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  Last Night's Forgotten Murder by AudioVision

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Part 1: Hyperglycemia

I'm somehow standing, leaning upon one hand on a particularly cold countertop--Jesus, my legs are numb. Both pantry doors are wide open. Bags of food are carelessly open and haphazardly organized on the shelves. My hand reaches for the food, grabbing blindly for sustenance. The bountiful myriad of sweets and simple carbs spill as my arm brushes over them. My hand automatically inserts the food into my mouth, before swiveling again and dropping as if in a toy claw machine. I can make out the labels on the food. I taste the saccharine treats and dry, salty snacks. The aroma engages me. I place my hand in a bag of crackers. The food rustles and the bag crinkles as the sharp and textured crackers rub against my hand. My senses are intact, but I cannot control my body. I mentally exert myself to force movement; but, no response.

Where the fuck am I? I vividly recall waking--my alarm seemed more importunate than usual; but, that is not what bothered me; I recall the sense of discontent and ominiousness. I recall the horrible traffic on my morning commute to school. I recall the embarrassing exchange between her and me. C'mon what else? I recall her pleasant laughter, her sweet childish voice, her dark daffodil hair. I recall her pouting; her face becomes clear--my god, she's pretty. She looked down and then up before flashing her cute smile once more, asking me--God, my body feels numb, but I can feel an energy. How long have I stood here? The tip-of-the-tongue phenomenon is murder. I am certain of two things thus far: I know I have Type 1 Diabetes, and, my blood sugar level is still rising.

My mental momentum is increasing. My hands rub my face violently. My feet and legs move in unison backwards, then forwards. I tremble and lower my hands and stumble to the nearest chair. I try my damnedest to think! My breathing intensifies and I grow thirsty. The unfamiliar and uncomfortable chair does not clam my trauma, as I lightly convulse. My thinking is unobstructed instantly. Suddenly sober, but still shaking, I scramble to the light switch. Jesus! Why haven't I realized this before? This is not my house.
Where the fuck am I?

My hands console my face aggressively again. The foreign kitchen is messy but not abandoned. This is someone's else house. Why am I here alone, especially during a fucking seizure? I slam my body against the wall and slide down, panting. How did I get here? I quaver quietly and struggle to remember once more.

I anxiously straddle my head and hair before throwing my skull back forcefully. A soft thud and I slump sideways, as my consciousness escapes from me once more.

Part 2: Hypoglycemia

Her hand dabbles and she sticks out her tongue slightly. She is perplexed and looks up at me with a faint smile; She is so pretty.

A soft murmur leaves her lips--what the fuck did she just say?

"I'm sorry--what?" I ask.

"Did I get the right answer..." she responds gently, twirling the pen in her hand.

I feel heavy, a bit dull, struggling to comprehend what is happening. Words try to escape my lips: "What..."

The same perplexed look from before crosses her face. Clearly worried, she asks, "You all right?"

I come to a few minutes later, reclining on her couch, and she is holding my hand, sitting next to me. My head is still heavy and the room is perfectly static, yet I feel as if I am constantly falling; I am gravitating slowly but forcefully, my body is in shambles and the communication between my brain and my body is failing. I am not all right.

I groan as I attempt to sustain my weight on my arms. I prop myself up and incline slightly towards her. My breathing accelerates and I sense a slight numbness on my hand; both of her hands are cupped tightly around my right. Her words now come through surprisingly clear; I can make out her words as I stare at her frantic mouth.

"Oh shit! What's happening? Do I call 911? Please answer! Oh God! Oh--"

I feel funny now. My eyes are open, yet I see black and red; my hearing is fine, but now her soft words are jumbles of discordance and cacophony; my hands are clammy and numb as my weight pins me down; my mouth is drying up but my saliva is acidic and sour. Momentary glimpses of reality graze my perception. I am convulsing and struggling to stand; my instincts are pulling me towards something. I faintly hear my own screaming.

