| TGG Novels 2013 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 14 2013, 06:48 PM (19 Views) | |
| Atticus | Dec 14 2013, 06:48 PM Post #1 |
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DECEMBER 14: 1,777 words (Happy Place) 15: 0 words 16: 0 words 17: 4,248 words (The Dead Man) 18: 477 words (The Dead Man) 19: 20: 21: 22: 23: 24: 25: 26: 27: 28: 29: 30: 31: JANUARY: 1: 2: 3: 4: 5: 6: 7: 8: 9: 10: 11: 12: TOTAL CURRENTLY: 6,502 words NEXT MILESTONE: 10,000 words TOTAL GOAL: 50,000 words Happy Place Prologue: 1,777 words We stand in front of a city of nightmares, my friends. This city was one of the worst spots to be during the Purging. It was here where the Unholy One walked. It is here where he gathered his densest collection of followers. It would be best for all of humanity to entirely wipe this place from our memory, but we mustn’t no matter how strong the temptation. For this place is a reminder of the past, and how we so utterly failed as a species. In the city of Windfield, when it still stood, everyone suffered from nightmares. Both in the waking world, and the world dark blurry worlds we peer into only when we sleep. Some claimed that these nightmares were nothing more than that. Dreams, that was all they were, they claimed. But there were others that believed in something very different. They believed that sometimes, these dreams, these nightmares, were actually visions of the future. Others claimed that they truly did show us worlds far unlike ours. Sometimes, it even took the appearance of ours, but with significant changes. There were also those who relived the past, over and over again, through their dreams. Whether it be the death of a loved one, or their own failures. One could consider that hell itself, having to see the past time and time again with no escape. Well, I suggest to you the following questions. What if these worlds of dreams and nightmares we see actually are real? The horrible creatures and denizens of the night we dream up made into true living things? Even more importantly, what if there is a gateway between their worlds and ours? Vampires, zombies, werewolves, what if all of them could actually be real? The power our imagination and these dreams hold should not be underestimated, just like the history of this city before us should not be forgotten. For in a way, both are interlocked with each other. The story that explains why this is so, I have carried since I, myself, lived in this city. …For I was a direct part of it. But, let’s not rush ourselves. As it is not my story alone, but many others’ as well. Several, most of them, are no longer in this world. Either claimed by the story, or claimed by the apocalypse this world soon headed for regardless of our actions. I miss them, even those that I shouldn’t. For I alone carry this story with me, but now I shall tell it to all of you. You may deem my words as the babbling of an long forgotten madman and leave this cursed place, but I ask of you to hear me out until the end. I ask you now. What would a world be like, if we, us mere humans, are assigned as the creators. Otherwise, gods, if you prefer that term. Only one can imagine a world where we could use our imagination to breathe life into formless matter, to give it both shape and purpose. But there indeed was a world such as the one I speak of. One where someone could create life, from nothing but the living and breathing words of their imagination. Only some are capable of such a thing, but we all possess the potential. It’s just that some of us choose to piss it all away throughout our lives. In the old days, we dulled our minds as a way of coping with the rotten world. Through both media as well as substance abuse. My own, and my friend’s way of it was alcohol. If our minds were dulled, then so would be everything else. A world that can be shaped or altered by us humans can either become a bright and beautiful creation, or it can become quite the opposite. For it can become pulled down into the murky and dark depths of our imaginations. As far down as where the monsters lie wait within our minds. Something that is truly innocent will always possess the potential to be corrupted, especially by those that already as such. Alas, there is a corrupter as real as you or me. But he is far from human. He is a being pulled straight from the dark abyss that surrounds our universe like a relentless monster set on suffocating it. To be clear, the corrupter I speak of is not the Unholy One we are all aware of. No, it is not the Devil in the suit. But he is much like him, and that is reason enough for all of us to fear him. In the days before the Purging, he was called numerous things. It is believed, just as the Unholy One was interpreted as Satan, that the corrupter was interpreted as the Grim Reaper. For while the Unholy One preferred hellfire, this corrupter preferred darkness. Children even knew him, not as Death, but as the Boogeyman. But no, he does not ride a pale horse and he certainly does not lurk in closets and underneath beds. He is both all around us at once, and locked within