Jeremy just got "Nothing personnel kid"-ed

>real life subtitles

I want those! :)

Thank you for the reply!

"Thank you so much, I really needed the money and no one else would by this." The man said before walking away, storing his newly acquired cash in his pocket. A new day a new customer. That's how it works.

I started packing up my little stand from the sidewalk because it was almost closing time, but then I heard footsteps approaching due to my vibration detection.

"Hey Mr. Useless, how's your garbage du-, I mean shop doing?" The man jabbed. It was Jeremy again. He was the rich kid on the block, the one that everyone else hated because he was so arrogant.

"It's pretty good, I got 6 new powers today." I said, putting my best customer service face on.

"Oh? Anything that isn't like you? You know, utter trash?" He said, smirking.

"Well, I got super fast reflexes, teleportation within 10 feet, the ability to know the answer to 2 questions I ask a day, the ability to move my eyes around my body, the ability to glue things together, and I just got real life subtitles." I explained, straining a smile.

"Boo, lame. My invincibility and mind reading are so much better than anything you got."

There he goes again, bragging about his abilities. I bet I could beat him in a fight. Wait, let me try something. Answer me, can I beat Jeremy Garrison with my combined abilities? A voice boomed in my head "Yes, your collected abilities give you a 73.9٪ chance of victory." Without even thinking, I powered up.

"Wait, what are you-" I teleported behind him, grabbed his hand, and put him in a headlock. I telepathically said "don't even try it." I said, before leaving him there.

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Thanks for asking, but I believe that having it somewhat "open ended" works better for this one :)

Cheers!

Touché

Well it doesn't say they were on their way to do it, just that they were preparing. Could have been early in the preparing?

Definitely one of the stranger discussions I've been in.

"So, cards down?" I coldly asked whilist not breaking eye contact with his hands.

Rule #1

Serial killers hate predictability. They believe they have the upper hand. Their hands are their tools and their most vulnerable place. Stare at them to disarm them.

*Possible outcomes

They will either attack you or let you go.

"You have a style, I see?" he chuckled. His expression then turned serious, "Not to worry, I do the same," he offered with a side smile.

We sat down six feet from each other. None of us spoke a word because none of us wanted to break the silence.

Rule #2

They thrive on pain and vulnerability. Do not show emotion.

*Possible outcomes

They will force it out of you.

"So, the date last night was great," he started but seeing me not breaking my composure, he groaned, "Come on. We both do this. Why are we even here?"

"You called," I nearly spat out but caught myself at the last minute. God, I hated this man.

"Why do you do it?" he questioned.

"Why do you do it" I repeated back, refusing to break. He was up to something, I could feel it.

"Very well, I will start. I do it for the thrill, and you were supposed to be next, but seeing our situation, you won't be."

"How so?"

"Um, hello. We both do the same."

Rule #3

If they feel you slip away from them, they will try to lure you back in. Narcissism 101.

I got up from the chair and pointed my gun at him, "I am sorry, but date night is over, forever."

Rule #5

Some of them are tricksters. Act smart.

Before I could pull the trigger, I pointed it at my head, and bam - just as I suspected - empty.

"You are way smarter than I suspected," he said, "However, not smart enough."

Rule #6

Serial killers will try to convince you they are better than-

"Rule #6?" he questioned, a toothy grin appearing on his face, "You know, it took me a lot to find out your gimmick, sister," he continued while pointing his finger at me and slowly getting closer.

"This entire thing is a setup," he said while slowly circling me.

He stopped in front of me, took my hands in his, looked me deep into my eyes, and asked through gritted teeth, "Care to enlighten me on rule #9?"

I found myself speechless. For the first time in my life, I felt like one of my victims, helpless, cold, scared, and alone. Even the rage of being caught couldn't outshine the terrible feeling I'd had.

For the first time in my life, the voice inside me was wrong. And at the worst possible time.

If it was a victim, I could run away and hide. But when you lose your composure in front of a predator, you can only prey your end comes fast.

"Never leave traces behind," I finally muttered.

"That is right," he roared and kissed my temple, "But why is it rule #9? Why not number 1#?" he curiously questioned.

