A Story That I Worte (No lies! No jokes!)

[b]MEAT: Original Story by Yours Truly[/b] You are alone. You have been quite alone for a while now. You have no idea how long it has been since you have last seen your best friend, but you're sure that it has been more than an hour. Of course, you would probably know if you hadn't tripped and smashed your watch. "Stupid, stupid," you mutter to yourself as you kick a nearby rock. Wandering through the thick underbrush of the forest is starting to get to you. You haven't eaten or drinken anything since before you and your friend left the cottage more than an hour ago. You told your mom you'd be back in a half an hour and that you were just going to explore the woods right outside the cottage, but it looks as if you will never make it back. You can feel your legs weakening with every step, your vision blurring every time you blink. You hope with all the strength in your body you can find your bearings and, ulimately, your friend. But the only thing you can see through the trees is flashes of the crecent moon overhead. You haven't heard anything since your friend hurried away from you in a playful jaunt, testing your sense of direction. They had the map of the woods with them, leaving you utterly lost in a leafy labrinth. Thinking about your friend makes you really start to worry. You have been wandering aimlessley through the woods for about 2 hours and you are starting to get weary. Your head hurts, and fatigue is slowly lurking into your mind like a tigress stalking her prey. As you are beggining to lose all hope of ever finding your best friend, you stumble over a root and land face first into a bush. The prickly thorns of the bushel poke and prod the skin on your face and neck, and your hands begin to flail as an attempted escape from the pain. You cry out in agony and try and gain control by resisting the overwhelming feeling of discomfort as blood weeps out of the cuts and down your face. Overpowering your basic human instinct of panic, you raise your arms and part the bush, your favorite sweater protecting them from the thorns. Positioned on your knees, you use your legs to propel yourself out of the bush, tucking in and rolling on to the grass. Grass, not dirt? You raise your head. By some miracle you have made it into a clearing. The moonlight illuminates the small feild, making it possible for you to see a quaint, shadowed house looming in the distance. The cottage, you wonder? No, it's another house, one you have never seen or heard about before. You creep cautiosly through the grass, wary of the structure that lay before you. There are no lights on, so it might be abandoned and serve as a shelter for the night. Or maybe the occupants are asleep. It was 9:00 when you left the cottage. You tip-toe up the steps of the cottage with your back arched, as if you were on a secret army raid in the Sahara. The wooden door looms in front of you like it were steel: big, bold and threatening. You debate with yourself whether or not to knock on the door. You remember the stories your grandpa used to tell you about these woods when you were a kid; the frightening ghouls and goblins that supposedly happened upon the trees. Snap out of it! You order yourself, You're old enough to know the difference between fact and fiction! But these thoughts remind you of a news report you heard before you came to the cottage. A man went missing after heading into the woods around here. Despite your fear, you make your way further across the small patio, making sure the wood doesn't creak under your feet. Contemplating the consequences of breaking and entering, you finally come to the decision to knock on the door. As you raise your fist to the barrier, the door suddenly swings open. You gasp in surprise as a figure begins to appear out of the shadows. You gulp and stagger back. You close your eyes and hold your breath, imagining the creature that has come for you. You push against your fear and squeak one eye open slowly... only to see an old woman in drab robes standing in the light of the moon. You heave a low sigh of releif and straighten up from your fearful, shrunken position. "Hello," you say, worry seeping out of your voice. "Why, what brings you here?" Asks the old woman, sincire concern in her voice. "You are quite young to be wandering the forest by yourself at night." "I know," you say, running your fingers through your hair. "But I wasn't always alone. My friend..." You begin to feel your muscles droop from exhaustion, and the woman grabs youjust before you hit the deck. She is surprisingly strong for her age. "Don't worry," she says reassuringly, "I'll help you, deary." She helps you inside and closes the door quietly behind you, as if not wanting to awaken the sleeping woods. The house is dim, and you can faintly make out a couch and coffee table resting in the middle of a large room. The old woman reaches behind your head for the light switch, and the whole room is instantaneously brightened. You can now clearly see a 70's style plaid couch, a mahogany coffee table and a fire place, all aligned. The house is very neat and tidy. "Where's the kitchen?" you ask grogily. The old woman chuckles. "You're hungry, I take it?" she asked, one eyebrow cocked upward. You nod slowly and the old woman gestures for you to follow