Gabriel's final fanfiction

He awoke suddenly, drenched in a cold sweat and with his heart pumping at what felt like 300 beats per minute. Unsure of what had awoken him, the uneasy feeling of being watched was overpowering and intensifying. Throwing off the covers he makes a quick dash for the light switch across the room, praying to himself that this paranoia was only a bi-product of the skunk from last night. He looks around for any evidence of somebody being in the room and notices a picture. Normally a picture in somebodies bedroom wouldn't have been such a shock but he was not the sentimental type and keeping pictures was not something he did, he had always had a nasty nonchalance toward life. This attitude had landed him in trouble throughout school and even got him fired from numerous positions, but he didn't care; in fact there wasn't much he cared about these days. It had even driven the people who are genetically designed to care for him, his family away from him. He turned the picture over and suddenly a deep chill came over him. The people in the picture, they were his family but something was very disturbing about this picture. Each person in the family had had their heads replaced with that of a pig. He began to feel sick. Was this a joke? He realized too late that it wasn't, for as he set the picture down he noticed a reflection in the glass. The reflection of the same pig's head that was in the photos. He turned around and attempted to let out a scream but the sound barely passed his lips as a blow to the side of the head rendered him unconscious.


The noise of a turned on television is one of those noises that even though it's nearly silent has the ability to awake people, and that was exactly what happened . Now fully awake he turned his attention to the surroundings , lit only by the dim light of the T.V the room was a ghastly sight, made from granite, it could have been straight from the the Middle Ages. The moss that must have been growing for many years was very wet and the room stunk of ancient mould. His head ached something vicious and now attempting to sit up he noticed something else very wrong. His legs we trapped, obviously numbed from lack of blood flow his now immobile legs where trapped into a clamp like device with short spikes already piercing his skin. Panicking he attempts to struggle but the pain is so immense he begins to vomit and nearly passes out again. Suddenly the VCR crackles to life, a doll sits perfectly still on a tricycle. Unable to even process what's happening he begins to scream at the T.V but to no avail, tears pour down his face, and his voice grows hoarse. Mid scream he falls silent, the doll slowly turns it's head to face him. Jet black hair and blood red eyes and two perfect spirals on each cheek the doll's hinged mouth begins to move and a sinister voice filled the silence.

"Dread and fear are dangerous emotions Daniel, but they trigger a human's survival instincts, they show we care about our lives, they express our desire to live. You have succeeded in your 25 years of life in removing any social trace of your existence, you work but you fail to care enough to show up, you've driven your family away from you and this would almost show that you don't care anymore, that you have given up on life. So, Daniel, I want to play a game. This game is for your life. I want you to listen very clearly; as you can see your legs are incapacitated but you still have control of your upper body, to your right you should see a cellular phone. It contains the numbers of your family. You are free to call your family and they can rescue you from what will surely be a painful death, and I will even provide you with a clue to let your family know where you are, should they decide to show you the care you denied them. The screws controlling how tight the clamp on your legs will tighten consistently for the next 60 minutes, so if the timer runs out, well so will your life. Good luck Daniel."

The screen went blank, reigniting a moment later with a blood red 60:00, 59:59, 59:58 and his address. Reaching for the phone, he could hear his teeth breaking as he clenched them in pain; the screw had begun to tighten. His mind was firing uncontrollably, fingers furiosly scrolling through the phones contacts until he reached the number he needed. Taking a deep breath he pressed call...

One ring...Two rings...Three rings"PICK UP THE FUCKING PHONE!"

"Hello, you're speaking with Steven"

"Steven! It's Daniel, I need your help!"

"Oh, hello Daniel, you need my help? I should have guessed.If it's money you need just hang up n-"

"Listen to me, I've been kidnapped, I'm trapped and I'm staring at a stop watch telling me I have 58 minutes to live, I'm in the old Anglesea Castle. I need your help Steven, please."

"This is ridiculous, why did you call me instead of the police, I'll call them and they can have you out of there faster than I can."

"He know's that you'll want to call the cops, he said if you do, you'll be dead. Please believe me."

"Daniel, if your joking I will kill you myself, but I'll be out there as soon as I can."

