Daniel Bird Daniel Bird
Recommendations: 3

" - I remember how grabbed the dog and put it in a burlap sack and I... well... you get the idea. I'm sure you don't want the gory details, fellas. - " Uh...sometimes we do want the gory details. It shows us just what a nasty, mean-spirited, bad dude your character is. If he is a bad person, and has a story to tell - the story he IS telling right now - I'm sure that he WANTS US TO KNOW just what a rotten, evil and demented person he is. Bad guys are like that - they love to share even the gory stuff with anyone who'll listen.

Daniel Bird Daniel Bird
Recommendations: 3

" - I mean, I can't really help it if I get a little mad when some CUNT COMES UP IN MY FACE AND TELLS ME HOW TO DO MY FUCKING JOB! IS THAT FAIR!? WHAT FUCKING RIGHT DOES THIS PLEB HAVE TO TELL ME HOW I DO THINGS!? I JUST FUCKING... - " I would like to give you some advice, just to help your writing, help your story come across a little more...readable and a little more enjoyable. If I may... I'll begin by saying let go of the UPPER-CASE - as well as the " !? " exclamation and question mark. You'll never find those in Published books. If your story is written well your swearing - the intensity that is intended, will come across fine with lower-case words and exclamation marks. One more thing, and this is a biggie: Tone down the insanity. Readers will enjoy your story more if it is written in a way that serves them tea with a smile while a knife secretly waits to slice them open, gutting them slowly, rather than having your character's unbridled insanity chase them off with cuss words. There is something far more frightening in a character who we know is insane, but seems to show a rather sane outlook at life, even while telling the story (in a calm, or almost calm manner) of mutilated victim - puppies, french poodles, squirrels and cats and such. Insane people are often very intelligent and witty and sometimes even humorous. And yes, while many too, are completely neurotic, we (readers) would rather hear a story told from a less neurotic, less off-the-wall, boisterous maniac. What we would really like is to hear the story told from a quiet psychopathic, deranged killer than a loud obnoxious one. Its those one who think behind their eyes that scare us. Keep our attention, but yes, scare the shit out of us. Think about making little changes to this one. I'll keep reading.

Daniel Bird Daniel Bird
Recommendations: 3

This is an awesome paragraph - filled with a certain blood-pumping intensity that seems to stab at my brain, loosing all the fluids that were put there in the first place to imagine and live experiences such as this - the paragraph that I have just read. This is good neurotic. Good psychopathic. No swearing and no off-the-wall outbursts, just plain 'ol proper bloody visuals with a little humour thrown into the grisly mix! That was awesome!

Daniel Bird Daniel Bird
Recommendations: 3

" - It was pretty good, but nothing danced for me. - " There is something truly unique in this sentence, something not quite expected, but something very real and meaningful nonetheless. That the blood didn't dance for him...that in itself is like a moment of clarity, a moment of awakening, a...shall we say...transition from monster to...well, something more than a monster, something more sinful, wrathful and disturbing. Very, very good! Yes, now this guy is scary.

Daniel Bird Daniel Bird
Recommendations: 3

" - fellas. - " Whether you intended it to be this way or not, the use of the word 'fellas' in this allows for a stronger link between your character and your readers, giving us (readers) no choice but to be involved. We - whether WE understand it or not - are thankful for it. Even if we are not aware of it. Using such a word, with such dire tones and atrocities only bolsters the relationship between the character and the audience. Excellent!

Daniel Bird Daniel Bird
Recommendations: 3

Ahahahahaaaz! " - You know what I saw, you beautiful reader you? - " Clever, witty and charming! Well done!

Daniel Bird Daniel Bird
Recommendations: 3

" - I miss my home. I miss all the dancing. I miss the food. Where did my life go so wrong? - " There is something uniquely powerful here in this sentence, something in the way he has become, and truly is...INSTITUTIONAL. And the fact that he is out on the street is frightening on two levels: 1: how is he going to remedy his new found confusion? 2: And on who? And by what means? Yikes. Freaky.