She leaps up towards the phone and I catch her by the wrist. Black grows around me as my sensation falters.

Part 3: No Insulin

A sudden relapse of energy snaps me from unconsciousness. I am still sluggish, but somehow reinvigorated. I proceed to stand--my head is killing me. I rub the back of my head and my hand quickly retracts upon the pain. Thankfully there is no blood, but the ache and my spiking blood sugar is preventing me from grasping reality clearly. I need to inject myself with insulin to unblock my consciousness.

I pace slowly towards the living room. The table is overturned and several papers are scattered about. I vomit painfully upon the sudden impact. The grim reality shatters my foggy amnesia. Oh God--I recall:

"Oh God! I'm calling an ambulance! Wait here!" she yells frightfully. As soon as her body swings towards her objective, I catch her wrist. I forcefully pull her back as I lunge forward and our bodies collide, knocking her onto the square table. I stumble towards her and crash my full weight onto her. The tables overturns under the burden. My body is numb and automatic, run purely by instinct. She kicks and swipes at me, but her efforts are futile under my control. I grasp her neck, lightly at first, before all my power is relocated to crushing and suffocating her. My body trembles again and again as she gags and chokes. She is powerless and her life drops with her hands. I lay on her figure for several moments before convulsing a few more times, struggling to stand, struggling escape. My vision is still blurry and dull as I step towards the counter, in a dense stupor. Mechanically, instinctively, I reach for the food, attempting to restore my sugar level.

Author's note: IF this is picked up for a flash, this is what I have in mind:

The song is split into 3 parts (0:00-1:15, 1:16-1:56, 1:57-end). Part 1 has no dialogue. It shows the narrator/protagonist standing. He is distraught and shoving food into his mouth. He is clearly shaken but his eyes are blank. He begins to snap out of it around 0:40. He is shaking but a bit more composed. He sits down as the music begins to pick up. He knows he's done something bad. When the music of part 1 climaxes he knocks himself out and his consciousness fades with guitar note (1:15)

Part 2: The music is quiet and in the background. /there is clear, spoken dialogue (although a bit different, contact me for a rewrite). When the narrator's sugar level drops, the music and the dialogue becomes a bit distorted. His consciousness fades here and there and it cuts to him on the couch with the girl. When part 3 begins, he grabs her hand and there is a smash cut to part three of the story.

Part 3: He wakes up and gets up. He tries to regain himself and walks towards the living room to see it in chaos. He vomits and is sobered by the sight. Smash cut to part 2 at 1:17 from when he grabbed her hand. He goes crazy and strangles her to death, like the story. The flash ends with the narrator getting up slowly (likes he is drunk) and walks to the counter and gets food as the music fades...

Special thanks to: AudioVision for composing the musical score specifically for this story and working on such a tight deadline; Rianor for originally inspiring the 3 part story (sorry I went in a different direction).

At 2/13/11 11:18 AM, gmercerd wrote: I think its been just about two months since the competition closed. Any ideas what's up?

We had to wait a long time for all the judges to turn in the results and now we have to congregate. Take it easy, friend, and wait a while longer.

Cool post, man. However, the story was uninteresting (not poorly written) because the characteristics of noir fiction are suited for, well, noir fiction. There's no self-destructive protagonist, gritty and explicit writing, or (what I like most about noir) crime drama. I know that's what you were trying to avoid to prove your point. But I'd like to point out that these elements are critical to noir fiction and best suited for, you got it, noir. Anyway, good job man, this was a good example of the stylistic writing associated with the genre, and also a pretty good balance between narrative and descriptive writing.

Holy shit Brian. What fucking review haha! Personally, I love the idea of noir and the setting. I also like the idea of gritty detectives and crime, although, I don't read, write, or view much noir. That being said, I did not like this story. Brian goes a bit more in depth, but it feels inorganic, forced and somewhat inexpertly written. A deeper study of the genre will help, as well as a deeper understanding of writing in general.