"Please hurry!!"


This day couldn't go any better, thought Steven as he put the phone down, unable to restrain the grimace that now spread accross his face. 58 minutes was a stretch, but ever the speed enthusiast, Steven knew he could get there just in time.

Alone and counting there are two things that can cause time to slow, one is pain and the other is watching time count itself down. In Daniel's case neither of these factors were doing anything, the timer on the television was now closing in on 20 minutes and terror was now overwhelming him. Darkness was clouding his vision and once again Daniel passed out.

Steven knew he was nearly there, he had left main roads long ago and knew that it was only a few miles up the track, foot to the floor he picked up the pace. Skidding to a halt outside the castle, this place was perfect.
Kicking open the front door Steven sprints through the dingy hallways, sensing his brothers presece he runs to the dungeons. Straight infront of him his brother is passed out, head to his chest and legs covered in both dried and fresh blood, so gruesome, yet so fitting. Steven walks toward his younger brother and gives him a slap on the face. Jolted awake, Daniel rejoices; "Steven, you saved me! I knew you would!"

"Hold on there 'brother', you have not been saved yet. You see, all you have done, from a young age, is cause this family pain, you are a failure, a waste of space, yet you were always the one getting all the attention. I did everything right, but our parents were always too concerned with your misbehaviour to notice the good I was doing."

"FUCK YOU STEVEN GET ME OUT!!"

"No little brother, you see I am going to sit down, and watch this happen."

He walks across the room and drags across a steel chair, and placing it infront of Daniel, Steven takes a seat.

"PLEASE STEVEN! I promise to change, this HAS changed me"

"People like you don't change" Steven chuckles "you just change until it suits you to go back."


After fighting against terror and pain, Daniel's body was exhausted, he could barely move. Looking up for one brief second though, brings it all back. Behind Steven's chuckling sillouhette arises the pig's face and with one swift blow, Steven is silenced. Now approaching him the figure grabs his face, opens his jaws and then darkness.


Daniel awakes suddenly, in his bed, drenched in a cold sweat and with his heart pumping at what felt like 300 beats per minute. Unsure of what had awoken him, the uneasy feeling of death is so close, but why...

Sam's published fanfic; tada!

Frank Dimico was dead. Thanks in most to Dave-aka-Kick Ass. Thanks also to Dave for the death of her father (though not directly; it was again blood on Dimico’s hands, hands which would never have had the opportunity to slaughter her remaining parent had it not been for Dave’s infamous naiveté and inexperience in her world of vigilante crime-fighting). With her father as sole casualty, the killer of her mother had been ‘taken out’, the goal towards which she’d been working since birth, studying any number of martial arts, building up a level of mastery with all manner of weaponry, and cultivating a rather advanced knowledge of ‘sweet-spots’; an anatomy of death, the kill-zones to which the slightest application of pressure (like the wrist-flick kiss of a butterfly-knife) would prove lethal. For any twelve year old girl, such an existence would be an ‘alternative’ mode of being (to say the least), but for Mindy-aka-Hit Girl death-dealings had been the only reality, driven by a father who was in turn driven by a searing vendetta; revenge.

And now it was done.

What next? Well, she was being enrolled into a public school by a (cop) friend of her late-father’s, Mark. It would be her first taste of schooling or any preparation for a future not involving the temperamental justice of a 45-calibre. And Mark was very concerned indeed, rightfully so. His main concern was how Mindy would react to the brutal social hierarchy, permanent fixture of any and all secondary schools. However the worry didn't lie in Mindy’s welfare, rather that of her peers; should they cross her in some way no amount of moral revision could possibly re-wire the near-totalitarian sense of right and wrong she’d had programmed into her by an equally zealous yet loving father. He wasn't judging her father, for certainly he’d had his reasons. Only situations had changed, and he feared a potentially damaging transitional period into a life that didn't call for bullet proof pyjamas or home security systems involving a yard rigged with explosives, among other things.

So there had been the laying down of some foundation rules.

