The Typewriter Effect Ch7After their first encounter since his return ended on that promising note, Kay and David hadn't even looked at each other. He had stayed awake all night watching the occasional car pass by, hoping that by some miracle one of them would park in front and reveal one of the paranormal misfits he'd come to know as the best people he'd known. Then again, in context of all that they had done for each other...and also taking into account the changes his death had caused in his family, he found it hard to think of Hanna, Conrad, the doctor, the selkie, werewolf, delivery man...and the rest of them, as anything else but his only family. His mother and father.... Yes, there was no doubt he still loved them both dearly. But David had changed. He had grown bitter and impulsive.And Hannah.Where should he start with her?It was painful to remember how beautiful she had been, for one...How kind and carefree she was.And here he was, still twenty three as she remembered him.And there sh
The Typewriter Effect Ch6The next day went about the same as always for Conrad. Or, at least the same since the redhead's partner had been spirited away by whatever Hanna had done. The details were sketchy.Basically, his day was set up like so: Wake up, make sure Hanna was still there, make sure Hanna was still alive, prepare a small breakfast (which had been plain toast as of late, seeing as that was all the redhead could eat without chucking everything back up. Water usually accompanied the toast.) then wrap the redhead's injuries with new dressings. The redhead's arm was the worst.No, seriously: Was the worst. The redhead's left arm, post whatever-had-happened, had been...disintegrated or something. It had been shriveled, black, dead and useless when he had crashed through the third door in that alleyway screaming and sobbing something fierce, or at least that's what Conrad had heard when he stopped by for blood he next day.The small ginger had been laying on a cot behind the Aussie'
GraveGraveIt was raining-pouring, really. The skies were cascading water upon the land below, upon hundreds and hundreds of graves. The graveyard was completely abandoned as the rain relentlessly beat upon the ground, seemingly cleansing the sins of the dead buried beneath.Yet one umbrella was forced to endure this as its owner held it above his head. From afar, its owner looked normal enough, likely holding a source of light near to his face. He was simply standing there, looking at the grave in front of him; a grave that the found to be oddly well kept, because as far as he knew, no one had ever visited it.The headstone itself was a simply one-the only thing indicating that there was someone buried there was "R.I.P;" Rest In Peace. There was no name, no death date-nothing. The man still remained, however, staring fixedly at the grave. He was trying to remember; remember what though, he didn't know.He remained there for some time, not paying attention to time or surrounding unti
UntilWeFindSomething.He couldn't exactly remember the last time he could just sit and look up at the stars. ...But, then again, he really couldn't remember much of anything. And he couldn't remember the last time he'd had company on such a clear, warm night. And now that he focused, he realized that his company was not acting like himself."...Hanna?""Mmh?""...Is something the matter?"The red-head looked up at him lazily. "Huh? What? Oh, no, no. I'm just enjoying the night. It's been a long time since we've had one this nice." He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, a hint of a smile gracing his lips.The dead man couldn't help but smile himself when he fell backward into the cool grass. Hanna opened his big blue eyes wide, and looked up at the huge expanse of purple-black sky. "...Do you remember anything?""No." The dead man responded without a thought. They'd been over this many times before."Nothing?""No.""Not even the sky?"...Well, now that he thought about it, he could remember the sky. He
All Wrapped UpThe mirror was fogged with steam from the hot running water. Through the steam, the green face and glowing eyes of 306's resident zombie could be discerned. He was bent over the sink, wetting a cloth to wipe off a long new suture across his green and decayed chest. Normally, he wouldn't have bothered, since there was neither blood to be spilt nor infections to worry about. Being dead, in that respect, was a bit of a godsend. But this time, he had to give not just the suture but his entire torso a good wash.~*~The boys had been investigating a case of a mutant in the sewers when this all went down. Hanna was excited well, okay, when wasn't he excited, but this time, it was more than normal because he thought he might just get to meet the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. He even made a headband out of a old shirt he had torn up for bandages or rags or the like a long while ago for them to sign if they met them. What they had met wasn't even remotely turtle like in any extent
HINABN - MortalityLooking down on the man's sickly, emaciated form, Veser felt a sense of pity. 'Look what your life has come to,' he thought. 'Laying half-dead in a cold white hospital room, and nobody to blame but yourself.'It had been years since he'd talked to the man, probably three or four, and even then they hadn't spoken long, just enough for Veser to coerce a few pictures of his mother from his dad's possessive, still-grief-stricken hand. Fourteen years, and still Mr. Hatch refused to let go. He wouldn't believe, even after years of hatred, that his wife had finally left him.'It's your own damn fault,' Veser thought bitterly, averting his eyes from his father's face. 'Maybe if you weren't such a dick, you wouldn't have had to spend the end of your life all alone. Maybe if you didn't drink so much...'Memories of his childhood swarmed in on him, all the years of being told he was worthless, his father's physical and emotional abuse, his mother's cold eyes because al