The way he looked at me, I knew he didn't care about the rules order. He asked this for a specific reason. But what?

I couldn't focus or concentrate. He was playing with me, slowly torturing my mind until I fall into madness. Until I break for him.

And he was succeeding.

"Predictability, my love," he whispered in my ear. "I am not predictable for you", he sang.

He backed to the shelf near the door, pulled out a sledgehammer, and slowly dragged it toward me.

"I guess you surrender, no?" he asked.

Now or never, I thought and threw a knife at him. It was a special knife that could successfully cut deep if you threw it the right way.

It ended right in his heart.

He fell, and as I came closer, he spoke, "I saw the knife shining as soon as you entered."

He was honest? Now I was really taken aback.

"Why didn't you-" I asked but he interrupted.

"Predictability", he said. "I really liked you Carrie, and I wanted to keep seeing you, but I knew you wouldn't find peace until you ended me."

He pushed the hammer and a small key toward me, "But I can give you my legacy."

With these last words, he died with the same toothy grin on his face and the same wide-open eyes staring lovingly? into mine.

I shed a lot of tears that night. For the first time, I felt love, and I lost it. For the first time, somebody cared for me.

Now, well now, I guess I have to do much more work to heal those wounds, or at least suppress them.

And the legacy Greg left me in his basement gave me new projects to work on.

Part two?

Ah well reality gets in the way of a cheap poop joke. I appreciate the insight!

Well you do both simultaneously. Either way if they were on their way to the colonoscopy they would've been fasting/cleansing for at least a few days, and thus wouldn't have much in their system

Don't you start by taking a laxative, then fast?

What a great line in that movie..

"George Mikaelson," hissed Death while staring at the photograph of a middle-aged man on the table in front of him, "What the hell have you done this time?!" he yelled, his booming voice shaking and knocking down everything in his void.

Death sighed and rubbed his temple, hoping to gain inner peace before going to Earth. He knew he had to do it at some point, even though it would bring him great displeasure.

As he was contemplating his next move, something knocked him on the head. As he looked around, he noticed the void being chaotic due to his earlier outburst.

With another heavy sigh, Death waved a finger through the air calming the place down and putting everything in its place.

The distant sound of four tiny bones skipping across the floor made the creature smile. He looked to his right, where now was a small dog made of bones wearing a smaller version of Death's cloak. He had a collar with a golden tag that read "Bones".

The tiny creature held a ball in his mouth, but when Death tried to get it, he ran in the opposite direction.

"Once a dog, always a dog. Even in the afterlife," the creature chuckled, but his happiness didn't last long as the thoughts of the current events plagued him.

With a sour expression, he got up, adjusted his cloak, took his scythe, and headed down to Earth to see what his most hated person had done this time.

Death rarely had enemies, and George, well he wasn't his enemy. George was someone Death vowed to never take. He was something like a sour thumb with no self-control, infinite stupidity, and never-ending clumsiness.

...

Sixty years ago, George accidentally pushed a chicken into the toilet.

Don't ask how.

The poor animal died, of course, and George had the brilliant idea to escort it to the afterlife - to make him a funeral. Instead of doing it at home, he did it in the center of the town, embarrassing his entire family and becoming the town idiot.

Not that he already wasn't, but shush, don't tell him that.

He and his dad got into a fight, and an accident caused him to meet Death himself.

And there was where the trouble began.

George was cocky and pretentiously arrogant, but he was an imbecile. He tried arguing with Death and demanding his life back. He tried with threats, but they only made the creature laugh.

What can you do to Death? How can you harm a being that is not alive anyway?

George claimed his parents were sad about his demise and would fight Death for him, but the being was quick to show him otherwise.

Down on Earth, his parents were celebrating. They did not shed a single tear for him. The whole town had a three-week fest in honor of his departure.

And, believe me, there was a reason why.

George may have appeared as a moronic hot ballon air, but the actions he took and the lives he ruined were many. Not out of malice, not every time at least, but out of stupidity.

Not two weeks passed, and Death found George on his doorstep, bound and gagged with a note on his head, signed out by almost every spirit in the afterlife:

This being is insufferable. We have never seen such a creature in the history of our infinite universe. Take it as your apprentice, or destroy it.