our very minds. For he is fear incarnate. He is the Wicked Man. While assured to be a creature, a beast so foul, he commonly disguises himself as us. But any keen eye can quickly spot the disguise, for he is far from human. If we were to see him as he truly was, it would most likely shatter our very minds. He is darkness itself. It is said that there are two more that are like him and the Devil in the suit. This story I am about to tell you is solely about the Wicked Man. But on the subject of he and his brethren, I will only say this. Their only goal, their only desire, is to cause misery and suffering wherever and whenever they possibly can. That is their only purpose. They are capable of nothing more than that, even if they wished to be. The Dark Four have been causing suffering since even before the days of humanity, so they’ll surely continue long after we are nothing but bones and dust. All four of them had a different purpose, and the Wicked Man’s wasn’t always fear. If the legends are to be believed, for a long time, he posed as prophets, doomsayers, and fortunetellers. Always, his words were filled with the most venomous lies. His predictions and claims only led others to their certain doom. This earthly fragment of himself, he used to spread chaos and anarchy wherever he wished. Eventually, he grew bored of this facade, and he wanted more than to deceive just like the Unholy One. He began to attack our minds, both while we were awake and asleep. It was the Wicked Man who spawned both hallucinations and nightmares as we know them now. Hallucinations to confuse and baffle us, and nightmares to terrify us. Some cases were worse than others, such as those who suffered night terrors. In every dream, he posed as the dreamer’s worst fear. Sometimes, what they were scared of the most was what laid in front of them in their mirror. A mirror not of vanity, but truth. Others, had much more simple fears. For a time, this was enough to satiate the Wicked Man’s desires. But he hungered for more and more as time went on. One final time, he raised the stakes and made a risk he certainly shouldn’t have. Out of all the rules set by the direct opposite of the Dark Four, the creator of our fine rotting planet, the Light, the Wicked Man decided to break the most strict. These dark beings were not to step onto Earth in their true and full forms. This rule was formed directly following Cain’s birth and his committing the first murder. Yes, he too was of the Dark Four. This rule was why both the Wicked Man and Unholy One used only a fragment as their earthly selves. The Wicked Man stepped forth, and challenged the Light. Earth became entirely shrouded in darkness, and many mysteriously died that day. It was simply deemed, the Day of Darkness. But when it was over, the rumors of an unimaginable creature of pure horror faded away as quickly as the darkness had arrived. This day was ended by the Light punishing the Wicked Man. He was split into, one fraction being trapped in the mortal world, and the other sealed in his world of nightmares. The one trapped on Earth’s power was severely limited due to the actions of the Light. The Wicked Man’s power was divided, and thus he was truly weakened. But his stubbornness knew no bounds, for the nightmares quickly resumed. Centuries later, a secret group serving the Light to counteract the actions of the group that served the Unholy One and helped bring misery to us all managed to seal the Wicked Man’s earthly self. They sealed him here, in this city. They trapped him in an extremely old insane asylum that was called Happy Place. As strange as a name for an insane asylum may be, it was far from a Happy Place. See, the insane asylum was already odd enough without the creator of all nightmares being partly imprisoned there. This insane asylum was completely without windows, despite the fact that even prisons had windows. They were usually barred, but windows were windows. Some claim that this was exactly why they chose Happy Place to be his prison. But even then, the Wicked Man still would not give up. He changed Happy Place into an already odd medical facility, into a true hellhole. He controlled many that were within, and he even began to reach out into the city itself. While he is far from the Unholy One, the Wicked Man was rather good at manipulating us humans. Perhaps even better in one specific aspect. While the Unholy One spread his deceit with his forked tongue, the Wicked Man spread it throughout our minds. Perfectly fine individuals found themselves sitting in Happy Place. Whether you were a patient, or even a staff member, it didn’t matter. Everyone was a prisoner. I too, was dragged into that horrid place. After a strange chain of events, I found myself in horrible pain and unjustly trapped there. But there was another like me, that was forcibly shoved down the rabbit hole as well. He was one that was capable of creating in the same manner I described before. See, he was a writer before being wrapped up into the Wicked Man’s hell. His name was Alex Marten. Edited by Atticus, Dec 19 2013, 12:50 AM.