Rule One; no fire-arms or any other lethal weaponry in the house (for he was now legal guardian, not that she needed one, and for the sake of appearances they would be living together as father and adopted daughter). Rule Two; the use of violence will be permitted only as a means of self-defence. Should she meet with a mugger in the street then fine, but not to the death (as daddy had instructed all ‘bad men’ deserved). Should she be approached by a school-mate in a manner threatening, then she was to use only evasive-defence and let a teacher dole out the punishments. Under no circumstances whatsoever was she allowed to use actual combative contact against fellow students; detention would suffice. And in any such school-related incidents should no threat be considered ‘to the death’. That was Rule Three. The most important.

Hardly reassuring was Mindy’s promise to abide by all the above rules. But now it was Monday, the very first Monday, and he was driving her to school, palms sweaty, dreading to think what would happen, whether he’d be paged at work about a school-yard massacre and be subsequently picking up a blood-rinsed Mindy from the school lobby, while her mates waited to be picked up in spattered body bags. But no, she was a good girl, really.

“We’re early; Dunkin Donuts on the way?”

“Mmm. Yes please Mark”

That’s right, sweet bribes.

Finally they pulled up curb side at the school.

“Now do you remember what we talked about?” he said sternly, handing her a whopping twenty-box split chocolate-cream with jam-filled.

“Sure” she said, getting out and reaching for her coffee through the passenger seat window, which Mark courteously passed to her from the holder.

“Where’s your bag?”

“Oh” she said, “still in the car”. Mark, again, courteously handed it to her, affording her these deliberate tests of his patience because she could break his neck in two if he didn’t.

“And what was it exactly that we talked about Mindy?”

“About how school is an environment in which violence is both discouraged and abhorred . . .”

“ . . .and . . .”

“ . . .and should I participate in any non-regulation contact, not excluding sexual, you’ll be very angry with me, and so will the parents of the unfortunate”

“Good girl. Now have fun”

“Right” she said between mouthfuls of chocolate, crumbs and cream tumbling from the roof of her mouth with every ravenous chew, settling on her white front in staining collectives. And finally he drove off, a little wobbly at the wheel in his panic, but he managed to sooth the jagged butterflies and merge uniformly with traffic after three blocks. Mindy waved frantically, grinning from ear to ear, chocolate stains and all, and proceeded to wash down a handful of jelly donuts with a suitably cooled swig of coffee. Hmm, cinnamon; reminded her of the beach for some reason.

‘And now’ she thought, spinning round to face the tired brick face of that impossibly square building, ‘now for school!’ She walked towards a madding crowd of sneaker-wearing ipod-toting adolescents, all of them at least three years her senior and suffering from volcanic eruptions of acne, pocking their smug faces like so many sceptic moon craters.

And she was equally smug, because Mark had only checked her bag; had he patted her down before they left the house, he might’ve found her pocket knives.

“Hey you!”

A jam smeared Mindy grinned and held out her hand to be shaken , eyes glistening innocently above a baking-sugar dusted nose.

“Hi” she said, “I’m Mindy. This is my very first day of school and I’m oh so very pleased to meet you!”

Before her stood perhaps the least attractive boy from a shuffling huddle of similarly C-grade specimens. He snorted, the right side of his mouth curving up in a sneer that dramatically unveiled great hunking train-tracks. She couldn’t believe they didn’t tent through his cheeks . . .

“Lunch money”

She stared, mesmerised by the braces. Then snapping back . . .

“Sorry, did you say something?”

The boy, maybe three years her senior, stepped forward, folding his arms across an inflated chest in a bid to be menacing; all he needed to do was open his mouth again.

“Lunch money; now!”

With that he put his hand out, expectantly. She cottoned on.

“Sorry” she said. He eyeballed her, indignant.

“What do you mean ‘sorry’?”

“I mean sorry, you can’t have it”

There was silence, lasting only a few minutes, but to Mindy and the practically-deformed boy in question, it seemed to stretch on and on, reaching for eternity in its simmering unspoken angst. He tried leering at her.

“Gimme your goddamn lunch money; NOW!”

“No” she said. Her eyes were cool and dead set on his, her face was still, her stance unmoving.

