I came to in a chair, my arms bound behind. My legs were spread; two ropes ran around them then to the rope on my wrists keeping them apart.
From the fog that clouded my memory and the sensation that my brain was being pecked at by a murder of crows I could tell I'd been drugged.
I heard a noise some feet away and tried to speak. That is when I noticed the tape sealing my mouth. Drugs be damned, my heart raced wildly.
From the shadows came a voice. "The sedative will wear off soon, then we can begin." I struggled violently but became nauseous, so I ceased.
My mind began to clear and I made a list of enemies, anyone who would want to hurt me. But did that matter if I couldn't escape? Not at all.
I tried to take stock of my surroundings, but the light was so low that I could've barely seen my hands had I been able to lift them at all.
"It's important for the sedative to be out of your system completely if you are to truly feel the pain you are about to receive." Footsteps.
Those were the last words he said. A moment later I felt my side open up. I bucked in the chair, but no use. A small blade tore at my cheek.I bore several small cuts and felt blood run over my skin. I began to sweat, and could feel the tape on my mouth loosen, liberating my lips.
The last sound I heard? The change of instruments, a scratching of metal. My chest split, a hand around my heart, I lost my sight and slept.
7/27/2009
A Fine Line Between Pleasure and Pain
I learned a lot the first time I died. I was 240 years old, and by that point thought myself impervious, so it came as quite a shock to me.
One hot night in 1192 I was taking a walk in the garden of my host. I was on holiday in Marrakech, Morocco and it was too sweltry to sleep.
After the dusty and carnivorous smells of the marketplace, it was a comfort to breathe in the jasmine that created a border of white blooms.
I bent to squeeze a toadflax bud and watched with joy as its violet petals exited their hiding place. 240 years had not robbed me of wonder.
Standing again, I knew someone was behind me. I turned to find a beauty with almond eyes in a long silk garment smiling at me. I turned red.
My tongue stumbled over an introduction. "I know who you are," she said. I asked her source of knowledge. She did not respond, but moved in.
"You are much more handsome than I imagined," she said. Then her arm was around me, her leg between my own pair. My loins responded eagerly.
She shuddered against me in pleasure. I dared to reach up and touch her soft breast and then I felt it: a burning in my back. No, a ripping.
The knife tore up my back. "Did you think an abomination such as yourself could walk unnoticed among God's children?" she demanded, smiling.
I have suffered several violent deaths, mostly at the hands of religious fanatics, but I learned to allow the pain to bring me back to life.
One hot night in 1192 I was taking a walk in the garden of my host. I was on holiday in Marrakech, Morocco and it was too sweltry to sleep.
After the dusty and carnivorous smells of the marketplace, it was a comfort to breathe in the jasmine that created a border of white blooms.
I bent to squeeze a toadflax bud and watched with joy as its violet petals exited their hiding place. 240 years had not robbed me of wonder.
Standing again, I knew someone was behind me. I turned to find a beauty with almond eyes in a long silk garment smiling at me. I turned red.
My tongue stumbled over an introduction. "I know who you are," she said. I asked her source of knowledge. She did not respond, but moved in.
"You are much more handsome than I imagined," she said. Then her arm was around me, her leg between my own pair. My loins responded eagerly.
She shuddered against me in pleasure. I dared to reach up and touch her soft breast and then I felt it: a burning in my back. No, a ripping.
The knife tore up my back. "Did you think an abomination such as yourself could walk unnoticed among God's children?" she demanded, smiling.
I have suffered several violent deaths, mostly at the hands of religious fanatics, but I learned to allow the pain to bring me back to life.
6/28/2009
Alien? But, baby...
"Do you come here often?" The second the words escaped my lips I knew exactly how stupid I sounded. I mentally slapped my forehead in shame.
"No. It's my first time." I had trouble placing his minor accent. "I just arrived here." So he was new in town. Who doesn't love fresh meat?
"Oh? Where are you from?" This was not one of my finer pickups, but I was too horny to care. He didn't know, but he was coming home with me.
"You've never heard if it. Want to get out of here?" I was shocked. I am used to being the aggressor even if my lines are sometimes cliched.
We wasted no time leaving and hailing a taxi. The ride to my place was spent sparring spastically with our tongues. Based on points, he won.
Once inside I removed my clothes quickly, but he stalled. I tried to remove his pants, but he stopped me. "I should tell you..." he started.
My mind raced through terrible scenarios. He has HIV, or worse, herpes. He's got a vagina. Something horrible. "I'm not from here," he said.
