Partymixter2009

 The figure glanced down at the tombstone, loving memories flooded through his mind like a tsunami. His body began to quiver with emotion as tears slowly rained down from his dark brown eyes. Why was this their fate? That others could die, but that they may live? The tears became a waterfall as more memories tore through his brain like a sword. “Nate?” uttered a soft voice. Nate’s black head popped up and glanced at the brown-haired young man looking down at him. “It, it still hurts, Matthew,” Nate finally muttered as he turned back to the tombstone. “I miss him, I miss my master. How can you do it?R

(Enter Creature.  In response, Victor musters all his strength, reaching in vain for his gun, which is located in all the way across the room.  At his state, he was lucky to have raised a finger.  He tried to holler for Robert, but this too proved to be useless, as a whisper was quite laborious for him.) Creature: Hey, hey….  Stop.  You're going to work yourself to death moving around like that. Victor: I'd rather die with my soul fading to ten last minutes of glowing than to have the wretched hands of such an evil daemon touch my- Creature: Oh, don't flatter yourself, Victor.  If I was trying to kill you, I would have done so by now.

      I am alone. Some say that my existence on this earth is a sin, that I am evil, a creation of the devil himself. Why? Am I not a living soul as well? Am I not capable of love in my heart? I have done wrong with my time here, this I know, and for it I do not deserve to live anymore. Death has come to nearly all who I have touched, but it is my own time now.      My story is a tough one to tell. All my life, though short it may be, has been filled with hate, revenge, and the pain of solitude. It all began by the hands of a man named Victor Frankenstein. Victor grew up in Geneva, Switzerland into an upper class family. Victor, like I his

 The docking bay was quiet. Not a sound could be heard throughout the station. The small military outpost was completely void of life…save for one unfortunate soul. He cowered behind one of the weapon crates that was set to be shipped out that day. He leaned out a bit to take a look at the surrounding area. The bay was drenched in pools of blood and mangled corpses. The scene looked like something out of a war movie. But unfortunately for the soldier, it wasn’t one. He had gotten a call from some of the men working in the labs that something had gone wrong. But the soldier wasn’t able to ask what had happened, as screams

Bjorn awoke with a start, hungry but clean, and looked around his hot, heavily barred cell. He was so far from home the people here didn’t even know what snow and ice were. Now he was caught, without a weapon and only a small cloth covering himself, chained to the floor of a hot, dusty prison, with only a couple of small guards watching him from outside his cage. He would wait, someone would make a mistake, and he would escape. His mistake was getting caught – he still was not sure what had hit him. The raid had been going well until then. Their mistake was not killing him when they had the chance. A door opened and he looked up.

An explanation of inflation fetishism. AN ESSAY A Look at Inflation Fetishism. by CleverFoxMan As an inflation fetishist, I have a great fascination with the cartoonish-ballooning of people. I am not the best writer and I am by no means a psychologist, but I have come to the conclusion that not everyone knows about inflation fetishism (IF). I wish to expound my thoughts, feelings and wish to give a general understanding of IF to the best of my ability. The first question one would ask is “What is IF?”. The most basic explanation is that inflation fetishism is the fascination or sexual fascination of a person’s body parts

“Leave me alone you stupid, worthless THING!” He made a motion with his leg, as if to kick me, but it was a feeble attempt and given that it had been resting past the edge of the bed it wouldn’t have done much, even if I hadn’t been by the doorway in the first place. It was, however, the first time I felt threatened. That if I had been closer, he would have kicked me. Maybe felt a little guilty afterwards, but not too much. It was getting too much. I had been his father’s Raticate before being passed on to him. I thought he’d be like him, proud of his father’s skill with our species and wanting to