Death decided to be generous and tried to teach him his work, but the man was impossible. He did everything wrong, some things on purpose. Death was a creature of endless patience, and George somehow managed to break his boundaries.

The last straw was when George broke Death's favorite vase and stole his dog to show it to mortals.

From that moment on, George was banned from the afterlife and Death's lair and sentenced to Earth for as long as it exists. But a few centuries later, the humans got tired and sent George to a lonely planet with no life and nothing to destroy.

Now, Death had to go and figure out what that imbecile has done in a place full of nothing.

....

The planet was deserted, and George was nowhere to be found. Death called for him, but nobody showed up.

Just as he was about to give up, somebody tackled him and tried to take his cloak.

"If I become you, nothing will stop me," yelled the attacker, who was no other but George himself.

Death quickly overpowered him and bound him to the ground. George yelled and trashed but to no avail. He could not escape such power.

"I have had enough of you. You give me no other choice," yelled Death, and with a hit of his scythe, he turned the man into dust.

He finally destroyed his soul, but a part of him died too. Death has always believed that George could have changed. He had so much time ahead of him, but he used it to cause chaos and stay the same.

And if you ever feel like George, not stupid, but rather stuck in the same patterns, try to find the problem and destroy it, change your ways.

Love how much action you have going on in this :)

Nice

I woke up on the floor of the living room. My living room. I sit up, looking at the woman before me. On the couch was a dark haired lady that stabbed me with a needle and pumped me full of something, at the same moment I covered her mouth with a chloroform rag. She was waking up too. I managed to get to my, no wait. I managed to get to my knees as she stirred, and fell off the couch. Damn, my closest weapon is past her, beneath the couch. I fall over her, crawling painfully as I fight the fogginess in my mind. “Damn, jess.” I mutter. She was a dentists assistant or maybe a nurse? I couldn’t remember now. I reached under the couch and gripped the machete. I felt Jess push me but didn’t make it very far.

I tugged against the restraints on the blade, then remembered that I needed to unlatch it from it’s holster. I clicked it open, just as I heard the ringing of a small knife against her jewelry. I twisted out of her clumsy stab. Pulling the machete with me I rolled off of her and once more rose up. I managed to make it to my feet this time, but so did she. She held an army issue combat knife, probably from a surplus store or something. I had a machete I bought online. Reach was on my side, but if she rushed me… She did, and tripped over her feet. I slammed the blade down, hitting my carpet and shearing through it. Dammit! It was shag, and expensive.

She got to her feet, the chloroform was wearing off faster than what she stuck me with. I stare at her eyes, trying to get a read. And I couldn’t. Just cold dead calculations behind her baby blues. Just like me. “Did you just to kill me in my own home?” I ask incredulous. “You we’re gonna kill me in your own home?“ she demanded back. We stare at each other a moment. I shifted, not liking her tone at all. I smirk, “that much easier to dispose of you,” I explain, keeping my machete between us. “Drop your car off at your house tonight while you scream your lungs out behind the false wall in my basement as you melt into goop.” I gloat. Realization dawns, “chemical factory,” she says, “that’s brilliant!l” she relaxes immediately, knife dropping to her side. I did work as a waste disposal working for the local chem plant. Got lots of free shit when the books are kept by a dyslexic chimp.

I slowly lower my machete. “What’s your plan?” I ask, now curious. She grinned wide, a frightening madness in her gaze. She opens her purse, “We EMTs deal with so many ODs.” she says revealing several pieces of drug paraphernalia. “What’s one more?” I nod, and she had access to plenty of shit as an EMT. “Alright, respect earned.“ I acknowledged. She wasn’t like the filth out there. She was a predator like myself, a good one at that. I look over at the sink, the dishes from dinner still unwashed. I needed to get those done. ”Professional courtesy then?” I ask turning back, and finding her 2 inches away from my face. I don’t flinch, even as she kisses me. “Fuck no.” She whispered, “Now we fuck.” I frown, so not exactly like me.