her. You don't kick off your shoes. You have never seen a house lay out like this, with the kitchen in the back and not the front. Weird, you think. You make your way into the kitchen with the old woman. She pulls out a big wooden chair, probably maple, out from under the table. You flop down into it and rejoyce in the comfortablity of rest. The woman puts down a peice of steak in front of you. It looks cold, but smells fresh and well seasoned. You find a fork and knife with it and dig in. "We get the meat from local game, my husband and I." She pulls out a chair slowly and settles down, white ringlets of hair settling on her wrinkled face. You inhale the steak peice by peice and she pushes a glass of ruby-colored juice towards you from across the table. "Tim's out now getting more meat." she says quietly. You barely hear her as you choke down the final peice of cold, delicious meat. You take the drink and guzzle it down. It's tangy and very sweet. You're not quite sure what kind it is. Grapefruit, maybe? As you finish your meal and settle back on your chair in satisfaction, you can't help but hope your friend is having the same luck as you, or that Tim finds them. Meanwhile, the old woman has been watching you quietly from the opposite side of the table, drinking in your every move. "I hope your husband finds my friend out there, ma'am," you say as you lick your lips. "We got seperated a couple hours ago and I haven't seen 'em since." Images of times at the cabin with your friend surge through your mind, and you suddenly remeber your mother in a rush. You sit upright. "Do you have a phone you can use?" you ask, looking around for any sign of a reciever. "No, dear." Says the old woman, "There's no need when all Tim and I need are eachother. Nobody out here. No need to worry." She flashes you a kind, reassuring smile. "Oh." You say, dissapoint consuming you. The old woman sees your expression change and says "Not to worry. We'll get it all straightened out in the morning, won't we?" You nod and notice that you are begining to feel more sleepy by the second. Maybe it's the comfort. The old woman notices your drooping eyelids and shuffles over to collect you off of the chair. She leads you down the hall. You pass a door with a steel lock across it, but loss of inhabitions doesn't lead you to question the woman. You arrive in a bedroom, which you guess is the guest room. Like everything in the house, it is charming and immaculate. A white duvet is tucket cautiously under the mattress, and two pillows sit under a rich, wooden headboard. "Get in bed, dear." Coos the old woman, leading you forward. You can feel sleep pushing your body towards a total shut down. You make it under the covers, and are awake long enough to hear the door open and a man's voice call "Arlene, I got us a fresh one! Found it all by itself up in the east!" Before you even think about wondering about anything, you are pulled into a deep, fast sleep. _________________________ You awake in complete darkness. Your head is throbbing in a rhythmic pattern. Your wrists ache, as they are bound with duct tape. Your eyes dart back and forth, searching for answers in the abyss, but you still see nothing. You can feel your heart start pounding in your chest, and persperation dripping down towards the small of your back. You try to talk, but realize that you're gagged with duct tape. Your feet are also wired together, making you immobile. Suddenly, you hear a lock click and see the door open at the top of some stairs. Then you begin to hear voices. "Did you package up the meat yet?" Bellows Tim, heading down the stairs. "No," says Arlene, "Not yet." Her voice is following Tim down the steps, light from the upstairs pooling at the bottom, across the room. "How did we get so lucky tonight, darling?" Asks Tim, fliciking on a small flashlight. "We've never gotten two in one night before. Imagine, one coming right to our doorstep! It seems too good to be true!" As the beam from the flashlight circles the room slowly, you see it. Meat. But not just any meat; human meat. A fleshy arm hangs from a smoke rack with some ribs, a leg dangles over a pile of blood from chains connected to the ceiling. And then you see them: your friends clothes, sitting in a heap next to a pile of mix-matched bones, stained brown. Suddenly, the beam falls on your face. You are blinded by the on-coming light. Tim leans down and peers into your face, eyes squinted. "Well, look who's awake." he says, gesturing Arlene over. You wimper. "It's quite sad, really," says Arlene. You begin to struggle with your tape bound wrists and ankles, twitching and kicking about. "We never got to hear your name, now did we?" She smiles sweetly, and you can feel the hot tears streaming down your face. "It's better that way." Tim says, patting you on the shoulder. "You wouldn't want to get attached." You try and scream, but only muffled sounds come through the tape. Tim and Arlene share a quiet laugh, as if it was an inside joke of theirs. Your eyes are pleading as you look at them both. They look at eachother and sigh. Tim leans down and gives you a once over. "It's your turn." He says as he rips the tape from your mouth in one quick motion. The pain tears through your nerves. The two begin to laugh as you let out a scream. Nobody hears you now.