I was flooded with relief. "I know. You told me." I reached again to undo his jeans, but he wouldn't let me. "No," he said, "I'm an alien."
"It's cool," I told him. "My grandparents were immigrants." He tried to reject my hand from his button fly but I was too fast to be stopped.
He was alien indeed. It was pretty in color, but terrifying. So I put on a blindfold and let him fuck me. And that's why I need an abortion.
"No. It's my first time." I had trouble placing his minor accent. "I just arrived here." So he was new in town. Who doesn't love fresh meat?
"Oh? Where are you from?" This was not one of my finer pickups, but I was too horny to care. He didn't know, but he was coming home with me.
"You've never heard if it. Want to get out of here?" I was shocked. I am used to being the aggressor even if my lines are sometimes cliched.
We wasted no time leaving and hailing a taxi. The ride to my place was spent sparring spastically with our tongues. Based on points, he won.
Once inside I removed my clothes quickly, but he stalled. I tried to remove his pants, but he stopped me. "I should tell you..." he started.
My mind raced through terrible scenarios. He has HIV, or worse, herpes. He's got a vagina. Something horrible. "I'm not from here," he said.
I was flooded with relief. "I know. You told me." I reached again to undo his jeans, but he wouldn't let me. "No," he said, "I'm an alien."
"It's cool," I told him. "My grandparents were immigrants." He tried to reject my hand from his button fly but I was too fast to be stopped.
He was alien indeed. It was pretty in color, but terrifying. So I put on a blindfold and let him fuck me. And that's why I need an abortion.
5/31/2009
Billy, The Human Flag
(This story comes to us from Jeremy Balli in Modesto, CA)
Billy used to weigh 600 lbs. and his mom told him "Baby, you're morbidly obese.” to which he replied, "What's so morbid about it?"
A cheeky remark like that cost him big time, no pun intended. His mom, normally a nice woman, locked him in the garage with a broken Buick.
The Buick, wasting away with him, became petrified after 10 years of neglect. He emerged from the garage a human flag, weighing 140 lbs.
His skin was stretched so that on a windy day, it waved in the air and all of the neighborhood cats put their paws to their heads in salute.
Often, his skin would lead and his legs would trip over them. Boy did his mom feel foolish, locking him away to starve. Her bad i suppose.
He was always a very lonely boy and he cried to me and said "you're the only friend I have in the world."
I thought the world must be a small place if i'm the only friend in it. I suggested surgery to rid himself of the excess skin. He did it.
The doctors cut the excess skin and used it to make tents at the old shanty town just north of home where the homeless were grateful.
He had stretch marks. I glanced at him in the lockeroom and saw that his body resembled a freeway; with off-ramps, on-ramps and junctions.
Billy pointed to his left nipple. "That's my house." I was saddened but also relieved that, at last, Billy had become useful.
Billy used to weigh 600 lbs. and his mom told him "Baby, you're morbidly obese.” to which he replied, "What's so morbid about it?"
A cheeky remark like that cost him big time, no pun intended. His mom, normally a nice woman, locked him in the garage with a broken Buick.
The Buick, wasting away with him, became petrified after 10 years of neglect. He emerged from the garage a human flag, weighing 140 lbs.
His skin was stretched so that on a windy day, it waved in the air and all of the neighborhood cats put their paws to their heads in salute.
Often, his skin would lead and his legs would trip over them. Boy did his mom feel foolish, locking him away to starve. Her bad i suppose.
He was always a very lonely boy and he cried to me and said "you're the only friend I have in the world."
I thought the world must be a small place if i'm the only friend in it. I suggested surgery to rid himself of the excess skin. He did it.
The doctors cut the excess skin and used it to make tents at the old shanty town just north of home where the homeless were grateful.
He had stretch marks. I glanced at him in the lockeroom and saw that his body resembled a freeway; with off-ramps, on-ramps and junctions.
Billy pointed to his left nipple. "That's my house." I was saddened but also relieved that, at last, Billy had become useful.
Webmaster's Comment.
Just a note to let you know that I will be splitting the site into 2 categories from now on: Perfect 1140's & Near Misses. Perfect 1140's will be stories that use exactly 1140 characters, and Near Misses will be stories that come very close. Also I have my first submission from someone else that I will be posting either later tonight or tomorrow, so stay tuned, you'll love it!
5/29/2009
The Happy Heister
Have you ever stolen anything? I have. Lots of things. Sometimes it's just small things like a candy bar or a salt shaker. Or a pinkie ring.