Content Notice: Somewhat graphical

It was getting cold in my car while we were talking outside of his house. "Well, would you care for a drink at my place?" he whistled with that sloping smile that I pretended to enjoy so much and called "cute" the whole evening. He will soon find out that I did not enjoy it enough to not let him die on the pointier end of my knife later - but, you get the idea. "I indeed would love to see your place" I answered with my most charming voice, turned the car keys to stop my engine and opened my door. I was waiting for that moment; that moment when I could observe my pray. I stared with muffled, lusty rage when his slender, muscular body emerged over the roof of my vehicle, his shoulder long hair bouncing when he stretched.

I mean people often proclaim that they have a "type" but their type is unlike mine. They kinda have preferences often born from social pressure. "Men have to be at least this tall!", "But she needs to have a thick butt!", "Non-Binary persons need to be androgynous!" - screw all of that. My desire goes deeper than that, for I am not looking to improve my the class or status through a person; mine is sole based on their ethics. Sure, others claim that their preferences aren't simply based on a phenotype but, gosh, they are nothing but shallow. All those complicated courtship ceremonies they are willing to do over and over again to find "the right one", that meat inspection in bars or apps. Nothing but excuses, in the end they just look for somebody that they can stand long enough to procreate with.

I never understood love and I have no desire to ever do so - mostly because my heart only really starts beating when I cut them open. I was so lost in that train of thoughts that I didn't even heard what he was saying. I saw his lips moving and his face suggested that it was another question. "Sure", I replied. It wouldn't matter anyway I was nearly ready to make my move. I didn't expect him to grab my hand and move me over to the side of his house. "It's not that far. I am glad that you want to see my observatory in the garden. You look lovely and you smell so good, you know?" he said while half way pulling and shunted me to the garden entrance. Well, he clearly spoke about a lot of half way interesting nerd stuff, about how much money he spend on his professional grade "nearly scientific" equipment to see stars. What a bastard.

His money was mostly made from letting near ruins in an disadvantaged neighborhood while pushing prices and his constant bragging tonight got annoying real fast. I did my best to diligently follow the stuff he said all night long - after all I'd be needing to "judge" him before the night ended - but it nearly made me throw up. While he boasted about which cars he collected, how much he paid for his new watch, the vacations he took I reminded myself about the kids getting sick from living between moldy walls, breathing the exhalations of black fungi, taking their chance of ever living a healthy life. I am not on some sort of crusade or whatever. I just extremely enjoy to take away the power of people that are used to having it. Seeing them plea for their lives, hearing their cries, untying them when I've cut open their bodies, watching them try to stuff their intestines back into their abdomen - gosh, that's the shit I am living for. And I was very accurate in researching my victims before the act to make sure they would fit my desire.

Huh. Another heavy train of thoughts. I realized that it was highly untypical for me. I should be tense, eagerly awaiting the moment when I'd finally had him gagged in my trunk. My trunk... Why did we even take my car? Also why is this light so... bright?

"Welcome to my place." he said. "What kind of observatory has butcher knifes on the walls?" I asked. "The one where the rich eat the poor. Look, we had a very nice date. But my desires are going beyond what a girl like you would expect. You should be about to peak, you're disoriented and maybe even a little tired. Here, take a seat - you look... incredibly tasty today." This sloped smile again. I finally understood what it was reminding me of: A hungry hyena.

--

English is not my first language yet I am trying to get better. Critiques and pointers are extremely welcome!

I like it! George is immature, and Death doesn't like it. Bravo!

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>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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Problem is there wouldn't be much if any poop because you fast before a colonoscopy

Death comes for us all, my children.

Death is not the end. It is only the beginning. In the cycle of life, we are born, then we die, and are born again, and again, and again, until we are finally worthy to enter the Heavens.

For this world is only temporary. A holding-place, a waiting area, a schoolyard for souls to learn and grow. With these bodies of flesh, we pray, we worship, so that we may atone, and thereby ascend.

So rejoice. Death comes for us all.

Except George.

See that old man, over there. The white-haired white-bearded man, by the river. Yes, him. Death doesn't like him. He will never gain enlightenment. He will never enjoy the grace of the gods.