Comments

  • wow, that was a really twisted story. i like it alot some good imagery and lots of good lines. "...as if not wanting to awaken the sleeping woods." and the part where tim says "its your turn" does that mean they let all the victims have one final scream before the end!? ...very twisted
  • You are 14, Grizzers? And a female? Your story is good but it's a little unsettling coming from someone...someone who shouldn't have to be contemplating gory shit like that. What authors do you like?
  • Authors aren't much of a matter to me. It's the genre's, mostly horror and sci-fi. I only really watch horror movies too, and I'm sure spending my time on 4chan's /x/ (the paranormal forum) doesn't help either. I share the thought of horror as being beautiful with Avey. I think it's pretty neat.
  • Reminds me of a story me and P Diddy wrote when we were 14.
  • You guys were friends at 14? Wow. I did not know that. Looks like I need to lurk moar.
  • That was written really well. I didn't[i] just [/i]read it, (while listening to Panda Bear music and ignoring my school work <!-- s:P --><img src="{SMILIES_PATH}/razz.gif" alt=":P" title="razz" /><!-- s:P --> ) but I was suprised and shocked - (the meat she ate when she first arrived was human meat, wasn't it?) I've never heard of the view of horror being beautiful. Thats pretty interesting..
  • horror is such a hard genre to write/film. it feels very repetative to me. the same old scares, gory movies. Hence why I've never been much of a horror fan. I think your story is interesting though, good job. <!-- s:) --><img src="{SMILIES_PATH}/smile-1.gif" alt=":)" title=":)" /><!-- s:) -->
  • Thank you! I've never written in the second person before. It's kind of a weird feeling.
  • if you like stories in second person, check out Bright Lights, Big City by Jay McInerney
  • Will do. Thanks.
  • I wrote this today, mostly out of boredom. Hope you like it. [b]I am a Soul[/b] Sometimes, when I'm alone and doing nothing, I think about the greatest, grandiose small things that life offers. Life. I explore the word, as it is a book with many pages, definitions, beginnings and ceases. There are so many journeys, and none of them are remembered in their entirety, but they are there. So many souls, watching from behind a face, accounting for themselves and moving on after their vessel has been stricken down. I am a soul. Sometimes I realize this. I reach deep within my core and find me; my soul, the tiny captain of this ship, this body. And as I am trapped inside this boat of human form, I will not be forever. One day I will break free of the soft crust that layers me, and I will skim the country side with nothing to lose and nothing to gain. While I am embracing liberty, the other souls that cherished me allow the eyes on their vessels to bleed the water of the ocean in grievance. Beaten and battered, my body will be burned or buried, and returned from whence I have cometh. Mother Nature, the original environmentalist, will reuse, reduce and recycle my shell down to nothing, until I blend with the wind and the trees. Once the other souls join me, and my moniker is never whispered from the lips of others, I will search on, and find a new engine to wrap myself in. She will be resting in the womb of another ship, and I will climb in quietly while she sleeps. Once I am released from my prison, I will live again. My easy life will become hard, my ignorance will become wisdom, and I will collect my memories. Many hearts will follow by my rhythm, as a heart is a pump and not a soul. Many minds will power themselves by my battery, as a mind is a filing cabinet and not a soul. Many bodies will move while I sit within them, sometimes comfortably, sometimes unsettled; for bodies are baskets and not souls. I am a soul, and I will live within you, and you, and you, and you...
  • I like it! It reminds me of one of the theories of the afterlife in a book called Sum.
  • you win sum you lose her gum! worte!
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