Quick, pick a utensil out of the lot...

...to murder someone with.​

Describe, with precise detail, who your target is and how you would [hypothetically] murder them.

LARiA's target - Makaze ​

Him and I finally meet. He drives me fro the airport, and we arrive at his dingy shack of a house (by 3:30 pm), I feign drowsiness and he, ever the polite one, shows me to my room. There I deliberately collapse into bed, shut my eyes and still all movement. I wait. Knowing him, and judging by the pony pajamas he attired in and showed up in in the airport, he had waken up minutes before picking me up; the man suffers from chronic insomnia, crashing at 7 am in the morning and arousing from bed at 5 or 6 pm in the afternoon. I, of course, knew this beforehand. Must have been quite a struggle for him to spring out of the house (at 3 pm!), readying himself to pick me up from the 'port. Now he, however eager, would need to crash. I listen for any sound, and once the coast is clear and the house is absolutely, and utterly, silent...

My chance! I leap from the bed, giddy as could be, and speed into his kitchen. Swivel self around, head turning and neck craning... where was it, where was it... aha! The lower drawer, nearest the stove and to the right! Bingo!

Pull open the drawer, and gingerly haul out...

A BUTCHER'S KNIFE!

Grinning like a fool and being none-too-ladylike, I regain composure. Remember what I came here for. The man threw kittens for fun, he talked of "control" and of only himself, the man was a monster. The world would like nothing better than to rid itself of these cretin. And who else to do it than I? I would do it the old-fashioned way. One foot in front of the other, creeping along the wall, she sneaked through his half-open door, a puss. Pay dearly he would. With my right hand cradling the knife, I lift it up, up, up...

And down it goes! Slicing his head off with one blow. Smiling weakly, my eyes water and I begin to tear when my feet hit solid ground - reality- and I realize...

He hadn't a chance.

 

My high school reunion. Among my friends with whom I recall sharing many fond memories, I notice the presence of one black sheep. Dominic. I approach him, with the seemingly innocent intent of making things right once and for all. Little does he know that though I intend to make things right, that righteousness will apply only to myself. I walk toward him, a pair of chopsticks concealed under my sleeve. I chat him up, he has a couple drinks while I remain sober. Later, I take him out into the hall to "make amends." Once I'm sure we're alone, I strike. He never sees it coming. The chopsticks come out of my sleeve and skewer his neck in a flash. He falls to the ground in a slump, but not before I kick him in the groin to ensure that his final moments are as painful as possible.

 

Oh, this is quite a challenge. You see, I am a fan of impact weapons. Percussion is my passion. All of these are light and not at all suited to my style of slaughter. Scooping, stabbing, slicing? Do you have no thoughts of satisfaction? A smooth hit to cave in the skull is the best method of murder. A cringe-worthy crunch as the ribs shatter is satisfying beyond measure.

I could select 'Other' and thus use a saucepan, but where's the glory in that? No, I'll obey the rules.



> Random Member: Commit Murder

You track down your target, FIREKEYBLADE via the internet. It's not particularly hard, as she has been lax with information, and entrusted her Facebook to multiple KHV members. Little does she know your true intentions. Through careful analysis, you identify her location, habits and movements. you know where and when she will be, and who she'll be with.


==>


You steal your parents' credit cards and purchase a ticket to the USA online. you also order a large MELON SCOOPER from Ebay, with which to do the deed. You get on the plane without event, and make your way to intercept FIREKEYBLADE on her way home. You see her, and wait for her to turn off down a side alley. In this grungy place, well suited for your dastardly crime, you stealthily sneak up behind her, equip the MELON SCOOPER to your strife specibus and loop it around the front of her neck and pull back. She gags and struggles to be free of her assailant, trying to break your grip. Because you are particularly weak, she succeeds.


==>


You toss away the MELON SCOOPER and equip your trusty BUTCHER'S KNIFE. You wonder why you did not do this sooner. You then stab FIREKEYBLADE in the stomach, incapacitating her. You equip a BUTTERKNIFE and make yourself some SICK JAM SANDWICHES. You love your jam sandwiches.


==>


You eat your SICK JAM SANDWICHES as FIREKEYBLADE slowly bleeds to death. You feel mild regret that you did not put your UTENSILKIND strife modus to full use.

 

It's a warm summer evening, and the wind has never felt so good. A shame about the wind, though. You hear blood gets pretty tossed around in a breeze. Your fingers are wrapped around a spoon, gripping the plastic utensil with an inhuman force. As the sun begins to set, you turn and stride down the road. Ah. There he is. It's Nyan Cat. You take a deep breath and dash towards him. Your hair flies back as you rush towards towards the mythical being. You jump over a planking pedestrian and strike the cat's dangling tail. The beast swings its mighty head down to stare into your eyes. You clear your throat and smile sheepishly. The cat tackles you, sending you tumbling into the street. You hop to your feet and leap onto the windshield of an oncoming truck. Your precarious perch is moving increasingly faster. As your eyes follow the Poptart-like being, you frown. The end credits of Portal are playing through your head. Not today. You leap off of the vehicle and roll onto the sidewalk. You once more impact the planker. Good Lord, when will he learn his lesson. You kick him once for good measure and turn back to Nyan Cat. Say good-night, memey. You twirl the plastic spoon in your hand and smirk. One hit is all it takes. You kick it into top gear and dive towards the cat. You swing your spoon, smashing into its strawberry side. It flies into the planker, sending the fool tumbling into the street. The cat, unbalanced like a turtle, attempts to stretch to its feet, but fails miserably. You slowly walk to the beast and sigh. You hate to ruin a breeze.