Daniel Bird Daniel Bird
Recommendations: 3

" - Hole sweet hole. - " I like that. Very...witty, in a confused, psychotic, maniacal kinda way.

Daniel Bird Daniel Bird
Recommendations: 3

" - It sounded better in my head - " Ahahahaaa! That's funny!

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Alex Makridakis Alex Makridakis
Recommendations: 6

The Dance

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She had a friend.

This writing contains explicit content and is only for adults. You have been warned.

My first real try at a proper character study, and my longest work to date.

Man, solitary confinement is the shit.

Wait up, I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm sure you lovely people would like to hear my life story first, if you excuse my presumptuousness. Let me just start by saying that I'm a pretty bad person. Ever since I was a kid I just... hated. I didn't hate anything in particular, I just hated everything for no reason. Hell, I don't remember much of my childhood, but I still remember my first kill. That fucking dog, man. It just wouldn't fucking SHUT UP! I FUCKING HATED IT SO MUCH! Alright. I'm calm. I'm cool. I remember how grabbed the dog and put it in a burlap sack and I... well... you get the idea. I'm sure you don't want the gory details, fellas. 1 comment

In high school I was always in and out of suspension.  I loved nothing more than a good fight, didn't matter if I won or lost. It was win-win for me. If I won, I got to mess someone up, prove I was better. If I lost, they usually went for the head. I liked the fuzzy feeling quite a bit, in all honesty. I deserved it anyway. I'm sure the bones in my backyard animal grave would agree. Oh, forgot to mention, killing animals was a little side project of mine. Oh man, that sounds kinda messed up. I guess that's just the way that I am.

Anyway, I dropped out, obviously. Well, dropped out isn't quite the right term. I think the teachers used the term "he's all fucked in the head". So they expelled me. My mum just kinda gave up at that point, the whore. Yeah, yeah, the psycho with mummy issues, doesn't that sound familiar? So I left my house at 16 and hit the streets, got into drugs, lost my virginity. Rape, obviously. I always creeped the girls out. Can't imagine why. So a girlfriend was outta the question. Probably best if we changed the subject, I'm sure you don't wanna hear about my sexual escapades.

I got a job, but that didn't turn out so well. I was a bag boy in a grocery store. Kinda funny to think that the sheep who shop at the market were being served by a monster. Ok, it's not really THAT funny, but I've got waaaay too much time on my hands and not much to do, so I like to just think up stupid shit every now and again. Sorry, got a little sidetracked. So one day I bag this jackass's grocery bag, and the faggot has the nerve to tell me that I did it wrong. Something about how you don't put shit on top of bread in the same bag. I wasn't really listening. I mean, I can't really help it if I get a little mad when some CUNT COMES UP IN MY FACE AND TELLS ME HOW TO DO MY FUCKING JOB! IS THAT FAIR!? WHAT FUCKING RIGHT DOES THIS PLEB HAVE TO TELL ME HOW I DO THINGS!? I JUST FUCKING... Ok.. I'm calm again. Sorry 'bout that, buddy, hope I didn't alienate you too much. 1 comment

So I grabbed the guy by his pudgy little neck. I tell ya, it was the weirdest feeling. His flabby folds were almost dripping over my hands, it was disgusting, but at the same time it reminded me of the first time I destroyed a life. It was like the next step in my evolution. I felt like I was ascending, and I knew I couldn't stop at just giving the fat fucker a wee little bruise on his neck. So I tackled him to the floor, and I pulled a knife. Carved a little mouth right on his neck. That was the single greatest moment of my life. The best part was the blood. It danced for me, like I let out some expensive foreign dancer from a cage. That's really the only way I can describe it. The blood danced. It danced all over the floor. It danced all over the cash register. It danced all over the people in the line. Best of all, it danced all over me. I still get goosepimples just thinking about it. 1 comment

Then some guards came to take me down. I managed to get a few of them before they kicked my head to the ground and cuffed my ass. It was all kinda fuzzy, I don't even remember what it was like to kill those guards. I guess it's like if you snort up some smack, you ain't gonna notice if you take a couple dozen over the counter painkillers. Next thing I knew, I was in court. I'm sure some shit happened between getting my ass handed to me by mall cops and then, but I was still coming down from that amazing little life experience. The court was a complete waste of time, obviously. I was in jail for life before you could say "we don't do the death penalty in this state".