At 2/11/11 01:39 AM, PainasaurusRex wrote: This post is /b/tarded...
@Deftandevil: I found it to be rather easy to read, it's very similar to Slipknot lyrics in my opinion. I understand that you might be a large influence on the sight, but if you're the mature one you should have stopped it. I don't who you are, but you should probably have known better.

I already apologized, jeez, let's not drag out anymore than me and Stereo have. Also, I'm not really anybody--yet, mind you. I'm just a guy who likes writing. If I'm so big, how come no one reads my stories *sniff*. In all seriousness, that's really enough outside input and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't antagonize me, or Stereo for that matter, any further, as it was a battle of Egos. Yes, I get it, it's so obvious...

At 2/10/11 07:19 PM, AROSOFTHEDESERT wrote: At one point at sea a squid is going to wash up on his boat claiming to be a halucination named Jeff. He's going to give him a bit of insight then claim it was all in Jason's head.

That's too far. I feel like you stole that from an episode of "Flapjack."

Haha. This concept is so novel it borders absurd. But, don't think that's what you're going for though. It seems more like a dark fantasy type of thing (I honestly don't know). But I think that's where this script loses it for me. It starts off in an bemusing style, before becoming too serious and the sudden change in tone and atmosphere feels... novice, I guess. There are some spelling errors that a proofreader should've caught and when someone speaks in a different language, explicitly state it (as you did later, but kinda late) or use italics, as not to confuse the reader.

Just to clear things up, me and ZeeAk are NOT dating.
Seriously: my bad.

All right, we both know that's untrue. I said don't condescend to us because you know you were. You're the one that keeps throwing insults without any base except emotion("stick it up your ass". Then you keep antagonizing us (mostly me...) and bringing up irrelevant information even after I reviewed your poem. (I wish you would've read my poem instead of just reading the title D: atleast someone looked at it >_>

Anyway, I wasn't arguing with you, it was pretty one-sided to be honest.

At 2/10/11 10:46 AM, Stereocrisis wrote: Whatever. With your 19 year old mentality, writing poems about flowers, you're going to blame me for being "Full House"? Yea, okay pal, keep acting self-absorbed, and above your fellow poets, see how far that gets you in life.

douche-bag

Flowers are cool.

It's pretty good. Try to make it clearer to the reader what is happening, plot-wise. I had to re-read paragraphs a couple of times to make sure what was going on. The stylistic and descriptive writing is where you succeed, though. The characters aren't really that appealing or memorable, but it has just started, so work on that. So basically, focus the plot while retaining the advanced writing, and touch-up everything else.

Btw, ZeeAk is right, "will" and "shall" are denotatively the same, but connotatively different.

They like strong, confident men. Assholes have an annoying and arrogant confidence about them.

I guess I wouldn't be so disturbed if she wasn't so unpleasant to look at. (Triple negative you know what I mean)

Pretty good. Atmosphere isn't something you see much in poetry anymore. The rhythm and lyricism is pretty damn good. The language is meh and the shifts in mood from suicidal to pensive detract from the tone. The purposeful lack of order makes it stronger, but the simplistic language at parts makes it lose effect, as if you are trying too hard to be sad. By the way, some punctuation could have made the internal thoughts and dialogue easier to understand. Overall, it was a good poem.

My bad, it's actually three poems. I put that last one on there last second. I don't think it's that good, but it's one of my favorites.

It's been forever since I've posted my works on the writing forum. Here are two poems I wrote about love:

"A Dark Daffodil."

A Dark Daffodil,
So beautiful; yet,
I feel, I feel...

I feel no regret,
From snatching
It from its soil.

And watching
It die--I guess I'll
Plant it again.

To renew what I stole.
I dig in the dirt,
And plant a new soul.

It hurts! Oh God!
I water the daffodil,
With my own blood.

