This forum contains those "neverending stories" where one person writes a bit of a story and then another person picks it up where the previous left off. Should make for some interesting reading.
The knife sits beside the sink, a wicked hunting knife this time. Johnathan had tried removing any potential weapons from his home, but it always found something. He sighs, afraid to watch the news this evening.
In lieu of television, the man promptly begins to finish washing his hands and then dries them on a nearby towel before finally deciding to pour himself a drink. Throwing several ice cubes into a simple plastic cup, the man painstakingly pours himself a more than ample amount of scotch, clean and neat.
Why? the man then ponders nervously as he greedily raises the glass to his lips. Why is it always the same? I was so sure that things were going to be different this time. What a fool I am. What a fool I always am...
As the frantic man begins to take a sip of his drink, his mind is suddenly filled with a series of rather frightening images. The man's trembling hands shake violently as he continues to drink from the plastic cup; his mind now forced to relive the past three hours or so of his life.
Images of a woman, blond and jovial, quickly fill the man's mind as he desperately tries to drink away his vile thoughts. The woman's visage suddenly grows no longer happy, instead becoming extremely panicked and frightened; the mascara upon her face now running and dripping down her cheeks. Within an instant, the man's mind is quickly filled with the repetitious series of stab wounds that it took to kill the woman; all the time his hapless victim begging for her life.
"Why!?" the woman cries over and over again in the man's mind, fearfully, "Why!?" His cup now more than halfway empty, the man soon finds himself pondering. Why indeed... His mind now starting to become numb from the alcohol's effects, the man continues to ponder. Always with the Why?
When Life Hands You Razorblades. You Make A Baseball Bat Covered In Razorblades!
Pouring a second drink, Johnathan slumps down behind his desk. Flipping on his computer and hoping to get some work done. Johnathan no longer needs to work, but without something to do he's sure he'd go raving mad. Pulling up his latest project he attempts to drown himself in the details of an acquisition of a local mill by a multinational corporation. Maybe he'll forget long enough to miss the footage on the news...
Another drink gone, and another, soon he won't care much anymore. They can say whatever they want, do whatever they want. He won't care. Does he care now?
He stands up, walking back to the kitchen, looking down on his paint brush; the knife.
Such beauty, he thought. Such beauty in his craft, even if others didn't see it. He was like an ancient artist, not understood until well after their death. In a hundred years, maybe they would respect him. Today, fear would do.
"Kings have no friends, only subjects and enemies."
It's always like this, the depression right after. Normally he can ignore it, the compulsion, the voice, whatever it is.
He's not crazy, at least, he never killed small animals, hasn't wet the bed since he was three, and he certainly won't keep any trophies, not even this knife. But he hears the voice.
Walking down the hallway, he opens a closet door. In the closet is nothing but shoe boxes. He takes one out unceremoniously, stuffs the knife inside, and places it on the living room table just long enough for him to throw his coat on. Its raining outside.
"Kings have no friends, only subjects and enemies."
It's still raining as he pulls into the long driveway around to the backside of the house, having to stop short to avoid hitting two other cars parked in the way. He does not recognize the cars as they seem kind of newer and fancy.
Turning the ignition off and getting out in the rain he heads to the backdoor, inserting his key into the lock, it doesn't fit. It's a different dead bolt. Going to the garage door there is a keypad on the wall. "Where'd that come from?", he anxiously thinks. Heading around to the front of the house he finds the same situation with the lock there as well.
He lifts the lid on the mail box next to the door. Same electric company, same address... different name?!? He tears the envelope to get to the bill inside. Who is living in his house? How are they living in his house? "I was only gone for 5 hours". He glances at the due date on the bill. "May 24, 2016? That can't be right, it's only 2010."
I was just puddering around the site and came onto this. Seeing as Unknown Armies is up on KS, this hit me with that UA vibe. Thought I would try and pick it back up "five years later"?