Newgrounds.com — Everything, By Everyone.

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I'm looking for writing projects to participate in, and this sounds fun. I'm merely an amateur, but you can check some of my work here.

Please let me know if if you want a more formal kind of application submitted.

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I'll be posting a collection of short stories here, and any honest critique will be welcome. If you like what you see, point me towards something you want checked out and I'll definitely tell you what I think. I'll also help anyone with anything that I can, and I am currently looking for projects to join in.

1: Judgewood

I was fighting it, as usual. Beating it with my fists, breaking it's brittle ribs with a pipe, caving it's head in with a rock, and so on and so forth. It begged and bargained and pleaded and demanded and cursed, but I had none of it, and never will. It can rot. I awoke from my night of vigor refreshed and rejuvenated.

Three months before it was darkness and white pain, my head rattling as my heart burned. I never sleep well in the winter. I fight like I'm stuck in mud, and it slithers away gleefully to wreak havoc on my body.

I crawled out of my bed, noting with halfhearted disgust the sweaty silhouette I'd left on my sheets. I was slick with the stuff from my toes to my balls to my eyebrows. My skin crept as I felt it explore my dermis, noting tendon, vein, arterie, and nerve, relishing the visceral contents of it's plaything. Thank God there was still some coffee in the pot. I nuked that while I waited for a fresh batch to perk. It was 3:58 in the morning, and in Judgewood, a young man was strangling his fiance; but I wouldn't know that till the next month when I moved into their old place.

I drank that pot of coffee in ten minutes flat.

I'm not a handsome guy, and I didn't look my best when I first came to look at the apartment. Thin brown hair receded into a widows peak, tired brown eyes hanging over dark pits, a lined, worn face with a few days stubble to complete the package. I wasn't going to be picking up any respectable dates soon.

None of that explained why the old man kept a hawkish eye on me as he showed me the place. Well, I did laugh inadvertently when he told me the last fellow shotgunned his brains all over the kitchen sink after strangling his girl in their bed. So that may have done it.

I think he sensed something off about me from the start; that was just the clincher. It was very active that day. Chattering and giggling in the background like a Lovecraftian DVD commentary. I wandered through the dead couples apartment in a fugue, drifting through their atmosphere as the old man showed me around. Their belongings hadn't yet been claimed, and being a young couple, their obscure tastes were proudly presented.

We're individuals! They spoke to me. We're unique little snowflakes, see?

Ha! No, you go crazy and die just like everyone else; even if you read Frank Miller, sit on extra large bean bags, and collect posters for shitty horror movies made before you were born. Maybe especially. After all, I'd been palling around with my little hitchhiker buddy for as long as they'd been alive, and I'd made it that far.

I understood why the kid chose the sink. Above it was a large window overlooking Lake Maria, Judgewood's centerpiece and main source of tourism. She was wide and clear beneath a wonderfully clouded April sky, and I'd fallen in love with her before I'd set foot in the apartment. She seemed to lance the tension and despair from my infected head with every second I rested my eyes on her.

"I'll take it."

The old man hunched his shoulders, as if expecting a blow. I stifled another laugh. His back had been turned to me as he showed me the pantry connected to the kitchen, so I'd picked a good time.

"We haven't even discussed rent." Mistrustful eyes searched me over.

"I doubt you're asking much, what with the little drama that played out here." And if you are, I don't care, I kept to myself. "Let's sign some papers."

"It's one-thousand a month, plus utilities. I take care of the trash and the driveway." He eyeballed me.

I remained placid.

"Their stuff won't be gone till next week." He continued.

"Whatever. Can we do this thing?"

As we signed our Hancocks, I noticed how feminine and graceful the old mans hands were. It mused on breaking them, one knuckle at a time.

"Shut up."

"Excuse me?" The old man asked, surprise and fear darting across his face in equal measure.

Woops. "Nothing, my apologies. I believe we're done here."

The old man was glad to hear that, happily showing me out the door and down the stairs. Must be pretty desperate if he's willing to rent to me.

I had no idea how much power it was beginning to exert.