Holy Shit! I just got my first professional writing job.

Its a bit under paid, $25 / 500 words. But It will be my first publication and a huge resume builder.

How many years have I've been writing: Writing well, 3
How many flash stories I've written: 0
How many real life stories I've written: 1
Favorite author(s): Chuck Palahniuk, Langston Hughes

I had an account that was in this crew before, but I haven't been on in so long that I don't remember the password. I hope nobody cares.

And like finnegan said, since everybody's in, I might as well post something :)
Here goes:

----------------------------------------
--

What am I?
I am the product of variables
I live from moment to moment

I am billions of years of evolution
The culmination of natural selection
Homo sapiens
Gray matter so advanced
The world shits bricks

Experience is the mortar
I am a construction site
The tower goes up
Higher and higher

No little snowflake is built like my snowflake

I am so unique nobody knows who I am
I am so unique I don't know who I am
I am so unique that I am
I am so unique

wow, i cant believe people stopped posting here for so long. anyhow, im almost done with my horror story. should be up in a few weeks.

I would guess you only take creative writing here, right? I wrote this about my grandfather, oh, 4-5 months ago. Thought I'd share it:
We had been up in Michigan visiting my grandparents for a few days. I was 10, and had been sitting and watching the history channel since it was a rainy day. I don't remember which program it was, just that it was something about Iwo Jima. As I was about to turn it off, my grandfather walked by, and just stared at the scene of the Marines raising the flag on top of Mt. Sirubachi. Then he said, "That's the only scene they ever show, and that's not even the half of it.". He then walked out and sat on the covered porch.
I couldn't figure out what he meant, so I joined him outside. I said something like "What do you mean 'that's not the half of it'?". He just stared off into space, and as I was about to head back in he simply stated "I was there.". I stopped right there. "There?" I said, shocked, "On Iwo Jima?". He grimly nodded his head. "So...what exactly did happen?". He then went into his story and I was immediately enthralled.
It was 1943, I had gone into the Marines just to avoid the draft. I didn't want to just be thrown into the fight. The training was shortened, just 5 weeks from 13. From physical conditioning, to field exercises, to time on the range. We spent some time waiting at Parris Island, waiting to be deployed. Then, a few months before Christmas, we got our orders and were being deployed to the Pacific. We went by train to California, and loaded onto some of the Liberty transports that were waiting for us there. For days we were on these tight, cramped ships, seasick and restless. Finally we reached our destination. We never found out the name of the island, it was simply known to us as "good enough". As in good enough for Marines. The place was covered in mud and infested with mosquitoes.
After several weeks on good enough, we heard we were going into combat. We thought it was a mercy, we could get out of this mud hole and into the fight. We loaded onto ships, thousands of them. On the boats we were told our target was Iwo Jima. It had been being pummeled by artillery and bombs for days, the enemy was supposed to be almost eliminated, we just had to wipe up the rest. God were they wrong.
We were given a meal, and climbed down the sides on ropes into the L.C.I's, from there onto the Higgins boats, 7 men, plus the driver. We were all tense, even though we had been told not to expect much resistance, plus we were coming in under a naval and air barrage. As soon as we got near the beach, the Japs opened up. Of the seven men in that Higgins boat, only me and my friend survived. Then, we had to walk over the bodies of our dead comrades just to get to a fighting position at a shallow ridge. There, we fired our 50. Caliber and kept firing. We finally made some advancement and managed to dig a fox hole. For the next 42 days, we simply moved from fox hole to fox hole. Until that one day, I was hit across the scalp by a sniper. The last thing I heard before I blacked out was my friend shouting "Medic! Medic!".
After that, I woke up in a hospital ship a few days later, to learn we had taken the island. I was heading home soon with a purple heart, silver star, and honorable discharge. I had gotten out of that lousy war, my million dollar wound, I was heading home! Yet, while I could go home, what of my friends, whose blood was also shed on that lousy rock? They would either have to win this lousy war, or come home in pine boxes.

This thread is now a revenent. your welcome, OP.

This thread needs some CPR, I'd say.

I just finished a story I been working on for a while, near the end I decided to cut it short, I wanted it a lot longer. Oh well..