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| Atticus | Dec 17 2013, 09:30 PM Post #2 |
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The Dead Man Hellbound Ending/Prologue: 1,202 words Where It Left Off …The clearing of the sky was followed by a torrential downpour. The rain had started by the time I reached Aren Cemetery. It's a pity that the fires of the apocalypse were far too strong to be put out by it. Still, I was thankful to feel the refreshing sensation of rain one last time before I began my next journey, one which I wasn't sure I would return from. Still, I had one last thing to do before I departed from the world. I couldn't put my brother with Sarah and Alicia after learning what he had done, but I knew where I could put him. On the same hill I met the Business Man and under the same tree that was struck by lightning, I began to dig the grave. Once I was finished with the ordeal, I stuck the shovel in front of the grave as a marker. I doubted that someone would come along and disturb the shovel. My entire family now rests in Aren Cemetery. My father, my mother (didn't know this at the time), my brother, my wife, and my daughter were all dead. Yet, I remained well and alive. I've always been a survivor, but nobody wants to survive just to end up completely alone. But as I stood at my brother's grave, I decided that I would not cry. As it turns out, I never cried again. It was then when I discovered that I actually wasn't alone. Behind me on the slope of the muddy hill, I saw Michael standing there. The man I had met in an abandoned church an eternity before returning to Aren Cemetery to bury Ryan. He was the first to identify the mark on my scarred left hand as the mark of Cain. How many had escaped Windfield alive? I had no way of knowing, but my estimate is ten including Zach Resuni who became an intelligent Fallen during the course of the apocalypse. Michael approached, and in silence, we both simply looked up at the cleared sky wondering what was next. Our stories were greatly different, but similar in some ways. But they have only intertwined twice so far to my knowledge and each time they had, it was only for a short amount of time. Michael would remain in the scarred and ruined world, and I would walk into Hell. The apocalypse was over, but both of our stories were just beginning. As it turns out, ends are truly rare. While we may believe something ends, it simply begins again. We exchanged words just like before, except, things felt different between us. No longer was I ignorant of the true world that Ryan had lived in for many years before I stepped foot into it. But I was more than that, wasn't I? I was the host of Cain, foretold to be the harbinger of the end of all things. But Michael knew that no matter what he tried to say, he wouldn't be able to convince me to turn away from this suicidal and destructive role I play. Not when she still remains in Hell. Thus, he simply asked a favor of me. Then, I asked a favor of him. We agreed to fulfill our promises to each other. I removed the Dark Orb from the safety of my bag. Pulsing with unimaginable power, I carried it all the way down to the hill and out of Aren Cemetery. I opened my gateway to Hell in the middle of the road stretching between Windfield and Belltow. Michael had told me that Belltow was buried underneath a huge cloud of poisonous air. What had happened there was of no concern to me. Plague wasn't the one who had my daughter, after all. Placing the Dark Orb at my feet after it opened the lightless portal, I took one final look back at Michael. He was still standing on the hill where the Business Man once stood. I understood why he remained far away while the portal was opened. He waved one final time, and I turned back towards the portal. As I looked into Hell itself, I reached into my bag one last time. Then, I ran through the portal with the mask my brother once wore on my scarred and haggard face. Into the darkness I went, the temporary connection between the mortal world and Hell shut, and the new world began to rise below a sun I believed I would never see again. As agreed, Michael picked up the Dark Orb once its purpose was fulfilled. I couldn't take it with me through the portal it summoned, and even if it couldn't be used, it was still dangerous. Michael told me that things rarely ever end. They just begin again and again. Stepping into Hell was just the beginning of a new chapter of this story of mine. No longer am I bound for hell. I arrived much later than all the others, but I reached my destination all right. Stories go on and on, until the writer can no longer write, or refuses to. They are carried throughout the world until the wind stops blowing. Some stories give us hope, some stories make us feel despair, and some stories are simply confessions of what one has committed throughout their lives, whether it's sins or good deeds. Many stories start with the character making or being presented with a choice. In the end, the Business Man's deal was nothing but a lie. Yet the fact that it was false did not take away the weight the choice had. Not only did I find myself shackled to Cain, but I found myself sinking into darkness in general. After all, I entered Hell voluntarily. But others could say the exact same thing, simply in a less literal sense. Maybe by now, you've finally had your fill of my story. Maybe, you realize the value of quitting while you're ahead. For my journey through Hell is far worse than anything I've written to this point. I do not speak of just the horrors I've faced, but also of my own actions. Hell changes you the longer you dwell inside of it. You become worse and worse. Either you lose your sanity, or you lose your morals (if you had them to begin with). Perhaps, I've lost both. Sarah, if you somehow get your hands on this book and decide to read past this point, I want you to know something. I can no longer say I did all of this for you. For, I have done unspeakable and terrible things. To the extent that even merely linking them to your name horrifies me. While any father would go to immeasurable lengths to get their sons or daughters back after such an event that took you from me, I have no excuse for the things I have done. Using you as such a thing is as unforgivable as all of the other things I've done throughout these long and unending years. So, I suppose there's just one more thing to write before continuing on with the story. I'm sorry for what I turned into. Chapter One: 1,152 words Chapter One: Falling