The boy, clearly agitated, had started to turn heads, and unknowingly the pair had drawn a crowd to them that expanded the longer Mindy resisted his increasingly heated demands. What Mindy wasn’t to know was that Earl (the boys name) had a reputation, one which up until that morning had never seen indifference the likes of this; rather, students younger and older did everything to avoid Earl’s wrath, not provoke it. But Mindy was doing just that.

And loving it.

“Give me your lunch money right now, or else!”

Uh-oh.

“Are you threatening me?”

The on lookers, now a teaming crowd, mouths agape in anticipation, looked from Mindy to Earl to see what scathing response he’d have to this ‘talking back’, an experience which Earl had been sadly deprived of since the ninth grade; year one of his reign. To their delight he visibly faltered, but only for a second before re-entering the forked hostilities of the ring, stepping up so close to Mindy that he could smell coffee steaming aromatically up from out of her cup. He slapped it out of her hand.

The crowd gasped. Together they turned to Mindy, and when she looked up from her coffee stained blouse she was met with a thousand orb-eyes, glassy with disbelief.

Slowly, she put her box of donuts on the ground. In silence were her movements watched, nimble hands followed in stunned unison as she deftly reached into her socks, kicking off her shoes and unwinding the concealing-tape.

Then she stood upright, legs wide apart, straight-faced but for the corners of her mouth, imperceptibly frowning with the brooding storm; and idly twirling a butterfly-knife in each hand, silver plated with ivory handles.

The crowd stepped knowingly back.

“Wha-what are you doing with those?” Earl stuttered, taking two steps back.

‘Sorry Mark’ Mindy whispered, and took three steps forward.


THE END

Wasen's Fanfiction of Saddam Hussein's Diary

“Don’t tell me about the law. The law is anything I write on a scrap of paper.” Saddam Hussein.

On June 30th 2004 I was convicted for crimes against humanity, Some fool thought it would be fit to sentence me to death because a few Shiites were killed while I was at the prime of my power.... His ignorance made my blood boil, the coward sat there speaking to me like he knew the truth... but he didn’t know that all those pigs deserved to die! The idiot stated a total of 148 deaths... I enjoyed listening to his mistakes, little did he know there were thousands of deaths and I would do it all over again in a second... No actually I would make one thing different; I would make sure every single one of those Shiites along with the Kurds suffer a longer more painful death.... Kurds... they are not human.... they are animals... even my dogs have more value in society than those ungrateful, deceiving rodents! But not to worry the trial and my conviction were just part of a bigger plan and soon I will return to my beloved Samira.

Trailer

I clearly remember my first day at school I was 10 years old, that was the first step towards my successful accomplishments, as soon as uncle Khairullah introduced me to the Baath party I could see it all in front of me, I was better, stronger and smarter than all the men there. At that moment everything became so clear all my confusion and self doubt vanished. God spoke to me and showed me his plan for Iraq and I was the only man worthy of his revelations. Uncle Khairullah was good to me, he was kind and generous.. if not for him I would have had to live with mama and that pig she married! Moving to Baghdad to live with uncle was the best thing that happened to me, otherwise I would still be in Tikrit herding sheep like a peasant!

Sajida

I had no choice but to marry Sajida my cousin... she is a good woman, obedient, quiet, conservative and I knew Sajida would later on represent and encourage real Iraqi family values to the women of Iraq, Sajida was an obligation an arrangement... I did not want to upset uncle Khairullah so marrying his daughter was the best way for me to show him my gratitude, as well as start a family to strengthen my power.

Donald,Ronald and myself

After marrying Sajida in Cairo I returned to Iraq and it was time for me to begin organizing what my Baath party will bring Iraq and who will have the honor to be at my service, Of course during this time Donald Rumsfeld and Ronald Reagan were very helpful. We discussed my future as President of Iraq in great detail, the agreement made between Britain, America and myself was simple I would be elected as president by the end of 1979 and continue ruling Iraq until I am declared dead, all they required was oil and my discretion. We decided the best way for me to gain power over Iraq was to disappear for a while and keep a low profile so the Iraqi people will continue to believe I am under arrest. We met often to discuss future war strategies against Iran..This was very exciting Donald, Ronald and myself agreed that through their funding and ammunition the Iraqi government will declare war on Iran and I will continue to send soldiers until Iran is crippled... yes of course many young boys died but so what?!?! They died with honor! They died with pride! They died for me!