This is the story, hosted on DA right now.

Take a look.
Thanks.

B.O.G.B.O.T.

I don't like the ending very much except for the very very end.

Check out my userpage. Tell me what you think.

Please and thanks.

How many years have you been writing: 4
How many flash story's you have written: 0
How many real life story's you have written: 2
And your name (optional): jet

I also am working on something else that i will post soon

Anyone going to enter the new Monthly Writing contest?

I'm not too good at horror, and I haven't written in any of the "punk" genres, so it should be interesting to see what WritersBlock wins with.

God damn it! I've got like 2 weeks left to enter the Writing contest, and I haven't even started my story. I've got the basic idea, but I just don't have the time to start it. Especially now that I've got to write 684961316 essays to get into college.

Hey guys, I am a talented writer I would say, but I have no ideas on what to write about.
I am very tempted to write a story, whether it be a short story or a very long one. My brain is fried for ideas, but I can imagine the rest.

I was thinking of writing a story as if it were part a journal, and part a person telling the story of what was going on, about a drug addict, or the rise and fall of a person.
Pretty lame idea I'd say.

Do any of you have ideas you would be interested in sharing with me?

Well, the best way to start writing is just that. Just start typing things at random or writing on paper. Let your mind wander and just go to town, so to speak. Think creatively, hell, make a story featuring a talking donut. XD

At 10/14/09 10:55 PM, EpicFail wrote: I was thinking of writing a story as if it were part a journal, and part a person telling the story of what was going on, about a drug addict, or the rise and fall of a person.
Pretty lame idea I'd say.

It could be, or it could be a good story. It depends on how you write it, and what events you include. I mean, look at the idea for Jaws:

A giant shark is terrorizing the town, so a scientist goes out to sea to kill it.

Doesn't sound too scary or exciting, but it was one hell of a book and movie.

Do any of you have ideas you would be interested in sharing with me?

Try writing for the Monthly Writing Contest. Sometimes it helps to have to conform to a certain subject or idea. My best story so far is from the island one. I felt it helped to have to write about 1 subject.

Also, I might actually have time to write my punkoween story, since I'm just about done my college applications.

this is a project for english we have to write a short story starting with a paragraph from an egar allen poe story. the first paragraph is from edgar allen poes the tell tale heart. please tell me if i need to improve anything and enjoy

"True! Nervous very,very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why WILL you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in heaven and earth. I heard many things in hell. How then am I mad? Hearken! And observe how healthily, how calmly I tell you the whole story."
"When was I well? Even in my newfound state of clarity I cannot completely recall the time when I was well. I do however remember a time when the daily activities were not as deranged as they are now. It would be a very less than this that I shall describe to you; I was young, but my exact age I can tell you not. I need not make my mind cluttered and filled with such superfluous details. A man whose soul was black waited to be ended. People fought and yelled and pushed and shoved to see the sharp steel end the man's life. But even though his life was nearing the end he didn't twitch, didn't express fear or pain or torment. He just waited. I noticed something irregular about him but I could not quite grasp it as he looked away as to hide his face. He did not do this in shame no I think it was something more."
"As he drudged to his final rest I strived to determine what peculiarity attracted my attention suddenly I saw his head lift turn slightly. He was fully focused on me. I realize now what had drawn my attention before as I stared at him I saw his mouth. Five leather stitches bound his mouth shut. He was asked for his last words when I suddenly saw his face contort. His mouth ripped open he looked at me and let out a terrifying laughed. A laugh so inhuman it could hardly be distinguished as having any fathom of a meaning to any person who was right of mind. His eyes shot open and the steel fell. The beast's features froze in the morbid pose of his final cry. His laugh still piercing my ears I could not move. I was paralyzed there for what seemed like a century. As I struggled to move the beast remained in my memory I could still hear his terrible laugh scratching in my head trying to scrape its way out!"
"And there I remained unmoving. In silence, only the beast and myself remained I saw the man and his face stared at me from the point as I stared at him. I waitited for some soul to rescue me from his unmoving stare but this hope was empty. I began to ponder if people even knew if I was there. I wonderes if i had deceased the moment that the blade fell; pondered if I had ever had been living at all as I watched I began to hear a slight noise. Like an insect had flown to close to my ear. I focused hard and listened, holding my breath as to make the most minimal amount of noise. It became more distinct at my realization of what I had been detecting my blood ran cold. I hear the undeniable sound of the beasts laugh."
"The sinister cackle began to grow in volume it terrified me immensely. His eyes seemed to peirce my skin and judge the very content of my soul. It was as though the the beasts piercing start had wrapped itself around my throat squeezing every drop of life out of me. I was near my demise. When I felt a sudden warmth as the heat returned to my blood. I realized the source of the warmth was a hand on rested on my shoulder. I could move again! The beasts paralyzing stare no longer had control around me. I turned around and saw you; my savoir and I am no longer trapped with his piercing eyes. Please look at me so I may see the person to whom I owe my life." I saw his head lift turn slightly. He was fully focused on me. I saw his mouth. Five leather stitches bound his mouth shut. I suddenly saw his face contort. His mouth ripped open he looked at me and laughed