The funny thing is, prison was a major upgrade from the outside. Free food, free bed. Hell, we even got cable. My favourite show was Seinfeld, that shit was... well... the shit. It's funny how some people just see things so different, but then when you think about it, it's so obvious. Just blows my mind. Sorry, sidetracked again. So I spend about a year or two in that cell, I dunno. I stopped counting time even before I got in the slammer. But I still managed to have a kind of sense of how much time passed. 'Cus of the moment of enlightenment in the grocery store. That was the one thing I was really missing from outside. Well, what ya gonna do 'bout it? I get that they can't let some sick fuck like me out in the open, causing all kinds of shenanigans.

There was this one guy next to my cell. They called him "Jimmy Knuckles". Some kinda crime boss or some shit, I don't care. everyone just respected him so much, on account of all his connections. He actually managed to pull off gaining weight in a goddamn prison. Says something about the integrity of the wonderful members of the staff in this joint. Now, here's the problem, what exactly had he been doing recently? Just sitting on his ass watching TV. Watching Seinfeld. I.. really didn't like that. Seinfeld was MY favourite show. As far as I'm concerned, he should have ASKED PERMISSION TO WATCH MY FUCKING SHOW! SOME PEOPLE JUST HAVE NO REGARD FOR COMMON FUCKING DECENCY!! Not gonna apologise that time, I reckon that was a justified little bit of rage. So one day me and him are out in the basketball yard. He was sitting on his ass like usual. But do you wanna know what he was doing?

He had one of those mini TV things. And he was watching Seinfeld.

I heard Elaine laugh. She's my favourite character, you know. I started walking over to him. Then I started running. Before I knew it, I was flying straight at him. I tackled him to the ground. The guards say I beat him to death. Nah, man, that's not what happened. I slaughtered him. They never tell you the gory details in the reports, but I tell you in good faith that I smashed his head against the concrete till it opened up like an egg, yolk and all.

It was pretty good, but nothing danced for me. God I wish I could go back to that moment. All the colours just seem muted everywhere but in that memory. 1 comment

Obviously, this didn't go down swell with the warden. 15 years in the hole, he said. Solitary confinement, if you wanna get all technical. Now I'll be damned if the hole didn't have the dullest colour pallet on God's green earth. I hope you like black, fellas. 1 comment

It wasn't so bad in there, really. Funnily enough, the food was actually better in the hole, mostly on account of there being no rude individuals spitting in your soup. Kinda peaceful, really. But you know what the best part is? When you can't see too well for too long, you start seeing things that aren't there. You know what I saw, you beautiful reader you? I saw my moment. My 15 minutes of fame. The dance. day in and day out I saw the dance. You'd think I'd get bored of it, but it just got better every time I saw it. Just thinking of how deep the whole thing is made me all tingly.  I mean, just think of what's actually in blood. Red cells, white cells, platelets, plasma, all on a microscopic scale. When you think about all the little invisible pieces coming together just for me... It just gives me this nice feeling. Like when you take your socks off after a hard day of prison basketball. 1 comment

But all good things must come to an end. My term was up. They let me back out into the real world.

There was some kinda hearing and an interview, but I wasn't paying attention. It was just all too much. Remember how I said that the hole had a shitty colour scheme? Well it turns out that black really grew on me. All these other colours was just confusing white noise. Also, FUCK ALL THIS NOISE!! IT'S TOO GODDAMN FUCKING LOUD!!! I JUST... I JUST...

