Hooks; let's write 'em.

[monomaniac101]

Oh, I loved that!
***
Running through the flames, I leap off of the ship and into the chilling water of the ocean. But I am prepared. I pull on my mask, and oxygen is supplied to me. I whip my head around, searching the foggy water in earnest. And then I see it. I see another splash from somewhere to my left and behind me a little. I kick my legs and my arms, swimming to the direction of that splash. I see someone in a mask similar to mine. I know that he is who I’m looking for. I grab his hand, and together we swim off, away from the sinking skeleton of the scorched ship.

[Saltheart]

Farmer Brown tried his best to hide. He parked his car a mile from the house; snuck around the barn, making sure to duck under the windows and jump in the hedges when she peeked her head out the window and yodeled his name; creeped in through the back door; peeked his head both ways in the hall connecting his study to the living room; and silently hid in the gloom of a dark edge of the room far from the fireplace.

While he gloated over his intellegence, Mrs. Brown stood behind him with a raker in her fat hands. She raised it and called his name, frowning. He turned around and shrieked. She brought it down, fast fast fast and hard hard hard. He raised his hands in panic or reflex.

*-*

Two hours later, he was still raking leaves in the barn and cursing her name aloud when a spaceship landed on top of his house. Or rather, through his barn, for when it landed there was no barn left. Also, there was no Farmer Brown left. At least not in solid form. He was a puddle on the floor, crushed and melted by the hot and heavy underside of its hull.

[Talysia]

She gazed in disbelief as the giant white bird slowly landed in front of her. It was like something out of the legends - the great desert bird that flew amongst the clouds and caused the winds in the world by the strokes of its wings, and yet here it was, as real as she was. Oddly enough, she wasn't afraid, not even when it brought its massive head down to regard her with immense amber eyes. Without thinking, she raised her hand to touch the jet black beak, and she marvelled at the experience.

[mosaix]

Many people are frightened of the dark. Many people are frightened of being alone. A combination of both in the middle of the night can set one's nerves on edge. Just what is that creak on the stairs? That muffled thud from the room above? People imagine that if they are going to meet a violent end that it will happen at times such as these.

Very few people, however, expect to be bludgeoned to death on the crowded steps of a church on a bright, sunny, Sunday morning and especially not by a priest.

[Saltheart]

One night in the middle of December, at approximately midnight, Mr. and Mrs. Spin's phone rang in the living room. Groggy, tired, and absolutely pissed, Mrs. Arthur Spin creaked down her stairs in pink bunny slippers, holding onto the railing. She fumbled with the phone a little, and just about the twelth ring, when the call would be missed, she managed a grip around the reciever, and held it against her head like a .44 magnum.

"Hello?" she managed to croak. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, and touched her pink haircurlers. She looked dead-tired.

"Hello?" said the voice at the end of the reciever. "Spin's residence?" She couldn't make out if it was a man or woman; it was too nasally.

Regardless, she was pissed.

"Yeah." She raised her voice, tried to make it sound stern and unappealing. Maybe that would scare them away. "What?"

The speaker was clearly taken aback. "I-I'm sorry to disturb you so late in the night..."

"Get to the point already."

The speaker stuttered a little.

"Hurry, I don't have all night."

"Your husband is dead," it said without preamble.

She stopped breathing. She fell to the chair, stunned. "What?"

[Talysia]

A funny beeping noise sounded from her handbag, and she realised that it had to be her mobile phone. Not wanting to inadvertantly call the emergency services, Amanda hurriedly unzipped the bag and rummaged around until she found the offending handset, trying to see whether any buttons had been pushed. There were three numerals on the display - all sixes - and she was about to clear the screen when she caught the phone on her hairbrush, accidentally pressing the 'call' button.

She fumbled with it, trying to cancel the call before anything happened, but for some reason it wouldn't work. Damn it, she thought, this is a brand new phone! It shouldn't be doing this! Resignedly, Amanda put the phone to her ear, running through all manner of excuses to give if - or when - someone picked up the receiver on the other end.

I regret to inform you that the master cannot come to the telephone right now, some sort of answerphone began, please leave your name...

"Ah, hello? Who is speaking?"

"I'm sorry, I dialled this number by mistake," Amanda began. The voice belonged to a well spoken man, deeply pitched and with a polished accent. "My name is Amanda, and if you don't mind..."