Rather than taking my first completely free weekend to write my story, I played Uncharted 2 and slept.

At 10/17/09 01:13 PM, n0sv3ratu wrote: this is a project for english we have to write a short story starting with a paragraph from an egar allen poe story. the first paragraph is from edgar allen poes the tell tale heart. please tell me if i need to improve anything and enjoy

The end of the 3rd paragraph needs a little work. You had a good Poe vibe going until then, and you picked up again (to a degree), but the end of that paragraph loses something. I think the whole "century" part loses it.

You might want to add a sentence or 2 of how the end rolled after being cut. A nice Poe touch.

Also, go through and check for spelling, punctuation and grammar mistakes, and vary your word choice. Every once in a while I'll stumble upon the same word used again before it should.

I turned around and saw you; my savoir and I am no longer trapped with his piercing eyes. Please look at me so I may see the person to whom I owe my life."

I picked this out because it seemed so odd to me. First, I don't like that "my savior (how it should be spelled) and I am no..." I think you should get rid of the "and" and use a period. It sounds weird here. And why does the quote end there? You make it seem like the entire story is quoted, but then, when I think I'm reading more story, the quotes end.

Overall, it was very close to Poe. There were a few hiccups here and there, but nothing major overall.

This story is about a certain Toy Factory that isn't what is seems.

*contains Mild language and graphic content*

The building had been abandoned for some time now before they moved in. The building was large and vacant but would suit thier needs quite nicely. It wasn't long before they started setting up and had things into position. Soon the factory was running like new....even the building's dirty exterior had a new cheerful paintjob. Higher up on the large factory the words Toy Factory in child like block letters were arranged in a goofy fashion. Two working gears one by the T in Toy and one by the Y at the end of Factory spun in slow unison. Inside the workers toiled enlessly making sure everything was in working order. The owner of the factory stepped outside to briefly examine the work done. He smiled a crooked smile. "Soon we will be able to get the children in here..." He cackled to himself. Oh, the children would come alright....he would invite any age to come really. It didn't matter....but what the factory was geared to was children. The owner looked like a tall lanky version of the Mr. MoneyBags guy one will find on the Monopoly games. He knew how he would get people into his factory it would be quite easy to do being as he considered most people stupid and would do damn near anything if it were free. He ran the plan through his head several times:

1.Invite as many children as he saw in for free. He would do this personally being as parents tended to throw things away if written on paper.

2. Tell them it was FREE of course. and there were no rules...you could break anything (which was true...he didn't care if his things got broken....he hasn't cared for centuries before he settled here and he doesn't care now.) You could do anything from writting on walls, running in halls, screaming, eating loads of candy, anything.