Again I hate--
Oh Spring!
What tempting beauty
Shall you bring?

Untitled

I laugh--She giggles. But, she turns away.
Beauty compels me to live as if mad.
How I dream! and wish! and hope! and pray!

A blackened, saddened dream.
A dark wish. A bleak hope.
An unanswered prayer.

I desire more than anything,
To be with her. How cruel
She is. Damned foolish I've been.
Delusional even.

I'll consumer her, and take
What is mine. I've
Been slighted again and again.

By the most pretty thing
This world contains. Oh God,
Answer me! I shall not go down.

Without her... Yet
We'll never be together.
But I'd die before
Any harm came upon her.

Untitled

Well, what?
You don't know?
I don't know either! Ha!
You love me?

Maybe?

That's what I wanted to hear!
Yes? No?
Good lord, decide!
I guess that we, as a couple,
Are nothing--with potential, mind you.
I grow weary. I grow tired of hoping.
I hope, I hope, that we can be.
I hope, I hope, I--
~

Yeah, I know, I'm romantic. :D

Hey, good job, man. I like the writing so far. The style is good and the descriptive language is great. The plot is lacking, and there really isn't a hook, besides the writing. The anticlimactic cliffhanger isn't working, either. Anyway, if anything I'll read the next parts, but don't feel obligated to finish every night, because you are restricting yourself. Eh, maybe you like writing under pressure. Anyway, good job.

I do not know if the thread is still alive but you can find it here

At 2/8/11 12:00 AM, Stereocrisis wrote: You know what, let's just stop this nonsense. If you people don't have anything nice to say, then just leave.

Hm. Now that we're nice and cool I'll tell you what I think. It's all right. I don't care about format like you presumed, but no one likes a wall of text. There should at least be stanzas. Also, why is there a breakdown? It's written lyrics, so you can't really have Mix Master Mike scratching. The child choir hasn't really been cool since "Another Brick in the Wall" and even then it was annoying. The flow is tight but there are too many instances of forced rhyming (soon, moon, June), and the slight-rhymes and near-rhymes cause too much discordance. The lyrical content is sub-par near the beginning but picks up near the middle before falling apart into esoteric cliches and allusions. Unless it's an on-the-spot freestyle, there's no reason you can't give an improvisation a once-over.

You know what, let's just stop this nonsense. If you people don't have anything nice to say, then just leave.

A little too Full House for me but ok. For future reference, please relax before retaliating and then condescending down to us.

Hm. I thought I was returning as a judge Coop? Anyway, I was working on submitting an entry, just because. However, finding an inspiring song for the type of story (screenplay?) that I want is proving difficult.

This is actually pretty funny. However, my quota for dumb shit Glenn Beck/ultra-conservatives (cough Palin cough) do is usually met by The Daily Show and The Colbert Report. The story itself is meh, but the humor is what you (I assume) were aiming for, and it kinda drops and is in bad taste here and there, but for the most part, it's pretty good.

At 2/6/11 01:26 AM, JawKneeMusic wrote: Would really like input and help editing where its needed.

Thanks :)

No problem, friend.

I met a girl just recently,
Who is sweet, beautiful and kind.

This one is kind of a tongue twister, mostly because of "beautiful." Although these two lines are 8 syllables, the flow is heavily interrupted here.

She volunteered here and there,

Again, the rhythm is broken pretty bad here, by "volunteered."

Others always on her mind.

With her I felt like never before,
I was in a cave and she opened the door.
Into my cave, I let her inside.
Her sweet smile always crossing my mind.

No offense, but this is pretty lame. With love poems, keep your metaphors fresh and kinda simple, but don't write anything, well, lame. Also, do caves have doors? I guess you can get a cave and put a door on it >.> I'd rewrite this whole stanza.

I made assumptions,
Based on what a joker once said.
Dwelling inside my head,
I feared the worst and much worse is where it led.