Nyan, nyan, nyan, ny-

 

Makaze wandered through the hotel room with restless energy. He had been waiting on LARiA for some time now. What was taking her so long? He began worrying that she might be playing a trick on him, having him come out here for nothing. And she had been so inviting. But this was not the first time she had betrayed him, he got to thinking. She had been getting more distant lately, hadn't she? She seemed to be spending a lot her time on other people, forgetting about Makaze. Makaze did not like the thought of that, he felt like he was losing something as he was thinking. She had been hurting him, and intentionally, how dare she! If he could not have her, then neither could she. As he was pacing, he suddenly found a butcher's knife in his hand, at the ready.

Having the knife in his hand made him think more calmly, and he paced deliberately, and slowly, knowing that she would arrive shortly. He heard footsteps down the hall and knew who must be coming. Stepping lithely, he inched his way to the door's right so that he could not be seen by anyone entering. The door opened slowly and in came LARiA in a white silk dress, panting as if she had been running. She looked so beautiful that it was haunting, and he felt his motives renewed. She was too worth having, and with her all dressed in white she looked perfect for bleeding and dying. He was going to savor this; one last thing he could take from her before he preserved her for eternity. Only a second after entering, she was grabbed from behind rather forcefully and felt a searing pain in her stomach on her right side. She half-doubled over in pain before screaming, and the sound of her voice and look on her were the most exquisite things he had ever heard or seen as she turned to face him. It was erotic, in a way, her screaming. Somehow calming, like the world ending. So thought Makaze, as he pulled her close to keep her from moving. She was incapable of speaking, or she chose to keep her words to herself between her sobs and deep panting. That was fine with Makaze, in fact it was better this way. She would be preserved perfectly, accepting her fate and submitting completely. He caressed her wound around the knife, pressing and squeezing, and then finally pulling it out slowly, watching and feeling her back arch in agony as pressed against him in her attempts to get away from the pain. The blade finally came out after a full three minutes of pulling and caressing, and she collapsed completely when the blade left her body. He eased her gently to floor and wiped his blood soaked hands on her now dirty dress in certain places across her body, and watched her bleed. She was happy. She did not have to drift away anymore, she could stay. And so was he. So Makaze dreamed.

He awoke with a jolt, realized that he had been dreaming, and wondered why he had done that to Lili. He found LARiA standing above him, with the same butcher's knife aimed and ready. Struggling with the guilt of what he had done while dreaming, he saw the face of something far more frightening and as he gazed into her eyes he knew something. He had to make it a reality.

 

I am IMPRESSED...

 

Red would be a very flattering color on you. Would it really?

His parents did not want him again; this was convenient for her, she wouldn't have to come up with a lie to have him back at her house again. His parents had the best timing - so did hers. Her parents would not be home, it would just be the both of them.

The counter light gave gleam to the lovely metal spork. She would use something more classy, like a stiletto blade, but what fun would that be? And if she was known for anything, it would be her like for childish games.

He had finally come, the boy named Charlie. He was a very sweet boy . . . when he wanted to be, but there was a darker side of him, one that he had only ever shown to her with his hands to her body. But she didn't mind, that would be resolved with a child's game, a whimsical game of Hide and Seek; she was very fond of that game, and she was very childish.

Let's play Charlie. she told him, You will seek, and I will hide. The house wasn't very big, but she knew the perfect hiding spot, she loved her parents' closet, so full of hiding spots. She giggled with childish excitement and anxiety; she and Charlie would finally play a game together.

The girl set Charlie in her room on her bed, the same place where he had familiarized himself with her body. She would forget it for now, it would be done soon. Was it a bad thing that she was excited?

She happily skipped out of her room and off to the kitchen, quickly pulling open the drawer as Charlie began to count. A nineteen-year-old, playing hide and seek, she thought with a bright smile, Who knew? From the drawer of kitchen utensils, she moved past the common butcher knife everyone loved and picked out her spork, a special little thing to her. Something as silly as a spork reflected her creativity . . . brought out the child in her.

She headed towards the closet through the bathroom entrance; Charlie was on ten. She opened the door quietly and eased her way into a corner, snuggling in comfortably to a little doll named Suzy and her sister's doll house, I mustn't get that dirty now. she thought, adjusting her light blue and white nightgown. She would have been wearing her darker one, but she ripped it a while back because she had little self-control.

Her heart beat with excitement and childish anxiety as Charlie finally said the magic words, Ready or not, here I come . . . She was only good at waiting when it came to hide and seek, nothing else. Her smile only grew as she could hear the footsteps drawing closer and closer, her anxiety deepened when she heard his calm breathing, syncing with hers in double time.