Sometimes it's big things like a refrigerator or a television. Once I stole an army tank and drove it on the freeway while the cops watched.
I never sell the things I steal; I don't need the money. I have storage sheds full of items that aren't mine hidden around my immense manor.
I have no motive for stealing other than the act itself pleases me, sort of like how a dancer feels after completing a terrific pas de deux.
I never thieve impulsively, because the beauty is in the planning. There is so much to consider in each case that it must be perfectly done.
I've watched households for weeks to learn their schedules. I've studied numerous alarm systems. I have maps of all the city sewers at home.
I find it amusing to invade gated communities and take numbers off a house or a remote control from a sofa or a battery from an alarm clock.
I almost got caught stealing an ice cream truck once. It was around one a.m. and I got stopped by a cop, but he just wanted some soft serve.
If my friends ever found out I'd be ostracized. High society only approves of white-collar cons and schemers, not outlaw collectors like me.
But to resist the urge would be to deny my very self. This is who I am, a jokester hijacker, a prankish purloiner, a laughing larcenist. Me.
Sometimes it's big things like a refrigerator or a television. Once I stole an army tank and drove it on the freeway while the cops watched.
I never sell the things I steal; I don't need the money. I have storage sheds full of items that aren't mine hidden around my immense manor.
I have no motive for stealing other than the act itself pleases me, sort of like how a dancer feels after completing a terrific pas de deux.
I never thieve impulsively, because the beauty is in the planning. There is so much to consider in each case that it must be perfectly done.
I've watched households for weeks to learn their schedules. I've studied numerous alarm systems. I have maps of all the city sewers at home.
I find it amusing to invade gated communities and take numbers off a house or a remote control from a sofa or a battery from an alarm clock.
I almost got caught stealing an ice cream truck once. It was around one a.m. and I got stopped by a cop, but he just wanted some soft serve.
If my friends ever found out I'd be ostracized. High society only approves of white-collar cons and schemers, not outlaw collectors like me.
But to resist the urge would be to deny my very self. This is who I am, a jokester hijacker, a prankish purloiner, a laughing larcenist. Me.
5/20/2009
Superman's My Kryptonite.
It's harder than you think to be the secret gay lover of a man with a secret identity, but I couldn't have known that when I first met Dion.
I probably wouldn't have known of his mutation, or as he likes to say, superpowers, if I hadn't crept into his house that night 3 years ago.
We had been dating about two months and I wanted to surprise him by having a nice dinner waiting for him when he came home. Not a good idea.
I came in through an open window and found him not at his day job, but in his room shedding his skin. He saw me when I puked in the doorway.
Once you get past the nausea-inducing process of the change it can be really fun dating a guy with the ability to look like anyone on earth.
It's not all good though. I never get to meet his friends The Hero Herd, and I get jealous. He's always with guys in spandex and hot bodies.
And just once I'd like a shout out in a press release after he catches a crook. You know, like, this one's for Patrick, the love of my life.
There is one person who knows, his arch-nemesis The Gargoyle. He kidnapped me once. He was actually very civil, wine and cheese in the cell.
Dion rescued me of course, but I had to pretend not to know him after the news showed up. And now The Gargoyle is in some supervillian jail.
I'm mostly happy. I may never meet his mother or have his name, but I'm working on a 3-way with The Javelin who I hear is very well endowed.
I probably wouldn't have known of his mutation, or as he likes to say, superpowers, if I hadn't crept into his house that night 3 years ago.
We had been dating about two months and I wanted to surprise him by having a nice dinner waiting for him when he came home. Not a good idea.
I came in through an open window and found him not at his day job, but in his room shedding his skin. He saw me when I puked in the doorway.
Once you get past the nausea-inducing process of the change it can be really fun dating a guy with the ability to look like anyone on earth.
It's not all good though. I never get to meet his friends The Hero Herd, and I get jealous. He's always with guys in spandex and hot bodies.
And just once I'd like a shout out in a press release after he catches a crook. You know, like, this one's for Patrick, the love of my life.
There is one person who knows, his arch-nemesis The Gargoyle. He kidnapped me once. He was actually very civil, wine and cheese in the cell.
Dion rescued me of course, but I had to pretend not to know him after the news showed up. And now The Gargoyle is in some supervillian jail.
I'm mostly happy. I may never meet his mother or have his name, but I'm working on a 3-way with The Javelin who I hear is very well endowed.
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