Popular photograph displayed around Iraq

The day I was elected as president of Iraq was spectacular I declared a three day holiday and an extravagant party was held in my honour. At the time Ali was with me chatting about his new nickname “my Excellency you know these worthless Shiite dogs are calling me Chemical Ali? They are worried I will kill all of them using mustard gas” I told him not to worry “soon Ali mustard gas will not be the only toy you will use on my enemies..... You will make me proud” he laughed and thanked me... Suddenly a tall, thin, blond and beautiful young woman walked in with her husband, I told her to come sit next to me she was shy and quiet but her beauty was exquisite. At that moment I told Ali to arrange the necessary arrangements (you know the divorce papers from her husband then and there). Ali later on told me her husband started to cry saying “please we just got married! She is my wife! You cannot do this” after hearing that I had tears of laughter!

Samira

Samira was brought to my palace on the same night...I made sure she was comfortable, I provided her with all the necessities a woman should have in order to preserve her beauty and I permanently shifted her belongings into my bedroom... She was mine and I made sure that no one interfered with that. Sajida became irritable, jealous her constant complaining drove me insane I explained to her that she will always have what she wants but I no longer want to live in the same palace as  her. Samira physically fulfilled my sexual desires, whereas Sajida was old and unattractive... the only reason I slept with Sajida was to reproduce! I was relieved and pleased that my people knew of my godly power, after all I am the man that made them progress from simple minded peasants to doctors, engineers, teachers and many more respected professions. I built the best universities and I was the first man to ever wipe out illiteracy! Iraq was powerful, strong, dynamic, rich and it was MINE!

30 December 2006

Today the Holy month of Ramadan ended and it is the first day of the three days of celebration (Eid). And today is the day I Saddam the son of Subha Tulfa died. Even though I am declared deceased does not mean I will continue living my life like these regular humans. No one will forget me, I have become part of history... university students will write about me. I will return to Iraq soon.......America can not keep me silent for long.. I will expose the truth about their deceiving political scandals...I am Saddam and I will not die a fool!!

Battle Royale fanfic

Hey guys:) I decided to base my fan fiction on the Battle Royale franchise(the novel,manga and film all have nearly identical storylines). For those of you that are unfamiliar with this exploitation masterpiece take a look at my fan fiction links,watch the video below or alternatively-http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_Royale.
My render of the story sees Japan propelled into the future,years after the events of Battle Royale take place and the Millennium BR Act no longer exists.The fan fiction is a debate that takes place over a cup of coffee between two Japanese university professors who argue about the origins of the Millennium BR Act and discuss the fascist government that created it.









"At the dawn of the Millenium, the nation collapsed. At 15% unemployment, 10 million were out of work, 800,000 students boycotted school. The adults lost confidence, and fearing the youth, eventually passed the 'Millenium Educational Reform Act'...AKA: The BR Act."
...but that's not what the history books say...

The steaming cup of coffee did little to arouse professor Shuya’s interest. Biscotti lay untouched. Over the years professor Shuya developed an aversion to anything imported from America. Well, import or not, food was the last thing on Shuya's mind, for today, Friday the 12 of November marked 30 years since the crumble of the Greater East Asia Regime and with it, of course the Millenium Act. Why this act preoccupied our balding professor so much, was a mystery to the majority of his colleagues. Professor Kitano who was late for their lunch date was no exception. Shuya san checked his watch. He didn’t like Kitano, but there was a glimmer of hope. Kitano was intelligent,but naïve, Shuya knew as much. At only 32 and already a professor. Ridiculous! This sort of thing never used to happen in the old days, but kissing ass sure got you places.
Kitano,wide-eyed and optimistic, was so typical of the generation Z-ers.He believed in God,Japan and the news. Shuya himself stopped listening to the news when the regime crumbled. He didn’t believe in God and definitely not in Japan.
.‘Good morning Shuya san .’ Shuya startled in his chair. The paranoia of the old days never did fully leave him. It was only Kitano, flashing his newly bleached teeth. The boy sure never have experience strife. Perhaps that's why Shuya never liked Kitano,after all Kitano never had to kill his classmates. Shuya pushed his thoughts aside. Kitano was just a representative of his epoch,young people that chose to prosper in Japan's economic boom and turn a blind eye to the hastily 'forgotten' crimes of the state.
‘Do you know what day it is?’ Shuya inquired.