"Amanda, is it? Well, perhaps one of us is fortunate for this encounter. My name is De'Ath. My given name is Lucifer."

[Saltheart]

It would be impossible to say when or how it happened, or even if it was an accident or not. It just did. And I certainly didn’t trust the other me enough to stay close to all who are important to me.

For ten years I’ve been traveling from spaceport-to-spaceport, colony-to-colony, planet-to-planet, running from myself, running from my past, and running away from officers who were, without doubt, ordered to capture me and deliver me home. I jumped into hyperspace, became a bandit, a pirate, a priest, a hacker--anything I could to forget. I’ve seen it all: the Quartron Nebula, the Dasha Sector, even Earth. I’ve done everything a man could do to forget his past, bury it, forget it. I’ve even surgically removed that part of my mind.

Yet the memories still lurked, deep inside, just behind the veil of my dreams, echoing loud, incoherent nightmares. I would suddenly wake up covered in sweaty sheets, panting, screaming at my Father, who I couldn’t even remember. And the other me wouldn’t let go. He refused. The feeling of horrible deja-vu whenever I held a knife in my hand or saw a gun pointed at me jostled me, and I cursed him for it, demanding he faded away, left, packed his bags and left left left. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He refused.

[JDP]

Daniel had always thought that he would never tire of the peaceful solitude of his garden. With a sigh, he reached beneath his chair and took up the pistol, training it on the cheery lemon-yellow gate. The muzzle flashed twice, startling the pigeons that nested in the cherry tree. He saw the gate shudder under a blow and a pool of claret began to spread beneath it, soaking into the pale chalk of the path.

He had known that they would come for him, but he had not expected to be pleased about it.

[Talysia]

"With all due respect," she said, "I don't possibly see how you could help me."

She turned and walked away, leaving Alacris standing, open-mouthed, after her. All he had done was asked if she'd like any help with the assignment, knowing that she had recently been ill, but to get a reply like that? It wasn't as if their assignment was easy - far from it. It wasn't every day that the order to pilfer the official war strategies directly from the enemy camp was given, and it wasn't appreciated if you failed. Rumour had it that those who had gone back empty-handed had been chained to a rock for the wyverns to eat.

[Mhoram]

Really enjoying this thread, some great stuff so far.
This is my first post on this forum and actually, the first time I think i've ever let anyone read anything i've written (havn't been at it for too long). Please be kind.

Wern choked back a sob, he never wanted to give them the pleasure of seeing him succumb to the torment they inflicted upon him. The emotional dam could hold for only a moment this time, it fractured and crumbled and he cried out with a howl of agony. Electrocution this time. Lethal injection the last. Firing squad before that. Always different. As though they were testing out every form of execution known to man, all with the economy of only using one test subject. Each time he prayed that it would be the last, that the monsters would just let him die and stay dead. He had suffered enough for his crimes. Let me die, he prayed again and again.

He was still breathing heavily when the door to his cell cracked and swung open. His eyes widened in terror as a figure eclipsed the light streaming in through the door. Again? So soon? His throat tightened and adrenaline flooded his veins. Wern nearly fell over as he hastily scuttled back against the wall, retreating from the preceived threat of the figure's encroaching shadow.

The figure took a step foward into the cell, throwing his shadow over Wern's trembling and broken body. Wern uttered an involuntary yip of fear. The figure remained silent for several moments, waiting until Wern forced himself to look up at him before speaking.

"You are free to go, Mr. Reback." it said.

[Triceratops]

4:22 AM, February 3, 1974
Through a mist of nausea, Avy felt the bed roiling under her. Loud, harsh voices crashed in her mind, screaming out warnings and unholy declarations. An earthquake had taken hold of her world and shaken it mightily. She tried to push up from the bed but her arms did not obey. Her legs were lead, and when she tried to open her eyes for a moment, she could only see white beams flitting about. She heard a voice: “Secure the scene.” She thought this a very odd thing to say.
“That’s her all right,” said a voice.
“Avalon Labrador!” boomed another husky voice. “Are you Avalon Labrador?”
She looked to the side of the bed, commanding her eyes into focus. A large shadow loomed arrogant, a man of questionable intentions and massive girth.
“I…I’m Avy,” she said, not too sure herself. Her head ached with a pounding thrombosis. More words:
“Don’t touch the knife -- kick it off the bed with the gun butt. Will somebody find the goddamn light switch in here? Clear a path for the crime scene investigator. You there. Get that laser sight off me!"
The bedroom light flicked on and it was like a welder’s torch going off in her face. Momentarily blinded, Avy reached out with a hand and groped. Someone grabbed her by the wrist and wrestled her off the bed and onto the floor. A heavy knee came down on her back depressing her lungs. She felt her hands snapped together behind her back with something metallic and cold. “Wha….” She tried to enunciate but the wind was lost from her chest.
“You have the right to remain silent,” someone droned, “anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. If you decide that…”