3. Entice them with all the latest toys....from Pokemon down to the latest electronic game systems.

4. If the parents wished to come...he would grudgingly allow them...no use in arising suspicion by saying only children...he did not need the parents of said child to making false assumtions that he was a pedophille (despite him being pure evil, he hated pedophilles above all else)

MoneyBaggs went back into his factory. "is everything ready?" He asked one of his many employees. "Yes sir. We will have things up and running soon. We need to make a few more adjustments and we will be ready to go." The cheerfull emplyee giggled. Moneybaggs grimiced. He wasn't too sure of his newest employee. He was way too cheerful. The emloyee who was Marrionette (named for what he actually looked like) had only been with his employer for a few short months...had been driven insane by Moneybaggs and his most trusted employee The Engineer. Marrionette was tall and lanky and was around 10 years of age if he were still human. His real name was Derrick but because of the treatments and modifications he had recieved he had forgotten his name and even most of the memories of his parents were long gone. He had some flashbacks but Moneybaggs had passed them off as repressed memories. Nothing more. Marrionette returned to his station to continue his touch ups when a brief flashback occured.

FLASHBACK

Derrick aged 10 years had heared the music playing outside. He had been grounded by his parents for running in the house when he shouldn't have and wasn't supposed to go outside for the entire week. In Derricks opinion they were way to strict. He was 10 years after all....he did what 10 year old children normally did at that age. He carefully snuck out of his bedroom window and headed towards that gleeful music. He figured he would just check out what it was and be back before his parents ever knew he was gone. Little did he know that would be the last time his parents ever saw him or he them. Derrick found the source of the music and headed into the building. He saw all kinds of toys...some he never even heared of or seen in his life...Dolls, cars, trucks, pokemon figures and other new toys lined the shelves. That was when he met Moneybaggs for the first time. "How are you doing young Derrick?" he asked in a cheerful voice. Derrick spun around frightened. "I uhhh....you see...." Moenybaggs smiled gently. "I understand son. You want to try my line of toys...well...go ahead. In my factory you can do whatever you please. Write on walls, run in the halls, eat candy until you puke, break things, break toys, I don't mind...its all up to you." Derrick could not believe his ears. "You mean I can bust this...glass doll? He threw the toy on the ground and it shattered. Moneybaggs laughed and thew down another doll that shattered as well. "Its all free Derrick...do whatever you like." With that Moneybaggs left Derrick to his own devices. Derrick was overjoyed. This guy was odd but at least he understood what 10 year olds liked to do. He didn't want to ever leave.

Derrick continued his fun of playing with the toys and eating all the candy he could stomach. All he had to do was ask and whatever toy or candy he wanted was given to him. After a while though he began to get tired and thought it was best to go home. He would come back tomorrow and play with the toys and his new friend Moneybaggs. Afterall, his parents were probrably worried sick. Derrick looked at the toys surrounding him and they looked a bit...off. Almost as if they were once alive and something else. One doll he had been playing with...the one called Tammi looked familiar to him. It sort of had a sad and scared look in its glassy eyes as it gazed back at him...almost as if it was pleading for him to leave...to run away. He pushed this all aside...they were just toys. Derrick went to look for the exit and found he couldn't find it. "Hey Moneybaggs..." Derrick called. The lanky man appeared out of nowhere. "I wanna go home. My parents are worried sick. Its late." Derrick whined. Suddenly Moneybaggs didn't seem so cheerful anymore. He had a dark sinister look to his eyes. "You can't ever leave Derrick. You are going to stay here forever..." Derrick screamed and ran. He had gotten so far when something slammed into him and he felt something warm spray out from his chest. He looked down in dazed wonder and found that he had a huge gaping hole in his chest. Someone had blown him wide open. Warm blood gushed from his body as he was dragged away leaving a trail of intestine in its wake. He was placed on the operating table and underwent a series of modifications to turn him into a marrionette...(his favorite toy). The modifications changed his frame of thinking....his last thought was of his parents and he thought he heared his heartbroken parents calling his name...before he blacked out. A month later his parents and authorities gave up the search knowing he was dead and gone. (they had found his torn bloody clothing...a distraction devised by the maniacal Moneybaggs to throw parents off the trail.)

