Writing Prompt Challenge -- Prompt 3

Welcome to this week's Writing Prompt challenge!

This prompt is:You are legally allowed to commit murder once, but you must fill out the proper paperwork and your proposed victim will be notified of your intentions

The afternoon began pretty normal for me.

I had just gotten off work, parking the car in place when I got out and noticed an envelope sticking out of the mailbox. Of course I had assumed that it was just another piece of mail, so I brought it inside and sat it down on the table. It was only once inside that my heart quaked upon the realization of what the letter was.

DEPARTMENT OF HUMAN OVERPOPULATION RESOURCES

For Mr. Ryan Schaffer

LETTER OF PURGE NOTICE

I guess I never thought too hard on the idea that anyone could want me dead.

But once I read the message, it was obvious; my brother.

I had always overshadowed him. He always believed that our parents cared about me much more than him, and that I had more friends, more relationships, et cetera. I had always tried to reason with him – that it wasn't true, that there was plenty of times that people cared about him just as much as they did me.

By the time we graduated high school, he went somewhere else and none of us had ever heard from him again. I always felt pity for him, but now I had no choice. The hunt started on 5 minutes from when I finished the letter. I had to defend myself.

I did mostly what I remembered from the advice the surviving defenders of the hunt had given in various interviews and internet posts – I boarded up the door, the windows, got my pistol, and headed upstairs.

It was quiet for a while. I had locked myself in my bedroom and had waited for what seemed like an eternity until I heard a load scratching noise in the backdoor. At this moment my body shut down in fear, as I realized the mistake that I made.

I had only barred ONE door – the front one. I had totally forgotten about the backside of the house, save the windows. I kept my gun close as a soft thud continued from the backdoor, through the house, and up the stairs.

Finally, it stopped.

My hands were shaking now, pointing the gun at the door in front of me. With a loud crack the axe made a whole in the door. And another. And another. And another.

Finally the door burst opened, and I shot.


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LEVIATHAN 007

Leviathan Tape 003

Date: Unknown, 1995

Location: Concord, Connecticut

TRANSCRIPT START

I remember … we were in the library, Donna and I... we were doing some project for our history class or something. Anyway, there's a loud pop... and, well, the chem lab is right next to the lab so we just figured that... maYYBe it was chem, right? But t hen this kid... bobbie... he comes in a ND STARTS SCREAMING BL OOODY MURder. So we realize something is really wrong. Me and DONa...

…

…

…

“Are you okay?” and I said yeah. It was... a close call. I've never experienced FEAR or anything like that in my life. It was scary. But I'm glad both me and _____ made it out alive.

Writing Prompt Challenge -- Prompt 2

Welcome to this week's Writing Prompt challenge!

This prompt is:

Serial killer has been monitoring his next victim's movements for months. She is a loner and the perfect target. One day she disappears and nobody notices but him.

What I do is an art. An art that takes time, work, and dedication.

Why most people look down upon it is no wonder, and that's not my issue. I'm not hear to tell you what I do is a good thing, and that the public has misguided you. I was born with the taste of blood: from the start of my days the idea of pain, of blood spilling, it all calmed me. The only time I felt truly alive was depriving that of others.

But the best part was never the victim, it was what came after. The pain of the friends and families. Of wanting justice to be done, but it was just out of reach. You see, my method is different. There is no motive, no gimmick. I don't write cryptic letters to the police, or target specific people. What I have is something else entirely.

It's an algorithm – a distinct one at that. It was fortunate that I was born into a family as wealthy as mine, or else I wouldn't be able to do what I do. I fly around the world you see; as each target is different. An old Mongolian stable-master to a newborn from Ohio – there's no difference. We're all the same in the end, as I am not specific in who I kill. All that matters is someone must die.

I've been among you for awhile now. No one has been able to find me. You may be next, but who knows – it all lies within the cards.

Samantha was one of the ones the cards picked. She was fresh out of high school – no real known friends or family, but known to delve into the gothic. I'm used to high-pressure situations, but its always good to have a laid back kill like this. 5 foot 8, long dark brown hair, goes to the neighborhood university, listens to metal, goes on a walk every Sunday, from 7 AM to a quarter after.

But why should I tell you this? Doesn't writing this down lead to a weak point? To being caught and crucified? You are right, but these are peculiar times: as I think someone might have gotten to her before me.

There's a lot more to her routine, but the reason I pointed out the Sunday walks was that was when I first noticed. 3 months had passed; it was almost time for the killing. However, I waited, and she never came out. I assumed she may have gone out earlier than normal, so I waited some more. By the time I next checked the clock it was 9 AM, and Samantha was no where to be seen. My heart started racing.

