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he sees the glint of the pretty young thing's wedding ring and snaps out at her fingers with a snarl, but the strap across his chest prevents him from rising, and his teeth miss her by mere inches. He laughs as she hesitates, and one of the hacks—Mickey can't see which one—holds him back by his hair so she can secure the mask over his nose and clenched smile. Mickey says, "Gas me, Doc," and the doctor does, turning it on with a prolonged squeeeak.
Mary O'Shaughnessy loathed people. And since people had always taken an unconscious disliking to me, I suppose she must have felt we were somehow similar. Kindred spirits.
"It's good to be scared, Marigold. Fear reminds us of the importance of life."
The castle was a ruin, and they were its ghosts.
Just like God, the White Coats ignored my appeals.
I was a parasite living in the kibble. Nibbles chewed up my home and swallowed me, unaware of my presence in his food. I sat in his guts, gestating, then burrowed into his bloodstream, like a gerbil in a plastic tunnel. I swam the tight canals of his veins, passing through into his little gerbil head and gnawing into his pea-sized brain.
When I broke down in tears, it wasn't for Nibbles and it certainly wasn't for Billy. I cried for myself. For everything I'd been neglected throughout my worthless life, for all the pain and suffering at the hands of bullies and careless social workers. For all the times people threw me away,
Project Blue Sky
Those black lines in the declassified documents, they're hiding me. I've been redacted.
"I couldn't do that,"
"Play God like that."
"Aren't you already? I mean, I don't know if you noticed, but it seems to me like God's been on extended...
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"Don't call me that. All you old-timers call me sweetie and sugar and it drives me up the fucking wall."
FOR REAL DIE
DEAD MEN WALKING
Fav chapter so far
Hope is the slowest poison,
Behind him, José lurched off the gurney. Still strapped in at the legs, the condemned toppled with a clang and a crash, his hips twisted sharply. The slap of his palms on the floor, the metallic drag of the gurney across the execution chamber's chipped tile floor.
This was an infringement on a basic human right, to be able to shit without fear of harassment.
Tremaine spilled out into the gallery. Sprawling face-first with his blood-smeared hands spread on the cool wood floor, he gasped for air. Slowly his vision returned, color bleeding back into the world. Blurry white snowflakes fell around him.
When nothing happened for several minutes, Tremaine decided it was time to go. He did not know why the Master's curse had spared him, although he recalled something Ziminski had said to the Mad Russian: The man values his art more than his life. If that's not a quality worth admiring, I don't know what is. Tremaine thought perhaps that might be the reason but he supposed he'd never know for sure. He pushed himself to his feet, stumbled, righted himself, and staggered toward the door. The Master's eyes remained fixed on the empty vault, and what his pupil had painted there. They did not follow
...more
She sighed heavily. "Can you come pick us up?"
'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.'"
SQUIRM
What the fuck was even that. Okay i guess
I don't do well with different.
This flesh is no longer mine. This body is merely a vessel. A husk.
had been skewered like a cocktail weenie on a toothpick.
Because in the end it was all these monsters wanted: someone to comfort them and tell them they were forgiven.
telling him in a flurry of words she wished it would zap him straight to Hell.
Life isn't all darkness and horror:
Lighting curled outward from the tape player, striking the tapes on the shelves and the ones laid out on the floor, reminding him of cheap film effects of the '80s, from The Highlander's "Quickening" sequence to the clock tower scene in Back to the Future.
The apocalypse will not be televised,
"In here, Harlan, I am God."
Dave narrowed his eyes. "Are you doing a Vine?" "This isn't a Vine, Dave," Harlan snapped. "This is real life."
Once upon a time it would have been fun to imagine, but with his every move watched by a psychotic deceased director, all he wanted now was for the credits to roll so he could finish his popcorn and go home.
A gray ray of light burst from the security monitor, and the dark druids materialized behind the door. "Oh, shit..." The Acolytes stepped through the door. The bell dinged.
The Acolytes stood in the middle of the road. They peeled back their hoods in tandem. Despite their differences in height, all three wore Funelli's grin, his curled Dali mustache, and gleeful dark brown eyes. A chorus of voices said, "Hello, Jack. Lovely to see you." "Can't say the feeling's mutual, Nick." The dark druids shrugged. "You might want to scrap that draft, Jack. It's boring." Breathing heavily, Jack looked for his pages he'd written in Harlan's absence on the bench. His shoulders further slumped when he saw them in a puddle of brown water, the ink smeared and running. "Son of a..."
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5 – Videolimbo
Harlan
I like the name a lot tbh. Should use it for an oc
7 – Funelli's Revenge
Harlan reached out and turned off the TV.