Why? It is said that long ago, George challenged the gods. He had a wife, Sally was her name, who had entered the Heavens. Instead of rejoicing, George cursed the gods. Yes, shocking! It is said that he spat on the idols, he burned the scriptures, and all sorts of blasphemy. He turned away from the gods. And now he suffers in the flesh for all eternity.

George knows what he did. Now he must reap what he sowed. Do you know his age? He is ninety-seven, now, older than me, older than Father Hamish, older than anyone else. And he does not repent. He curses the gods every day. The gods hear him, and they curse him in return. He will never die. He will never ascend. He will never see Heaven. Death will never come, not for him.

So listen, my children. Listen well. You must pray, every day. You must repent, every night. You must listen to your elders, and listen to the priests. Never doubt the scriptures, and always worship the gods with all your heart.

When Death comes for those you love, be not afraid. Rejoice for them, for they have been called to the Heavens. The sooner that Death calls, the better, for it means they have repented for their sins.

And when Death comes for you, my children, we will rejoice for you in turn.

Whenever that may be.

George plunged the knife deeper, creating tributaries of blood on his victim's shirt. "That aught to do it," he said, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his button down. Four victims were set out on the floor, wallowing in agony. George dragged the arms of his latest victim to loop around and touch his hips. He took the knife and slashed at the hem of the victim's pants. This would be it, finally he could be free from this eternal life.

​

George brushed back his hair with his knife wielding hand, dripping a single drop of blood onto his chin - delightful. Now he was in it, now he was dirty. The first victim finally let go and he heard the last exhale and gasp for life followed closely by what George knew DEATH hated the most. He waited, it took DEATH a few seconds to appear but multiple deaths in a room always drew it. George twisted his mouth into a wormy smile, there was the sound, the beautiful destructive sound that would leave evidence of the worst parts of the a death - the parts that people failed to talk about.

​

A black cloud spiraled forth from the cement column facing George. The robed entity slowly grew into itself pulling molecules from thin air. It's scythe tapped the ground. DEATH bent down to pull the soul from the forehead of the first vanquished mortal. "..." DEATH stopped, it's robed head turned up and locked eyes with George. "Again, really? Disgusting. Just plain disgusting you impotent mortal!" The robe fell off of DEATH's head and the skull with glaring red eyes had a look of exhaustion. "Why? Just to annoy me? To push me away? It's been what? A hundred years and you're still doing this childish gimmick? You know what, I'm just going to place you into a torture chamber. More humanity obviously isn't helping you grow up!"

​

George cackled. He doubled over with laughter. "Shit, I don't want that..." He held in laughs for only a few brief seconds. He exploded, tears rolling down his face as what he fashioned as comedy overtook him. "Funnier everytime, I swear."

​

"You're a five year old trapped in a four hundred year old's body. Come here you little - "

​

"Shit? Hahahahha!" George scampered around, careful to hop over the bodies. His foot slipped in the excrement the man had leaked out after he'd breathed his last breathe. All four victims had little piles of poo behind them and, from a bird's eye view, you could see George had been meticulous in arranging the bodies to spell out 'POOP'. It was the most juvenile serial killer DEATH had ever had to deal with and he had people that made love to skulls of their victims.

​

"This cannot...STAND!" DEATH shouted, slamming his scythe to the ground and teleporting into George's path.

​

"Of course not, they needed to eat more fiber!" At this last joke, DEATH whacked George across the temple and caught him. DEATH scraped the air opening a heinous green portal that erupted with moaning and shouting and the stench of brimstone and broccoli. He threw George into the portal. DEATH would not abide by this indignant childish gimmick any longer. Every twenty years George had done something similar but this was the most blatant disrespect to the dead DEATH had witnessed. The man deserved to have each skin cell pulled apart by the spirits of the dead for all eternity. 'POOP'? Seriously, it isn't even that funny.

​

DEATH returned to the job at hand and lifted the spirits from each body, sending them on their way to their afterlife of choice. He learned tidbits of their history as he held them for those precious few seconds. George's joke had gone a bit deeper. Each of them had been preparing for a colonoscopy today. DEATH sighed, rubbed his forehead and de-materialized. At least that was the last he would hear from George.

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