of these stories will fall into the former category, though hopefully I'll have another post for the latter eventually here.
A word of warning. I can be very over-dramatic/melodramatic as well as very cinematic in my writing. For the more technical minded, this can annoy. As these are my stories, I don't care, I embrace it. Also, I do spell check and grammar check as I write, but once I'm done with a project, I'm done unlike if I was trying to get it ready for publishing. Since these are personal exercises not intended for a publisher, you will probably find some spelling errors and other such things. It happens when you don't have it proofread.
Since I plan on posting my darker stories here as they come up and need to get out of me, I ask that people don't post in this thread. I love comments and constructive criticisms and welcome them but please use my Journal or PM me. I will always welcome anything people have to say about my stuff and let's face it my journal won't get much other use if you don't use it.
Also, please note, these being my darker story, they may not contain a lot of sex, so if you are just looking for some erotica this thread may not be for you.So, on with the stories starting with the one this thread is named for:
Rage
Rage
By Red7
Neil sat in the cold rain of the late February rain, a chill still in the air. Sipping on the hot coffee in the Styrofoam cup sitting in its holder between the seats, he tried to see through the speckled windows at the house standing only yards from his beat up Ford Taurus. It was the address on the slip he’d received in his mailbox of his apartment building, addressed simply with his name on it. The words had chilled him to the bone and brought him to this moment, a moment he’d both been anticipating and dreading for years.
Taking a deep breath, he finished off the coffee with one good gulp and slipped from the car, looking up and down the rain drenched streets. His breath showed in the cold night air as he pulled the trench coat tighter around him. Shuffling to the bad door, he pulled out the pump shotgun he’d purchased and shortened so it would fit under his jacket. He stuffed it under the trench, holding it to his body, and going over everything once again in his head.
He’d been planning this since he’d received the note almost a week ago. Under the trench coat he wore a pair of combat boots and baggy black pants stuffed into them. A black turtleneck was over that which made the small, silver cross he let show appear brighter against the darkness. A pair of square rim glasses covered his somewhat greasy face thanks to hours of sweating, worrying about this moment. His long, black hair was tied back in a ponytail and he wore dark black stubble over his chin and neck.
A thrill of anticipation showed on his face as it all settled in, his chest rising and falling. His boots clomped on the pavement as he walked across the street and up the front steps of the brownstone, so different from the large house he’d remembered next door to his parent’s homes. Perhaps they thought city living made them feel more cultured and upscale.
Stopping at the door, he rang the bell and waited, his hand slipping down to get a hold of the pistol grip he’d attached to the shotgun. He watched the young man walking to the door and he recognized his old friend, Paul, in the older face walking down the hall. They had grown up playing in their back yards and making wars with their action figures.
Just as he was reaching for the door, Neil lifted his foot and slammed it into the lock area of the door. The wood around it splintered and flew off into the air as the door swung wide open, the surprise throwing the man backwards. His sandy blonde hair was a mess as he fell to the floor, his hands coming up in surprise making it impossible to break the impact of his ass on the wood floor. For some reason, that little extra pain made him smile as he raised the sawed off barrel of the gun, smiling as he looked at his old friend.
“Whatever you want…”
“I want the pain gone,” he snarled, pulling the trigger. A mist of red burst out from Paul’s chest as the large, round stainless steel balls penetrated his skin, the shockwave of the shot pounding his flesh. He flailed out with his hands as he collapsed to the ground, his last breath already leaking from his lungs.
A scream issued out from down the hallway and he saw a younger woman standing there in a simple white sweater and tan dress, her eyes glaring at the body on the floor. Shock held her in place even as Neil moved closer, figuring it must have been Paul’s girlfriend or wife. She wasn’t part of the issue at hand but she was just collateral damage, like his entire life. Her terrified face reflected in his glasses, a cold expression on his face, as he held up the gun again.
Brain and skull decorated the hallway as he pulled the trigger again, a fine mist of blood hanging in the air. He was surprised at how much damage the gun did at close range, though his wrist was starting to hurt from the recoil. The only consolation he had was that it would probably be a few more shots needed.