Marrionette shook his head. "Parents? What are parents? Do I have parents...where are they?" He thought. He quickly pushed that thought out of his mind. He did not need to be punished again. Punishments were painful and were administered by The Engineer. All though all he did was maintenence work, he felt a bit sad at times. He had no real frineds. The Dolls were usually sitting by themselves or talking amongst themselves. The closest thing to a "friend" he had was a live action doll named Nurse. He guessed she was pretty enough but odd. Sometimes she spoke to him but seemed distant when he asked her too many questions. Nurse seemed to like him ok...she was the one that helped him recover when he was created. But she was weird...she had this slightly annoying laugh and sometimes all she did was stare at him with morbid curiosity and amusement...it freaked him out sometimes....like she was doing now. He shook his head. "Dolls." He thought to himself. Moneybaggs appeared out of nowhere again. "Marrionette, Nurse go see The Engineer. Now." Marrio

Hopefully people will see this post before they post more stories.

WE DO NOT WANT STORIES POSTED IN THIS THREAD

The only thing that we accept is short poems and maybe a paragraph teaser for a story you're writing.

I'll let you define what a short poem is.

If you want to share with the Writers Club your works, post them in your blog and post the link here. It's much neater, makes the thread look less spammy, and allows for much easier scrolling.

How many years have you been writing: Since I was seven I wanted to be regarded as a great writer
How many flash story's you have written: None so far, I'm hoping to have one of my stories/plot lines implemented into a flash, though.
How many real life story's you have written: I lost count after 27, but I never had the resources or time to publish any of them, and never thought highly of my stories until recently.
And your name (optional): No.

I'm really sorry for double posting, but the fact that you can't edit your BBs post is kind of annoying. Anyways, I have a sort of "system" set up, perfect for putting a bunch of diverse stories in. However, I'm having trouble with a few things (such as naming, etc.) and hope to get some help. Tell me what you think on my News post, located here.

I've been writing for five years
I haven't written any flash stories but would like to
I've written at least 20 short stories, and two films, one going to an OU film festival this winter and another I will be personally directing.
My name is Cory Pendley and would love to become a member and start putting my stuff out there.

Well I finally got some words on paper. In a sense anyway.
I've got the first 4 chapters of a story posted up in my blog. Vampire and zombie story. Sure not very original, but I'm having fun with it, and some folks are saying its not bad.

When I'm done this one, I hope to have fully cleared the cobwebs out of my mind and be able to put down what I really want to. My fantasy story, and my horror/drama.

Ah, what is so wonderful other then the freedom of self. Unless of course your torn before a council of destruction and light. But what happens to a tile in frame of the tapestry in time. Blindness becomes forgiveness and blah de blah, but what I'm asking is it terrible to think of yourself as free. To say I'm not tied down to the weight of anything that matters and take the back pack of originality off and see it hit the floor with such force that it explodes in a shower of rainbows. Ohhh in the end nothing gets better the world will show you that, like a B 12 bomber model, its all well and fun until someone tears it down and reveals everything you held deep. Death is not the end of obstruction but a product of it. Shadows tell time and light burns a retina of a wilder beast so that it cant see you in the way. INSANITY ENSUES!!!! And once again your in the bus depot wondering what it would be like to take off that suit and go get wasted, if that is the right word for it at least. Throw some blood on the wall and remember that color shows a functioned brain but oh I am so unlikely to tell you that mine is still Grey. Run away from what you thought you knew, live a life you did preserve it. Take away the love within to peel away every pretty face and be baptized in fire. Again death is not the end of obstruction but a product of it. But what then is life? INSANITY!!?

Well, my writing is more of a idea thing(I can make ideas but there not very concrete and I sort of rush through) my spelling is well.... it sucks big time.
I couldn't realy tell you how many years I've been writing....more then two at least.
I'm not quite sure what you mean by flash storys but if you mean fiction well.... like I say above I'm a idea man, but with a friend of mine five books and counting.
As for real life storys...they bore me(as well as non-fictioon.) so none at all.
And my name is Joseph. Simple but I think it fits me.

How many years have you been writing: 2
How many flash story's you have written: 0
How many real life story's you have written: 4-5 (pretty short, though about 1600 words each)

Currently something I am working on, only had the chance to write for about 10 minutes on this, but I think it's appropriate for this:

It was farming season for the Athol family in early 1849, it had been 4 years since this plague known as the late blight had been brought upon them. But for Brion it seemed things were finally beginning to look up. The Athol's had a criterion amount of food resulting from the previous season, and this year they planned to sell more of what they grew.