-‘Um,Sunday?
‘-‘I mean a date of historical significance, my young friend.’
Kitano looked down in shame. He didn’t like to be questioned by Shuya. He somehow always made Kitano feel as a lesser historian.
I shall enlighten you my friend,‘It the anniversary of the ‘Abolition of the Millenium Act.’

Kitano cringed. ‘The goddamn, Millennium Act! Oh why did Shuya always feel the need to rehash it.'
Kitano liked Shuya, even looked up to him despite the fact that Shuya was a grumpy old bastard with a fetish for crackpot theories and oftentimes their colleagues would suggest that Shuya was losing his mind .No wonder. He never understood why Shuya couldn’t just be content with researching real,tangible things.
‘Professor, with all due respect, but really somebody of your stature shouldn’t dwell upon silly conspiracies. Let’s discuss.... oh..why not the Holocaust?
‘My dear boy, why discuss the Holocaust,which was in Europe, when Japan had it’s own Holocaust, not long ago, if only to compare the two atrocities?
-’Professor,I don’t understand why you must go on with this, but since I have great respect for you,I’ll play along. ' Shuya could clearly distinguish notes of irritation in Kitano's voice. The truth was always a hard pill to swallow.
" Is that not what you've been doing since you were born Kitano san, playing along?' Playing along with what the State told you.' How do you explain the population decline? The redundancy of 10 thousand teachers, the witnesses, for God's sakes...the broadcasts? '' I have the tapes.''
Kitano was prepared for exactly what Shuya had to say.
''The broadcasts of ''Battle Royale'' this fictional TV show is just an invention of the Yanks. You know that Professor. How could something so terrible be broadcast on national Television? Of course it's just the Yanks' fabrication. Why would the Japanese government force school students to kill each other in a game, that is later to be shown on TV. For God's sakes,their parents would see it. Do you really think nobody would act,if such a deed,did in fact take place?''


Shuya sojourned his reply. Standard propaganda, he thought. It's so much easier to go along. That's how he ended up in the game. As a schoolboy he didn't attend class just like the rest of his classmates. There were far better things to do,like drink beer and have sex. Ironically it is attending class that killed 99% of his classmates. They were told they were going on a school trip... they boarded the bus excited for the adventures to come...they woke up with explosive metal collars around their necks..they were told to kill each other.
Shuya ended up winning the game along with his sweetheart Noriko, the only instance of two people winning the game at the same time. He missed Noriko terribly. After the regime collapsed, and all the game's winners were rounded up and shot,Shuya escaped.
Noriko didn't.





Shuya couldn't bear the blame...but as it often goes illegally prescribed pharmaceuticals helped.

'My dear friend, have you read any foreign newspapers/any textbooks? The whole world knows what Japan tries to hide in vain. There are witnesses,far too many witnesses that have hopped the border.'' Shuya paused. His voice became a whisper. ''I place great trust upon you in telling you this ... I'm a witness myself,well rather a participant. I was the winner of the second annual Battle Royale game. I won it,armed only with binoculars. My sweetheart, my sweetheart,her name was Noriko.. Girl number 21 Goddamnit the Millenium Act did really happen! I was there!''

Kitano hesitated.''I guess what everyone said was true.'' he thought and shrugged his shoulders . Well there was only one place for Professor Shuya now...Kitano dialled a number.

Sam's attempt at fanfic draft 1; part 2 (edited, expanded)

Hardly reassuring was Mindy’s promise to abide by all the above rules. But now it was Monday, the very first Monday, and he was driving her to school, palms sweaty, dreading to think what would happen, whether he’d be paged at work about a school-yard massacre and be subsequently picking up a blood-rinsed Mindy from the school lobby, while her mates waited to be picked up in spattered body bags. But no, she was a good girl, really.


