Poetry competition CLOSED 13th September 2015 5:58am
WINNER
LobodeSanPedro
LobodeSanPedro
RUNNERS-UP:
blue_angel
and ilovescarystories
- - - SAW - - -
I'm still trying to make sure my trap is Jigsaw worthy ... and scientifically valid, I'm a stickler for research lol
P.S. ... And I was trying to recruit my nephew to illustrate it for me but he's camped out at Dragon Con in Atlanta
P.S. ... And I was trying to recruit my nephew to illustrate it for me but he's camped out at Dragon Con in Atlanta
LobodeSanPedro said:I'm still trying to make sure my trap is Jigsaw worthy ... and scientifically valid, I'm a stickler for research lol
P.S. ... And I was trying to recruit my nephew to illustrate it for me but he's camped out at Dragon Con in Atlanta
Damn, I wanted to go to that. You figured I would have by now, since Atlanta is practically right down the street from me, but alas, duty calls.
P.S. ... And I was trying to recruit my nephew to illustrate it for me but he's camped out at Dragon Con in Atlanta
Damn, I wanted to go to that. You figured I would have by now, since Atlanta is practically right down the street from me, but alas, duty calls.
I 'Saw' Horror. [edited]
The sound of the television's static bites at my ears. My blurred vision matches the thick haze swirling in my mind, as I slowly awaken. What the hell has happened to me? I realize from the aches pulsing through my body that I am naked, chained and strapped to a chair. An unfamiliar metal chair in my own home, facing the entry door. However, it's what's hanging between me and the door that frightens me the most, a double barrel shot gun, pointing directly at my face. What the fuck is going on! The last thing I remember is dozing off on the couch last night. I can't even remember what movie I was watching, none of that matters. Who the hell would do something like this to me?
I notice a scalpel, and the t.v remote lying on the chair between my splayed thighs. Just within finger tips reach. My wrists are chained with a heavy lock at my stomach, rather than to the arms of the chair. The leather straps over my thighs, cinching me tightly to the chair, matches the ones strapping my biceps to my torsal and back to this sinister chair. My head is cinched to the chair, my mouth gagged. I assume the same binding is holding my legs to each front leg of the chair. I can't budge at all, and the chair is possibly bolted to the floor, because I can't shake it. The chair reminds me of the electric chair, used for executions. "Help! Somebody, anybody." I try to yell but the gag refuses such attempts. I struggle against the restraints, knowing full well that my muffles for help are useless. I cut my eyes over at the tv, and see a note taped to its lower edge, saying, Push Play. I pressed my middle finger's tip against the play button on the remote.
The screen etched to life with a wretched clown faced puppet peddling from a shadowed corridor on a squeaky tricycle. Although it was vile, the voice that followed did not match the evil toy's face. "I want to play a game," sliced over the air waves. A deep voice I failed to recognize.
"Who are you, what do you want from me?" I try desperately to mumble through the wooly gag. The voice continued. "You don't know me, but I know you, and I've seen how you victimize those around you, especially your wife. Beating her unmercifully for no reason, and if she's late from work she suffers your hands the most. She'll be home in fifteen minutes, for fear of your cruelty." I cut my eyes to the clock on the wall, he's right she's on her way home. "And you, you set high in your office dictating through your narrow browed psychological jargon on how other's should live their pitiful lives. Such an unworthy hypocrite. Today you'll have to earn that powerful life that you've been taking for granted. To live you'll have to slice open your belly to retrieve the key that unlocks your hands. With your hands free you can undo your restraints, and perhaps she can get you to a hospital before you bleed to death. If you fail to do this task. Well, as you can see the door, when opened, will pull the trigger on the gun. The blast will remove your head from your shoulders. Time's a wasting, hehehehehe." The heinous laughter faded into a flicker of static before the screen went black.
My god! I looked back at the clock, then back down at the scalpel. He's insane, this is pure insanity, I don't deserve this. Sweat drips down my forehead into my eyes, burning and blurring them. I stretch my fingers to reach the blade, it slips vicariously about, nearly falling to the floor. "Fuck!" My pulse is pounding in my ears. I finally get the blade pinched up between my finger tips, and work it into my hand better. I glance back at the clock, damn three minutes has burned away already. I try reaching the lock with the scalpel to maybe pick the lock, but it doesn't work. I'm just wasting precious time. Then I felt the freshly sown incision just below my navel. "Mother fucker!" I swear, I'll beat that bastard to death if I live through this! I tense my body and press the scalpel against the wound. "Shit!" I stopped pressing when electric needles of pain shoot through my nerves. The pain is unbearable! I can't do this. I squeeze my eyes shut and press harder into the tender area. A shudder wracks over me, and I look back at the clock then my heart ceases a beat when I hear the dull metal tumbles of a key being inserted into the door knob! Nooo, the bitch is early! I jerk in a frenzy against the restraints, murmuring stop! "Stop!"