They intend to sell more using the mystic blight resistant substance that the shady man had sold them at the market. Brion recalls the man's words, "This here ol' powder will make all o' that shite you got clear right on up, and it'll only cost ya £5.00, how'd ya feel 'bout that?" Brion sprung at it so fast the man could only help to get a smile on his face. His sister Treasa only shook her head as she knew the man had to be up to something.

Brion was hoping to make enough money that he could finally start saving to plan his trip to America, but his parents were doubtful. His parents, Life and Lochlann, tried to keep his wishes at bay, so he wouldn't be disapointed if he only got a little for savings. Then his father, Lochlann, told him he should begin to plow the fields and prepare for harvest.

Is it bad that my Writing Contest story isn't done yet?

I'm merely writing just for the hell of it. Speaking of which, not once when I was growing up as a kid, did I ever like writing. But, now, I find it an enjoyable way to kill time.

Hey guys I have been lurking about the board for a bit and have started writing to kill time. Check out some of my stuff and of course any pointers you may have would be appreciated.

http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2743229/1/
The_Party

It's not perfect by a long shot but I am having fun writing it.

Hey, I've just discovered a hidden talent for writing, and I'm wanting to showcase some of my stuff. My favorite things to write are scary, gory crap, and funny stuff, as well. Kinda opposites, I guess. anyways, I've been actively writing for about 6 months and I am on my school newspaper crew. Anyone wanna see some of me works? No? Too bad, I'm posting them anyways, lol...