“We’re early; Dunkin Donuts on the way?”

“Mmm. Yes please Mark”

That’s right, sweet bribes.

Finally they pulled up curb side at the school.

“Now do you remember what we talked about?” he said sternly, handing her a whopping twenty-box split chocolate-cream with jam-filled.

“Sure” she said, getting out and reaching for her coffee through the passenger seat window, which Mark courteously passed to her from the holder.

“Where’s your bag?”

“Oh” she said, “still in the car”. Mark, again, courteously handed it to her, affording her these deliberate tests of his patience because she could break his neck in two if he didn’t.

“And what was it exactly that we talked about Mindy?”

“About how school is an environment in which violence is both discouraged and abhorred . . .”

“ . . .and . . .”

“ . . .and should I participate in any non-regulation contact, not excluding sexual, you’ll be very angry with me, and so will the parents of the unfortunate”

“Good girl. Now have fun”

“Right” she said between mouthfuls of chocolate, crumbs and cream tumbling from the roof of her mouth with every ravenous chew, settling on her white front in staining collectives. And finally he drove off, a little wobbly at the wheel in his panic, but he managed to sooth the jagged butterflies and merge uniformly with traffic after three blocks. Mindy waved frantically, grinning from ear to ear, chocolate stains and all, and proceeded to wash down a handful of jelly donuts with a suitably cooled swig of coffee. Hmm, cinnamon; reminded her of the beach for some reason.

‘And now’ she thought, spinning round to face the tired brick face of that impossibly square building, ‘now for school!’ She walked towards a madding crowd of sneaker-wearing ipod-toting adolescents, all of them at least three years her senior and suffering from volcanic eruptions of acne, pocking their smug faces like so many sceptic moon craters.

And she was equally smug, because Mark had only checked her bag; had he patted her down before they left the house, he might’ve found her pocket knives.

“Hey you!”


A jam smeared Mindy grinned and held out her hand to be shaken , eyes glistening innocently above a baking-sugar dusted nose.

“Hi” she said, “I’m Mindy. This is my very first day of school and I’m oh so very pleased to meet you!”

Before her stood perhaps the least attractive boy from a shuffling huddle of similarly C-grade specimens. He snorted, the right side of his mouth curving up in a sneer that dramatically unveiled great hunking train-tracks. She couldn’t believe they didn’t tent through his cheeks . . .

“Lunch money”

She stared, mesmerised by the braces. Then snapping back . . .

“Sorry, did you say something?”

The boy was maybe three years her senior and stepped forward, folding his arms across an inflated chest in a bid to be menacing; all he needed to do was open his mouth again.

“Lunch money; now!”

With that he put his hand out, expectantly. She cottoned on.

“Sorry” she said. He eyeballed her, indignant.

“What do you mean ‘sorry’?”

“I mean sorry, you can’t have it”

There was silence, lasting only a few minutes, but to Mindy and the practically-deformed boy in question, it seemed to stretch on and on, reaching for eternity in its simmering unspoken angst. He tried leering at her.

“Gimme your goddamn lunch money; NOW!”

“No” she said. Her eyes were cool and dead set on his, her face was still, her stance unmoving.

The boy, clearly agitated, had started to turn heads, and unknowingly the pair had drawn a crowd to them that expanded the longer Mindy resisted his increasingly heated demands. What Mindy wasn’t to know was that Earl (the boys name) had a reputation, one which up until that morning had never seen indifference the likes of this; rather, students younger and older did everything to avoid Earl’s wrath, not provoke it. But Mindy was doing just that.

And loving it.

what is the problem

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Finding Control - DK's fanfic story

The game "GTA Vice City" meets the film "The Truman show".

Have you ever felt you have no control of your life? That what you do next is actually not up to you? Have you ever felt like you just did something that you didn't actually want to do, and then wonder to yourself...so, why did I do it?

Lately I have had all these thoughts rushing through my head like a snort of coccaine. I feel like my actions dont match my emotions and it is starting to really terrify me. I am noticing a sense of no control.