The door swings open, our eyes meet then... Boom!
Game over.
The sound of the television's static bites at my ears. My blurred vision matches the thick haze swirling in my mind, as I slowly awaken. What the hell has happened to me? I realize from the aches pulsing through my body that I am naked, chained and strapped to a chair. An unfamiliar metal chair in my own home, facing the entry door. However, it's what's hanging between me and the door that frightens me the most, a double barrel shot gun, pointing directly at my face. What the fuck is going on! The last thing I remember is dozing off on the couch last night. I can't even remember what movie I was watching, none of that matters. Who the hell would do something like this to me?
I notice a scalpel, and the t.v remote lying on the chair between my splayed thighs. Just within finger tips reach. My wrists are chained with a heavy lock at my stomach, rather than to the arms of the chair. The leather straps over my thighs, cinching me tightly to the chair, matches the ones strapping my biceps to my torsal and back to this sinister chair. My head is cinched to the chair, my mouth gagged. I assume the same binding is holding my legs to each front leg of the chair. I can't budge at all, and the chair is possibly bolted to the floor, because I can't shake it. The chair reminds me of the electric chair, used for executions. "Help! Somebody, anybody." I try to yell but the gag refuses such attempts. I struggle against the restraints, knowing full well that my muffles for help are useless. I cut my eyes over at the tv, and see a note taped to its lower edge, saying, Push Play. I pressed my middle finger's tip against the play button on the remote.
The screen etched to life with a wretched clown faced puppet peddling from a shadowed corridor on a squeaky tricycle. Although it was vile, the voice that followed did not match the evil toy's face. "I want to play a game," sliced over the air waves. A deep voice I failed to recognize.
"Who are you, what do you want from me?" I try desperately to mumble through the wooly gag. The voice continued. "You don't know me, but I know you, and I've seen how you victimize those around you, especially your wife. Beating her unmercifully for no reason, and if she's late from work she suffers your hands the most. She'll be home in fifteen minutes, for fear of your cruelty." I cut my eyes to the clock on the wall, he's right she's on her way home. "And you, you set high in your office dictating through your narrow browed psychological jargon on how other's should live their pitiful lives. Such an unworthy hypocrite. Today you'll have to earn that powerful life that you've been taking for granted. To live you'll have to slice open your belly to retrieve the key that unlocks your hands. With your hands free you can undo your restraints, and perhaps she can get you to a hospital before you bleed to death. If you fail to do this task. Well, as you can see the door, when opened, will pull the trigger on the gun. The blast will remove your head from your shoulders. Time's a wasting, hehehehehe." The heinous laughter faded into a flicker of static before the screen went black.
My god! I looked back at the clock, then back down at the scalpel. He's insane, this is pure insanity, I don't deserve this. Sweat drips down my forehead into my eyes, burning and blurring them. I stretch my fingers to reach the blade, it slips vicariously about, nearly falling to the floor. "Fuck!" My pulse is pounding in my ears. I finally get the blade pinched up between my finger tips, and work it into my hand better. I glance back at the clock, damn three minutes has burned away already. I try reaching the lock with the scalpel to maybe pick the lock, but it doesn't work. I'm just wasting precious time. Then I felt the freshly sown incision just below my navel. "Mother fucker!" I swear, I'll beat that bastard to death if I live through this! I tense my body and press the scalpel against the wound. "Shit!" I stopped pressing when electric needles of pain shoot through my nerves. The pain is unbearable! I can't do this. I squeeze my eyes shut and press harder into the tender area. A shudder wracks over me, and I look back at the clock then my heart ceases a beat when I hear the dull metal tumbles of a key being inserted into the door knob! Nooo, the bitch is early! I jerk in a frenzy against the restraints, murmuring stop! "Stop!"
The door swings open, our eyes meet then... Boom!
Game over.
http://img.weburbanist.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/abandoned-fish-cannery-11c-468x311.jpg
http://www.totalprosports.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/jaws-eating-quint-shark-gifs.gif
One fish ...
He could hear the cool yearnings of the ocean behind him. She was gurgling softly the way a baby does when it wants to be played with, and it soothed him. He loved the water. His eyes fluttered to find the light, and there it was in front of him, bouncing off the dappled reflections of what seemed like a hundred orange bellied fish in a tank.
He struggled to make sense of it all as his lungs filled with the acrid smell of disinfectant that had lost it's battle. The shrill screams of gulls told him he was near water, but where he thought? They were screaming unmercifully which told him they were fighting for food.
They were outside squabbling, and he was inside an indecipherable room bound with fishing wire and hooks from the waist down making him look a merman.