Hm. Your rhythm is taking a beating here. Also, the third line does not really connect with the end line.

I knew right away, and mustered up a half ass apology,
Plea after plea, I wanted her to confide in me.
She told me about a dark chapter in her life,
How she was a dull thread and became a sharp knife.

Well, your lines are too long. Try experimenting by removing words. Also, I think you are trying too hard to rhyme. I don't get the dull thread to sharp knife metaphor. Oh well.

A stubborn man, I slammed the door.
Afraid to lose her, I pleaded more and more.
Deeper and deeper back into my cave,
A human being, but like an beast I behave.

You are contradicting in the first two lines. Well, I like the bestial imagery and how you are retreating. Still, I don't think it is expressed well enough. Work on that.

To your sharp knife,
I'm just a dull tool.
The joker tricked me,
and now I'm a fool.

I suggest making sure the amount of syllables in each line or every other line to be equal. This line is alright, I guess.

Well, the poem started off ok, however, I do not know what you were trying to go for, but a simpler, neater, more structured poem could give a better effect. You know what you want to say, and you know how to say it, but communicating it through limited verse is where the difficulty comes in. Pick your words carefully, and read it aloud (or in your head I guess) but make sure that you realize where the breaks occur. Lyricism and rhythm and flow are always appreciated in poetry, especially in romantic poems (I assume you are asking for forgiveness still). The theme of this poem is alright, but you are trying too hard to rhyme (btw check your rhyme scheme, it alternates from abab, to aabb for no reason) and too hard to employ figurative language. With some practice and more writing, it will come naturally, and when you write, it will appear naturally; right now it feels forced and somewhat derivative. Anyway, I hope I helped. Good luck, man.

Hm. Being immature is a great way to get people to read your work. Cynical enough for you?

Cool, I'll get my Jheri curls.

At 2/4/11 05:30 PM, DeftAndEvil wrote:

At 2/4/11 02:09 PM, JaY11 wrote:

At 2/3/11 06:31 PM, DeftAndEvil wrote: Hey guys. I've been on NG for a bit now and decided it's time I get an actual sig.

It's great that the actually went through the effort of actually drawing what you want. But I think you over estimated how much you can actually fit onto a sig here.

Haha, yeah I realize that a sig has dimension restrictions. I'm not an artist. Thanks.

Hey, man good job. Could you change a few things: simpler text (Courier or Times New Roman Font, like a screenplay or newspaper) and maybe erase the entire border, not just the right side. Thanks again, man.

At 2/4/11 02:09 PM, JaY11 wrote:

At 2/3/11 06:31 PM, DeftAndEvil wrote: Hey guys. I've been on NG for a bit now and decided it's time I get an actual sig.

It's great that the actually went through the effort of actually drawing what you want. But I think you over estimated how much you can actually fit onto a sig here.

Haha, yeah I realize that a sig has dimension restrictions. I'm not an artist. Thanks.

I always thought Jennifer Garner was the most beautiful woman in the world, especially around "Alias." She is incredibly attractive in her own rite, but her face is real pretty and sweet. Unfortunately she is kinda old. Although, I think Rashida Jones (from The Office) is my number one pick now.

At 2/4/11 10:31 AM, ARGNAGRAM wrote:

At 2/4/11 03:22 AM, Gagsy wrote: It's just the way the government want us to feel. Ashamed of 'owning' other nations. The fact is that we did have the best empire ever. Never forget.

Same happened to Spain, and look where it is now...
Also, same with Macedonia.

Yeah, and Rome, and France, and Mongolia. The Dutch too sorta, but they were like "Oooh, let's be traders and bankers."

Before you go out and adopt a stray cat, read "The Black Cat" by Edgar Allan Poe.
Turns out black cats drive you murderously insane.
Weird.

"Oi!"

I'm not British, but that's what I woulda said. The fat guy from "Shawn of the Dead" said this and for some reason I thought it was freaking hilarious.