I decided to check the house – I had before while she was out for her classes, so I knew the rooms very well. For the most part, it goes well – with the exception of an Ontario trip when the teenage daughter of my target had been present. Besides a switch of victims, the trip did fairly decently. But this was different – now I had been going into the house with the full expectation that there may be someone there. I thought about the different situations I may be faced with, but in the end it was pointless. I had to go in. I had to find her.

But I couldn't. The house was not stirred. I checked her bedroom and the blankets were disturbed but otherwise no different. The shoes, keys, everything all in its right place.

I have seen this sort of scene before. I have caused it many times.

Someone took Samantha before me. No one takes my prey – whoever they are, I will find them. Rarely am I motivated to kill a certain target, but this is different. Much different. 


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Twitter: @CodexofAegis
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Guardians of Enthia -- Chapter IX

It had been quite some time since the attempt on the King's life, and the Staav brothers had once again set past their differences, at least for the meantime. Alistair once again held his post as a watchman, and no further incidents had occurred – Yui, however, had his position at the King's Guard, which now meant he had a new position with better training (though not better education – being a Staav already gave him that, regardless of what the brothers' position in the family was).

The two were in the barracks courtyard practicing with both swords and wit when the leader of the King's Guard, Ketal Whisperwind, came for Yui.

“Vassal, there has been an incident. You must report to the Council at once.”

Yui gave his new mentor a grin. “Already? These assassins must be stupider than I thought.”

At his disciple's seemingly arrogant attitude, the great swordsman drew his blade, held it against the rock, and scraped it to cause a noise so scathingly irritating it caused nausea to all except the one who caused it.

“Alright, alright, I'm coming!” The vassal made his surrender known, coming up the stairs to his commander and disappearing into the brick alley which Ketal had came from.

After they had left, an annoyed Alistair grabbed his stuff, rubbing his ears to relieve it's pain.

 
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Scenario in an Orlando Apartment

And so I sat, feigning interest for months old copies of Newsweek while I tried my best to distance myself as much as possible from the dramatic stage show unfolding before my eyes.

“God, I swear if I have to hear her voice again, I'm going to have a fucking hernia.”

“Please, just give her a chance, okay? She really wants to talk to you. Nothing is going to be solved if you keep ignoring her like this.”

Tansen's a good friend of mine. I trust him. I never knew Michelle well, but the horror stories that Tansen had told me about her sub rosa after they had broke up painted a very monstrous, clingy picture.

My sister was the one holding the phone. She was sentimental, sympathetic, sensitive – I feel like she could relate to Michelle in a way me and Tansen could not.

“Alright, fine, give me the phone. I'll handle this.”

The second he got the phone, he turned it on speaker. The slightly distorted sound of a sobbing young girl was picked up in return.

“T-tansen?”

“Fuck off.”

Tansen promptly ended the call, and handed it back to my sister. “See? Solved.”

My sister let out a genuine sigh of frustration, then turned towards me.

“Alex, could you please get Tansen to do something before Michelle does something drastic?”

I threw down the November 2012 Newsweek issue and aggressively defended myself. “Hold on, I am not involved in this. If Michelle does end up following through and killing herself, right now I am devoid of all responsibility. And I would rather it stay that way.”

“God, you are both so-” She was stopped by the phone ringing again, and picked it up. “Hey, sorry about that. No no no, don't. He's just... He's just being...”

Tansen. Who had moved into the kitchen, yelled to us so his voice could be heard: “Tell her to fuck off!”

My sister took some time to cover the phone's microphone to yell back in reply – “Tanny, shut up! I swear to god!”

After this point I had tapped out. The room continued to fill with hysteria until a single apexical moment occurred – a loud boom had come from the speaker of the phone, and my sister had jumped, screamed, and in a kickstart of nerve threw the phone across the room before beginning to hyperventilate and repeating the words “Oh no” and “Oh fuck” over and over again, in no distinct patten.

Upon hearing my sister, Tansen reentered the room. “Oh calm down. She's probably faking it.”

“Oh my god Tansen, shut the fuck up. I swear to god I will KILL you.”

Tansen tried reaching for the phone, but my sister got a nearby pillow and started swinging it at Tanny at full strength, all the while still crying. At that point I put my foot down and said enough.

“No. That's it. Fuck this. I have other stuff I need to get done this week, and this does NOT concern me. Go get someone else to do it.”

If either of them had said something, or even acknowledged what I said, I had no idea – the instant I had finished I stormed through the front door and out to my car.

Its been three days, and I haven't heard from either since the incident.


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