The room was rancid, and reeked of ammonia and plasma from the dead and forgotten. The concrete death chamber had steel chains and meat hooks dangling like confetti from it's beams above him.
Then he heard a voice bounding off the stained walls coming from a small television set he hadn't noticed before ..
One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish
Black fish, blue fish, old fish, new fish
This one has a little star
This one has a little car
Say! What a lot
Of fish there are
Hello Mike. I want to play a game.
Wait who are you?! And the how'd the fuck do you know my name?
Names aren't important they don't dictate life
Not like your kids, your job or a cherished wife
Unless of course, one's what you call a "mere fish"
Hooked, gutted and broiled, then served on a dish
Wait this is insane why am I tied like this in here?
And that thing behind me is that a shark in there?
Ah yes indeed you recognize your own kind swimming in the tank
A slumlord like you needs jagged teeth to get money in the bank
Careful with those bindings Mike, you're cutting into your skin
Your blood's dripping into the pool, stirring your hungry kin
Wait, wait a fucking minute this isn't fair!
If I didn't help those people who would care?
Care? Is that what you called it when the poor couldn't pay
The things you did to those single mothers just to have your way
You got one of them pregnant and what did you do in the end?
You called up immigration just to have her deported again
But what's with the wire? Why all the fish?
Some call this karma. I call it justice.
The key to your freedom is swimming in that water
You'll get the same chance to escape that you gave your daughter
That tank you see in front of you is filled with a hundred hungry piranha
Tucked inside one is a key to freedom's door, find it or else you're a goner
Because you see the tank behind you has my black tipped friend named Royce
You must find that key in time Mikey, live or die you make the choice.
One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish
Black fish, blue fish, old fish, new fish
This one has a little star
This one has a little car
Say! What a lot
Of fish there are
Some are sad
And some are glad
And some are very, very bad
The television set went black.
And out of sheer panic, he lunged forward pulling the trip chord woven into his bindings. So began his countdown to death, or a new life.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Each thunderous clack put him a nanosecond closer to a new fate.
Bound as he was we couldn't walk across the floor to the tank of hungry piranha. He had to wriggle on his sides, like a fish out of water, writhing in pain from hooks nestled within the fishtail enclosure. As he moved, he noticed that floor was tilted thus sending trickles of his blood behind him into the tank with "Royce".
Bait.
As he moved closer to the piranhas he noticed that the floor kept moving, at an angle. Each hellish degree tipping him and the tank with the key, towards the biggest bully in the room.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The piranha tank was only 35 feet away but it might as well have been thirty five hundred with the way the hooks were digging into his flesh.
At the tank he pressed his face and hands against the glass the way a three year old does on their first magical visit to a pet shop. His eyes darted about looking for some tell as to which fish held the key that would set him free; but there was no time for reason.
Desperation fueled by blind fear forced him to plunge his hands into the tank and his limbs were immediately attacked by the swarm. The razor like cuts of the piranhas were ripping his flesh yet he endured.
He grabbed as many as he could pulling them out of the tank. Then without hesitation nor reservation he bit each one in half searching for the taste of cold steel, his key to freedom.
He kept grabbing and biting, grabbing and biting, until his palate became immune to the taste of raw fish intestines and spiny bones.
One fish, two fish, fifteen, twenty, thirty. The dead and the weak were stockpiling at his feet, yet no key.
Then finally, eureka! He felt it first on his tongue almost letting it slip down his throat. Reflexes forced him to cough it out. The key hit the floor and seemed to laugh at him like a child running away in a game of catch me, except this child was running straight towards hell.
The floor was now fiercely tilted and the key slid effortlessly down the slope. He dove after it, desperate to catch it before "Royce" did.
The key came to a hurried stop at the very edge of the pool, allowing him to cup it in that moment. He sat up almost crying, tears running past the blood and guts that stained his lips.
And just as he was about to get up and figure an escape route across the tilted floor and to the doorway, the room went black.
The scent of blood and piranha chum had been to much for the ravenous Royce. He spotted Mike at the edge of the tank and jumped up, first snapping off his head - saturating Mike's last sight with blood and cartilage.
The rest of his torso was devoured in chunks as well, leaving the merman's plastic fin and tail to sink to the bottom.
Game over
-------------------------------------------------
Post credits:
Over the phone:
Yes, I know from your website you don't take animals back for a refund. I'm not asking for one. Consider it a donation. And yes, he's been well feed.
http://www.sharksupply.com
http://www.totalprosports.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/jaws-eating-quint-shark-gifs.gif One fish ...
He could hear the cool yearnings of the ocean behind him. She was gurgling softly the way a baby does when it wants to be played with, and it soothed him. He loved the water. His eyes fluttered to find the light, and there it was in front of him, bouncing off the dappled reflections of what seemed like a hundred orange bellied fish in a tank.