In my LA class, we had to write scary stories, and just to scare the crap outta my teacher, I wrote this. It's a bit long, but oh well.
"OMG, lol!" Elizabeth typed into the Facebook chat. It was 11:30, and even though she had work tomarrow, Elizabeth was still on Facebook, with no intentions of getting off anytime soon. Elizabeth loved Facebook, a good bit more than most people. She was on it before she went to work, during breaks, during dinner, and late at night. She didn't know half of her 665 friends, and she even bought an iPhone just for the Facebook app.
So Elizabeth was playing Farmville, when a shady avatar, dressed in black, approached her. He offered to sell her a seed for a million FarmCash. At first, Elizabeth was suspicious, but the shady virtual stranger soon changed her mind. The figure, who she now knew as James, said he found the seed, and he read somewhere that the seed has the potential to change your life forever. Elizabeth was convinced, and she bought the seed, and planted a huge garden with hundreds of other flowers in it, and in the center, she put the seed.
Later that night, she returned to Farmville, and a look of surprise crossed her face. She came in right as the flower was blooming, but instead of it being large and colorful, it was a black, liquid like substance that flowed from the ground, covering the field and killing everything in its path. Surprised, and frightened, Elizabeth sent a friend request to James, in order to ask him about the plant.
James immediately accepted it, and they were soon chatting away. During this, Elizabeth casually mentioned the plant, and what it did, and the mood suddenly became darker. "I know about the plant, Elizabeth. I know many things. I now know everything about you, your dog, your house, your job, your family..." Elizabeth didn't wait to hear any more. She immediately went to her friends page, and deleted James. But instead of going back to 665 friends, it stayed at 666, as James said, "Did you really think it would be that easy, Elizabeth?" Her eyes attached to the chat in terror, Elizabeth noticed his profile picture; a sketch of a goat, done only in red. It was just the head of a goat, nothing special about it, except the eye that showed seemed to see right through you, and follow you around.
Then Elizabeth exited out of her browser window. Closing her eyes, and breathing a sigh of relief, she called for her dog. But her voice froze in her throat as she saw how her desktop background changed from a picture of her and her dog, to that sketch of the goat.
Elizabeth turned off the monitor, but the image still haunted her thoughts. She brushed her teeth, and went to bed. But sleep would not come easy, and when it did, it was only for a few hours. After a fitful night of sleep, Elizabeth went to work. She did not get on Facebook for the rest of the week. But in the end, her addiction won. One night, she went on her computer, and turned the monitor on. The goat still stared at her, but she quickly covered it with the browser window. She clicked on the Facebook bookmark. It felt like a year waiting for it to load, and it was even longer to log her in.
As soon as she was logged in, a chat sprung up. Elizabeth's breath stopped. Her heart skipped a beat, and her skin crawled as her eyes moved towards the chat window. It wasn't James. It was one of her Facebook friends, and she soon forgot all about James. Around midnight, she went to bed.
On her way to work in the morning, something happened. She was driving in traffic, and on the side of the road was a man spray-painting graffiti on the side of a building. It wasn't the act that bothered her though, it what he was painting; a red sketch of a goat. Elizabeth almost crashed, but regained composure, and went to work.
When she came home from work, her dog wasn't there to greet her. At first, Elizabeth was a bit suspicious, but as soon as she got on facebook, all thoughts about her dog were replaced by chatting away with friends. At around midnight, Elizabeth reluctantly stood up, opened her bedroom door, and screamed: Across from he was her dog, nailed to the wall. And right next to the impaled corpse, drawn in the blood of the deceased pet, was none other then the goat, staring at her, almost laughing at her horrified face.
As soon as she recovered from the shock, Elizabeth dialed 911, and the police came and looked at the scene. They decided to have an officer guard her house, incase James came back. That night, Elizabeth slept in the living room, but it wasn't an easy sleep. She kept seeing the shadows moving, kept hearing her dog whimpering, seeing the goat, still staring at her through the wall. In the morning, a frazzled, drowsy, and frightened Elizabeth drove to work, almost getting into an accident. At work, she dropped plates, got orders wrong, and was eventually told to go home and get some rest.
At home, Elizabeth tried to sleep, but was drawn to Facebook. As she got on, she steadily forgot about her problems for a while. She was trying to beat her friend's Cube Field score, when she got an update: James is coming to get you. Elizabeth's heart skipped a beat. Her breath started coming out in short gasps as she raced outside to warn the policeman of James coming. But she couldn't find him. She went back inside, locked all the doors, and went back on Facebook, telling all her friends about it.
Ten minutes later, she got another update: James has parked his car two blocks away, and is walking towards Elizabeth's house. Elizabeth stared at the words in horror. She ran outside, to see if she could see him. But instead, she ran right into the officer guarding her house. She quickly told him what was going on, and he called in two more officers.
Elizabeth went back inside, locking the front door after she came in. She sat on the couch, not daring to go on Facebook. She wished her dog was there. She wished she had never gotten a Facebook account! But it was too late, as her iPhone vibrated with an update: I'm here for you now, Elizabeth. Outside, she heard screams, gunfire, and shouts of "Officer down! filled the air. But after a minute, there was only the distressed calls from the officer's radios.
Elizabeth ran and hid a closet in the back, with no windows, and only one door. She nestled in the back next to a fur coat, as she heard the doorbell ring. She received an update: Please let me in, Elizabeth. Elizabeth shoved her head in the coat to keep from screaming. "Maybe", she thought, "If I make no noise, he'll think I'm not home". The coat was warm, and a little wet. Elizabeth didn't remember the last time she wore a fur coat. She picked up a flashlight, and shined it on the coat, only to see a goat, hanging from the closet ceiling. It was hanging by a rope tied around its neck, and its furry body was covered in blood. But the goat was still breathing, and looking straight at Elizabeth.
She screamed so loud, it made her ears ring. James heard it, too. The door came crashing down, and heavy, slow footsteps came towards the closet. Louder and louder they became, until Elizabeth could see his boots in the crack below the door. Then they stopped. Elizabeth's heart stopped, she forgot how to breathe, as her iPhone vibrated with its last update: Say goodbye to Elizabeth, everyone.. Then the door opened.
Twenty minuted later, on a call of reported gunshots from a neighbor, investigators found three officers lying dead in the grass, with their heads turned completely around. They found the front door broken down, a dog nailed to the wall, and drawings next to it. In a closet in the back, they found another dead body. This one was holding an iPhone, and sitting in a pool of blood. The head of this body was cleanly removed, and sewed on in its place was the head of a goat.