I miss my home. I miss all the dancing. I miss the food. Where did my life go so wrong? 1 comment


Sorry for being such a bad narrator, but as you can imagine, I was in a bit of a daze. They just put me on a bus back to society. Well, they tried to. The second I looked up and saw the sky I threw up all over my tacky donated suit. I don't remember the sky being so deep.

It was the weirdest thing. My legs went all wobbly and the next thing I knew I was just sitting on the dirt. I had to look down to keep myself from REALLY messing up my suit. Suddenly I had a whole new appreciation for the ground. It wasn't just something for my feet to stand on, it was like an anchor keeping me down. Then I kinda had a brain fart and looked up again. It's insane, it's just this endless... up-ness. I had this weird thought that the clouds were like nets to catch me if I started falling up. The thought of what it would be like to miss the clouds make me heave all over my suit. Again. Good thing it ain't mine.

Turns out I had a bit of money in the bank from this whole investment banking thing. I don't pretend like I understand how it works, all I know is I had enough money for an apartment. I hated it. It had these white walls that I wasn't allowed to paint black. I wasn't allowed to paint anything at all, actually. It was all so bright, like I had to squint all the time. I probably should have been a bit more concerned with this potential extra helping of neuroses but at the time I just couldn't stop thinking about the hole. My hole. Hole sweet hole. 1 comment

I don't know how much more of this I can take. I can't even go outside without a hat with a comically oversized brim. And whose bright idea was it to make the sun? And why in God's name do they turn on all these fucking lights outside every fucking night. I probably would have had a bit of a yelling session right there, but I just can't get worked up anymore, everything seems so pointless.

Within three days of getting out, I knew I needed back in.

Do you know how easy it is to get a gun in this country? I mean, it's almost like there's someone at the top who really gets me. Bless. The really funny part is that ammo is waaaay more expensive than the actual gun, which I suppose makes sense. Though I suppose it would be more fun without the ammo.

What is "it" exactly? Well, ladies and gents, it's my next show! First and last screening to be held at the national bank! Bring the family, it'll get me more time in the hole.

I decided to hold off for a bit. Comedy Central was airing a Seinfeld marathon. 24 hours of nothing but Seinfeld. I think that's probably my only regret, that I didn't get to watch more TV. Who knows what else I'm missing. But then again, Nothing could top the dance, and if all goes according to plan, My life's gonna be nothing but the dance from here to the grave.

I'm at the bank now. I suppose that my mind just skipped over the less important stuff. After all, this is my big moment. I walk up to the teller. He asks me if I would like to make a deposit. I tell him that I wanna make a deposit of lead into his face. It sounded better in my head, and he obviously didn't think it was very funny. 1 comment

Of course, everyone screamed. Bad move. I'm not much of a fan of noise these days. I empty out all 13 rounds into the crowd. I throw down my gun, take a seat, and call the cops myself.

Even when you plead guilty, court still takes too fucking long. First the judge tells you what you did, like you don't know, then he asks if you did it. Fun fact: turns out I only killed 4 out of 14. To be fair, I haven't had much practice. Obviously, I pleaded guilty, and he went on into this speech about the rights it waving by pleading guilty blah blah shit no one cares about. He even held a mini interview to see if I really understood what I was saying. It was like a game show, where the host always asks if it's your final answer just to add to the drama.

After two hours of doing shit all in court, they finally put me in jail. And of course, within two hours of getting in the slammer, I shanked an inmate to death. No hard feelings this time, just business. Just for good measure I offed a couple of other inmates too. No getting out quite so easy this time, friends.

The guards, my angels of mercy, beat me down with their clubs. The clubs had a beautiful black sheen to them, it went perfectly with the red of my blood. How nice is that, I got a new memory for the hole.

My heroes took me down the straight and narrow path to my home. Time just seemed to stand still. Everything was so goddamned beautiful. They threw me rather roughly into my own little slice of heaven.

They closed the door, never to be opened again.

In the darkness, I see the dance in a clarity I had almost forgotten

It feels good to be home again.

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