Stepping over the body slumped in the hallway, his boots clomped on the wooden floor as he came around the corner into the dining room. He saw them both there then, quickly backing up as they had tried to run out through the hallway into the kitchen which was not at his back. His eyes narrowed as he faced the older couple, the years vanishing as he remembered when Paul had first introduced him to his parents. They had helped organize the cub scout troop in the area with his own parents and had earned his families trust. They had earned his trust.
And then they broke it. They broke him. He had felt dirty and wrong for years afterwards, no matter what the doctors had said, at lease a part of him. The other part of him, the part that survived, knew it was their fault. They were evil. They were a blight on this world and needed to be removed. No one had believed him when he told his school counselor and the police investigated, letting it eventually drop. They moved away and probably didn’t think again about it, but it had never left his mind, the scars always fresh and raw.
“Please, sir,” Mary started, holding her hands out. She always had to try and protect her husband, her lie of a marriage. He could still remember the disgusted look she had given him when they had moved out, like it was his fault why they had to leave their little suburban paradise. The barrel of the shotgun flamed to life again sending the old lady flying into a china cabinet, plates falling and breaking around her bloody form. Blue and white fragments littered the floor as pools of red moved between them.
“No one left to protect you,” he said, his voice hollow in the room. He glared at the older man who looked at him with horror, the monster he’d created.
“Pl… please I… if you want money..”
“Do you think you can buy away the pain you put in me?” His voice flared with anger as flecks of spittle flew from his lips. He was still trying to hide away and run from his troubles, to pretend it was the world against him.
“Do… do I know you?”
Neil reached out a hand and tossed the dining room table with one rage filled throw, flipping it on its side so it blocked the only other exit out of the room. The older man cowered in the corner not so large and overpowering as he once had been to a child. His hand came up to try and cover his face and chest as Neil held the gun out a little, placing it against his knee a second before pulling the trigger.
Mr. Janus, Tom to his friends, screamed in agony as the hot gasses had nowhere to go but through the newly opened holes in his flesh. The shot nearly took off his lower leg, leaving it only attached by a few singed pieces of flesh. The back blast had covered his lower legs and coat in the man’s blood, a fact that he found amusing. He smirked as racked the gun to drive another shot into the chamber as the man wailed on the ground, slowly turning and trying to crawl away.
It was a fittingly pitiful escape considering how hard it had been for him to get away when he was a kid. His boots banged on the floor as he walked up alongside of him and placed the barrel of the shotgun at his shoulder, pulling the trigger. Red mist filled the air as his shoulder practically disintergrated, the steel shot embedding in the floor below. “Please,” he cried out, his one working hand clawing at the floor. “I’m a good man. I don’t deserve this.”
Cocking the slide again, he crouched down at the man’s side and smiled, hoping he would recognize him in the last minutes. He slowly held out the gun until it was pointed at his face, his finger shaking on the trigger. “’Deserve’ has nothing to do with it,” he muttered before pulling the trigger. The last of the Janus’s family died in that instant, blood moving like ripple out from his body.
Rising back to his feet, he slowly walked out into the hallway and found the living room. He pulled the pump handle back to rack the final shell into the chamber and found a nice comfy chair, it was probably his. He held the shotgun barrel up just under his chin, the pistol grip almost in his lap as he awkwardly held the gun and tried to pull the trigger. Closing his eyes, he pulled back on the trigger and only heard a click. He pulled again and nothing.
“That’s not part of the deal,” a voice called out.
Neil looked over at the couch with a puzzled expression as he caught sight of the man sitting there with a leg up over his knee staring at him. He was dressed in a fine black suit with a blazing white smile, looking as if they were discussing the latest stock quotes. He had short black hair that was ruffled like he’d just gotten out of bed and dark red eyes that appraised him carefully.
“What,” Neil asked, wondering if he was dreaming.
“Look at the note,” the man said plainly.
Neil pulled the note form his pocket and unfolded it, carefully reading the note again that had started this whole things. It simple said: ‘They are here. If you can live with it, you can repay all you have ever wished.’ And then it gave this house address and his name, the name he would never forget. “I don’t understand.”
“Now,” the demon said, grinning, “You get to live with what you did. To face the justice you were robbed of. Consider it a fitting end to a sad tale. Perhaps you’ll make people see truth.” He smiled until his teeth showed, the sound of sirens in the distance.