It was unlike what I originally expected. The transition from one world to the other was far from subtle. Mere seconds after walking through the Dark Orb’s portal, I found myself plummeting into an endless ocean of darkness. I flipped myself over, only to see no light from the way I had came. The gateway had been opened, and immediately shut. Further I fell, the farther I was separated from my world. I had always had dreams of falling throughout both my childhood. Sometimes, it would be from a plane or a skyscraper. Others, I just fell from the sky like a star, ready to crash into the face of the Earth. As seconds ticked away, a feeling of hopelessness began to build within my mind. With no ground, I would simply fall forever, incapable of ever stopping myself. It had all been a trap. The Dark Orb only led me into an endless void to fall forever. An abysmal end to my tale of tragedy, suffering, and self-hatred. But that would have been a better fate than the one I was truly dealt. As the darkness enveloped me entirely, shadows of memories from another life began to form before my eyes. In such a dismal and soul consuming place, I could not stop myself from peering back at the things I had done. This was not the Crossroads, but I figured it wasn’t exactly different from it. After all, the original purpose Cain had created the Crossroads for was simple. He needed a path to Hell that the Business Man couldn’t keep an eye on. He only created the Crossroads after he had lost the Dark Orb, its purpose being the same. Still, I wanted to be out of the darkness and away from these painful memories. I saw the childhood version of me hiding in a closet with my younger brother, terrified of our father who had already been deeply caught in the Devil’s claws. Then I saw Ryan as who he was meant to become: The Masked Man, the murderer that had become the residents of Windfield’s greatest fear. Then I saw the same old scene that had been burned into my memory. Ryan the Masked Man holding a pistol to his niece Sarah’s head. He had been lost to the Business Man’s influence, but how could I have forgiven him? How could I have looked past the fact that he killed my daughter? That he had known he did it, and still stuck around me. It was only then I realized that maybe some part of me knew to some extent of Ryan’s secret. As immediately after she died, the tie we held as brothers began to unravel and loosen. Something about him annoyed me, and he was perhaps capable of sensing this. Thus, he stopped coming around as often. Or maybe, it was because of the guilt he still felt. Even as I relived that memory, the pain and anger I felt towards my brother for doing such a thing was overpowered by the guilt and sorrow I felt for killing him. I had dreamed of the day that I made my daughter’s murderer pay for so long, now I regretted it. My entire family was not resting in Aren Cemetery, but burning in Hell. Seeing that memory caused an alternate shock, a new wound to open. It made me realize that seeing her die, I didn’t feel as much sorrow or hatred as I once had. Was I already losing myself, even then? Or was it just because of the shell I had built up due to the prior events of Windfield’s apocalypse? I suppose that was the crucial difference that the Business Man saw between Ryan and I. He had been willing, if not eager, to kill. It was only Sarah he refused to kill, and that only forced the Business Man’s hand. He made him do it. While on the other hand, I was at least to some extent reluctant in killing. Those that I killed with glee, were only those that it could be argued that they deserved it. Even after, I felt pain and sorrow for each one of them. Even with the Mother, the woman who had “adopted” Ryan and I with plans of killing us like she had so many other orphans, I originally spared her in our childhood. When I later had to kill her in my adulthood, I felt both anger and remorse. The anger directed at her and the things she had done, and the remorse directed at the world, making it possible for people like her to thrive. She was still, at a point long ago, human. The same can be said about me now, I suppose. Even now, I look back at these feelings and memories, with a certain sense of nostalgia. Hell drains the life out of you, along with so many other things. You have been reading my story, and have read about both my past and my time in Windfield. About my losses and about the things I was willing to give up even for the illusion of having Sarah returned to me. But throughout this particular chapter of my story, you’ll find that there is a radical change. I am no longer the man that stood in the rain in Aren Cemetery that day the Devil arrived searching for an easy soul to steal. I am no longer the tortured father that watched his own daughter be murdered right before his eyes. I am not even the survivor that battled through the hellish streets of the crumbling city of Windfield. I am the Dead Man, and that is how they all will remember me. I am far from redemption or penance, as with every next day I spend in this place, I feel myself sinker even lower into it. It was right of me to think as I fell through that darkness that it was bottomless. For, I have yet to find the bottom. I haven’t reached my lowest point yet, and that thought, is terrifying in itself. For a man to have eagerly used his soul as a bargaining chip, to have killed without mercy or restraint as demonic power pulsed through his veins, to have even killed his own brother… yet, to not have reached the bottom, is only a clear sign of what is to come. There is no rock bottom, for we can always go even lower than we thought was impossible. We all have our own demons, I understand that very well now. Mind you, I’m not specifically talking about Cain… The memory I now relive every day, just like how I used to relive my daughter’s murder over and over again, is the day I first met the Business Man. And it was that, I relived once I finally stopped falling… |
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| Atticus | Apr 11 2014, 05:22 PM Post #3 |
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...Oh wow, I completely forgot about this. RIP. |
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7:58 AM Jul 11