He struggled to make sense of it all as his lungs filled with the acrid smell of disinfectant that had lost it's battle. The shrill screams of gulls told him he was near water, but where he thought? They were screaming unmercifully which told him they were fighting for food.
They were outside squabbling, and he was inside an indecipherable room bound with fishing wire and hooks from the waist down making him look a merman.
The room was rancid, and reeked of ammonia and plasma from the dead and forgotten. The concrete death chamber had steel chains and meat hooks dangling like confetti from it's beams above him.
Then he heard a voice bounding off the stained walls coming from a small television set he hadn't noticed before ..
One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish
Black fish, blue fish, old fish, new fish
This one has a little star
This one has a little car
Say! What a lot
Of fish there are
Hello Mike. I want to play a game.
Wait who are you?! And the how'd the fuck do you know my name?
Names aren't important they don't dictate life
Not like your kids, your job or a cherished wife
Unless of course, one's what you call a "mere fish"
Hooked, gutted and broiled, then served on a dish
Wait this is insane why am I tied like this in here?
And that thing behind me is that a shark in there?
Ah yes indeed you recognize your own kind swimming in the tank
A slumlord like you needs jagged teeth to get money in the bank
Careful with those bindings Mike, you're cutting into your skin
Your blood's dripping into the pool, stirring your hungry kin
Wait, wait a fucking minute this isn't fair!
If I didn't help those people who would care?
Care? Is that what you called it when the poor couldn't pay
The things you did to those single mothers just to have your way
You got one of them pregnant and what did you do in the end?
You called up immigration just to have her deported again
But what's with the wire? Why all the fish?
Some call this karma. I call it justice.
The key to your freedom is swimming in that water
You'll get the same chance to escape that you gave your daughter
That tank you see in front of you is filled with a hundred hungry piranha
Tucked inside one is a key to freedom's door, find it or else you're a goner
Because you see the tank behind you has my black tipped friend named Royce
You must find that key in time Mikey, live or die you make the choice.
One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish
Black fish, blue fish, old fish, new fish
This one has a little star
This one has a little car
Say! What a lot
Of fish there are
Some are sad
And some are glad
And some are very, very bad
The television set went black.
And out of sheer panic, he lunged forward pulling the trip chord woven into his bindings. So began his countdown to death, or a new life.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Each thunderous clack put him a nanosecond closer to a new fate.
Bound as he was we couldn't walk across the floor to the tank of hungry piranha. He had to wriggle on his sides, like a fish out of water, writhing in pain from hooks nestled within the fishtail enclosure. As he moved, he noticed that floor was tilted thus sending trickles of his blood behind him into the tank with "Royce".
Bait.
As he moved closer to the piranhas he noticed that the floor kept moving, at an angle. Each hellish degree tipping him and the tank with the key, towards the biggest bully in the room.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The piranha tank was only 35 feet away but it might as well have been thirty five hundred with the way the hooks were digging into his flesh.
At the tank he pressed his face and hands against the glass the way a three year old does on their first magical visit to a pet shop. His eyes darted about looking for some tell as to which fish held the key that would set him free; but there was no time for reason.
Desperation fueled by blind fear forced him to plunge his hands into the tank and his limbs were immediately attacked by the swarm. The razor like cuts of the piranhas were ripping his flesh yet he endured.
He grabbed as many as he could pulling them out of the tank. Then without hesitation nor reservation he bit each one in half searching for the taste of cold steel, his key to freedom.
He kept grabbing and biting, grabbing and biting, until his palate became immune to the taste of raw fish intestines and spiny bones.
One fish, two fish, fifteen, twenty, thirty. The dead and the weak were stockpiling at his feet, yet no key.
Then finally, eureka! He felt it first on his tongue almost letting it slip down his throat. Reflexes forced him to cough it out. The key hit the floor and seemed to laugh at him like a child running away in a game of catch me, except this child was running straight towards hell.
The floor was now fiercely tilted and the key slid effortlessly down the slope. He dove after it, desperate to catch it before "Royce" did.
The key came to a hurried stop at the very edge of the pool, allowing him to cup it in that moment. He sat up almost crying, tears running past the blood and guts that stained his lips.
And just as he was about to get up and figure an escape route across the tilted floor and to the doorway, the room went black.
The scent of blood and piranha chum had been to much for the ravenous Royce. He spotted Mike at the edge of the tank and jumped up, first snapping off his head - saturating Mike's last sight with blood and cartilage.
The rest of his torso was devoured in chunks as well, leaving the merman's plastic fin and tail to sink to the bottom.
Game over
-------------------------------------------------
Post credits:
Over the phone:
Yes, I know from your website you don't take animals back for a refund. I'm not asking for one. Consider it a donation. And yes, he's been well feed.
http://www.sharksupply.com