My name is Tommy Vercetti and I live in Vice City. I dont know how long I have been living here, I dont know my birth date, I dont even know my Goddamn age! What do I know? Thats a good question, a question that comes with a large wave of anxiety for me, like a panic attack, the same feeling I get when I feel I have killed the wrong person. I begin to wonder to myself sometimes, why dont I know anything about my past? About my up bringing?... Am I normal? I dont think so... but then I dont know who or what is normal around here, around Vice City.

I might start by talking a little bit about my day to day life, and whoever reads this can decide for themselves just how messed up I really am. Basically, what do I not do in a average day? Well if your thinking about the innocent picnic with the family or a walk on the beach I probably have never done anything like that in my entire life! But, if you are thinking along the lines of a pyschotic killer with seriously no hesitation when it comes to pulling the trigger on a person just walking by...then there is probably nothing you can even imagine that I have never done. I live my life by walking around the streets of Vice City with not much of a list of goals for the day unless I start on some sort of mission assigned to me by one of the local gang members. When there is no mission/goal to complete then I simply cause havoc! I steal cars, beat up prostitutes for their money, even occasionaly pay them for sex if I have enough cash on me, I kill for the sake of...what? No idea! I do massive stunts in different vehicles that I get my mits on and occasionally just occasionally I dont have a police man on my tail trying to bust me for anything or everything of what I have just said....So yeah I guess you think my life is quite messed up, yeah? I mean, I dont actually see anyone else behaving like myself. Am I a complete psycho? Am I totally mental?...The weird thing is, I dont think I am. I really dont think that I am the one to blame for all this havoc, I dont think I am actually the one who is causing this havoc. What does that say? Maybe I am totally crazy, or maybe I really am not in control of my actions. But, then who is??

These thoughts I am having are no less than symptoms of schizophrenia if not complete psycosis to the average person. But that is not enough to make me consider 'snapping out of it'. I will not let this suspicion I have just fade away and continue living my life the way I have been. I have too much pride for that, too much pride. Pride is probably the second biggest reason I have these suspicions, these suspicions of not being in control of my own actions.
Lets go back to my first murder. It was 5:20pm and I was meant to be catching a taxi to see one of my friends just out of town. But things dont always go to plan as I have learnt as my body sometimes has a plan of its own. I stepped towards an old man and after him asking me to get out of his way kindly I punched him in the head until he fell on the ground. Next thing I have a baseball bat in my grips and I am bashing the poor mans head against the pavement with blood staining the street. After the attack I jumped into a police car that had just stopped at my attention and with bullets firing from two cops in my direction I pointed the car at them and accelerated over their bodies, killing them instantly. God knows how I escaped that crime without being arrested and God knows how I am expected to forget those horrendouse actions of mine on that day. I will forever feel as sick as I do right now when I think about those poor innocent people.
So, back to my point..If it wasnt for my pride then I wouldn't have this conscence haunting me 24/7...Anyone would assume that if someone is forever feeling guilty about their murders amongst other crimes then they wouldn't continue to committ hundreds more within the next few hours now would they?

Now...I am going to tell you the main reason. The main reason I think someone else is CONTOLLING ME!!!!SOMEONE ELSE!! This is how I origianlly found out I cant even move left when I want to move left, jump when I want to jump, or FRICKEN SHIT when I want to SHIT!!..........I CAAANT KILL MYSELF! It is physically impossible for me to put a gun to my head and blow my brains out, but it is as easy as ...one...two...BANG to splatter someone elses! I have been trying for the last 2 years to do it and NO not even a scratch on my bare skin!  What is going on!!?? WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?? please! pleeease help me! I dont want to do this anymore! I dont want to be a menace to society! I am sick to death of people dieing at the tips of my fingers. IT MAKES ME SICK!

So why on earth cant I do it? The one thing I want to do the most in this world is save this world from my insanity and when I realised that meant killing myself I went for it but I just cant do it!...I KNOW SOMEONE IS controlling me! I KNOW IT! I dont know how....but I bloody well know!....

And when I find out who it is controlling me, yes I said WHEN, not a bloody pussy 'IF'! When I find this person I will torture and kill that mongrel if its the last thing I do! I will never give up! I will never surrender! I will find control!