(This is actually a paranormal thriller, but it opens like a detective/mystery story)

Tri

[dustinzgirl]

OK what the heck, I'll give it a shot.

The water beneath the ice moved ever so slowly as if it too were dying. The sun had long since settled beneath gliding spires of ice. The ice bridges reflected the mourning pallor of the moon, twinkling down upon the weary travelers. It was an awesome sight, but one that in its awe reminded even the most light-hearted of the group that death hid in the ice. Sometimes, death was the ice.


“”Er you been boy?” Ducky said, his accent improving to where ‘been’ sounded less like ‘bin.’


The boy took a moment’s breath. He had been nowhere, and everywhere. That was his blessing, and his curse. “Up there sir. That far most spire. It’s the last one we’ll cross, for sure.” Because the boy never stated the obvious unless there was a reason, everything the boy said was, in itself, a reason.


“What did you see boy?” The Elder asked. “Get on with it, Gypsy.” He then showed his irritation by waving the cherry pipe about. “Eh, we’ve no time for this, boy.”


The boy, who still had years to earn his name---if he could, being imprisoned like this---and had yet to memorize the stars, had fewer words than he had already given. “It’s the last spire we will cross, Elder.”


Years of dealing with Gypsy slaves, who could not lie but would never admit more than they wanted too, the Elder suppressed his urge to have the boy whipped. It would not matter, the boy would say no more on the matter. The Elder knew this because a decade of testing Gypsy torture devices had yielded no more knowledge than the Gypsy wanted to give. A beaten nation? Bah, the Elder thought as he into those odd dark eyes of the boy. More like a people in waiting.

[JDP]

The moist coolness of Geldrik's tongue cleansed first one eye, then the other, then the other. It returned to his lips dry and tasting strongly of the bitter dust that was carried on the wind. Rubbing the tip firmly across the secretory glands of his cheek pouches, he prepared for another round of grooming.

Before tasting the air again, however, Geldrik was stopped by a peculiar vibration running through his barbels. Shutting his jaw with a firm click he turned into the wind, the fine, fleshy whiskers around his head splayed in obvious curiousity. His small black eyes squinted into the haze.

Gripping the heavy whydsaw in his fist, Geldrik stropped the blade against the ground in a deliberate rhythm. After a moment of tension, he felt the familiar reply. Drawing the weapon to his breast, he resumed his ablutions and waited for Bense to reach him.

[Talysia]

Shivers wracked my entire body, and I fell to my knees as icy fingers grasped my upper arm. He had come from nowhere, and he didn't even say anything as he continued to grip my arm tightly, his long black jacket (if that's what it was) billowing out around him. I wanted to ask him why he was here and what he wanted, but the words froze in my throat.

My skin broke out in goosepimples as those icicle-like fingers held me. Scared now, I reached out my own hand to him - a pathetically trembling hand that was white with fear - hoping that the expression on my face would convey the words my voice was unable to speak, and I looked up at his face.

[Saltheart]

"Geterr off me!" yelled Rhagudan. He threw his arms up, trying the fling the black labrador away, but no matter how much he tried to shoo it, it kept slobbering his face with its cold, wet tongue.

Johanna laughed. "Down boy," she said. She whistled. The dog stopped and ran back inside the fence to her, sitting at her feet, its tail wagging back and forth. She crouched and scratched its ears. It lied down on the side of its belly and squirmed happily.

"Seems to like you, this one," she said after a while, looking up. "Yes sir. Wanna give it a good home?" she asked, much to Rhagudan's ire.

He stared at the supid beast, reaching out for a napkin inside his shirt pocket. "Don't have much of a choice, do I?" he grunted, wiping his face. The dog was now staring at him with an innocent grin on its face as it sat at its owner's feert. Give me a chance, it said. I won't bite. I'll love you very much. I'll guard your home. I won't even complain.