The closet door opened; she made no moves or sounds, her breathing was quiet.

This is the only place I haven't checked, you must be in here. he said aloud in a low tone. She almost couldn't bear it; she wanted to leap out and do it right then, but the timing . . . the timing had to be beautiful, when he turned away.

She almost couldn't complete the thought - he turned away. She slowly stood up, her nightgown falling back to her mid-thighs. She could feel him flinch under her touch when she raised a hand to his back, his skin was very warm, a contrast to her cool hands. He shivered as her hand smoothly slid up his back, What are you doing? he asked, his tone shaky.

Oh Charlie, she sighed, Maybe if you hadn't been so forceful, I may have not listened to my friend and let you have your way. You really are a nice boy . . . Her arm slid around his waist and her hand was now sliding up his chest, You're a silly boy, she told him as he sighed into her touch.

With her other hand, she flipped the handle of the spork dexterously between her finger tips, having it face upwards. A swing of her hand later and the silly utensil was dug into Charlie's jugular. She could quickly feel the blood trickle onto her hand; it was warm, just like he was.

You really were a nice boy Charlie. she thought with a childish smile.

 

Weapon: Spoon
Target: Amaury

Loxare jostled herself awake. How could she have fallen asleep? Not only was today a very important day, but the night air was cold and the bench she was sitting on was uncomfortable. It didn't seem physically possible to sleep here.

However, as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, she conceded to herself that it may have been possibleto crash here, on the street in front of Amaury's house. She hadn't slept in 2 days; she had been too busy getting everything ready. She glanced at the string she had tied in front of Amaury's door. It was still in position, so she could assume he wasn't home yet. Perfect.

She didn't have to wait much longer. Amaury came walking up the sidewalk, keys in hand, ready to unlock his door and go to bed. Well, SEGA Forums, then bed. But the moment he inserted the key into the lock, the ground beneath his feet gave way and he fell, down into a cavern he didn't know existed under his house. There was a large pile of matresses and polliws covering the area where he landed, so he didn't get injured. There was something coating the fabric though. Some kind of powder...

Loxare climbed down the manhole, closing it once she was beneath street level. She glanced at Amaury, pleased to see the powderised chlorofoam had worked. She tied a scarf around her face, stepped onto the pile and dragged Amaury to the large table she had set up nearby.

****​

Loxare was preparing her cutlery when Amaury moaned himself awake. "Where am I? Who are you?"

She cocked her head in confusion. Why couldn't he see her...? Oh, of course. This was the shadowy part of the cave. As she stepped into the light, she couldn't help but think about what a wonderful cliche this made. "Hello Amaury. Glad to see you're awake."

"Loxare? What're you doing here? And why," he tugged at the ropes holding him to the table, keeping him spread out in an X, "why am I tied to a table?"

"Poor Amaury. I warned you about using an avatar from the same show over and over. Consistency is so boring, don't you think? Don't worry. After you're gone, I'll change it for you. Maybe something from Kingdom Hearts or Digimon." Her smile widened as she held up her spoon.

"What do you mean, after I'm gone? I'm not going anywhere? And what's with the spoon?"

Loxare cut open his shirt partway and traced a circle over his heart using black Sharpie. "I hate to break it to you Amaury, but you are leaving. Sad to say, this trip is one way. As for the spoon, well," she placed the spoon right over the circle she had made, "it's blunt, so it hurts a lot more. Goodbye Amaury." She pushed the spoon down, smiling at the sound of skin protesting, then parting.

 

The butcher knives glistened with my blood on them. It's what I deserved for failing her. I couldn't support my wife and so I ended up having to do odd jobs in a lab for extra cash. It usually wasn't anything bad. Drink a few liquids. Maybe wear something odd. This one though, oh boy did it take the cake. My arms now reach the floor. It looks natural if having arms the length of you body was natural. The even messed with my hand. My fingers were replaced with butcher knives. You'd think that being like this would be problematic but somehow... somehow it feels natural. As if I have always been this way.

I want revenge for this. My life was taken away. My wife is dead. A car accident. Caused by our neighbors and their friends. Drunk teenagers probably lolying around on drugs. They killed my wife. My wife. My wife. My wife... I can't take revenge on those that transformed me... but I can kill those that took my love!

There were six in total. I figured this was a sign blessed by God for this gift. Along with my abnormally odd arms and hands I could somehow be agile with them. Pushing off from buildings, climbing up the walls, swinging from poles was somehow all simple with these new arms. So the six would die with this cursed gift. One. Day. At. A. Time. Until the seventh day arrived. That is when I will take my rest. For eternity.

The first one was easy. A woman of the darker skin. She was a dancer. I followed her to class. It's not easy to hide 3 foot arms in a trench coat but I managed. She was to perform for an audience at some fancy dance. Well I stood atop her apartment like a gargoyle waiting for its prey. The night was black and there was thunder in the sky. The winds picked up as she left. I could tell she was wearing a trench coat. A much nicer one than mine. I leaped from each building, following her trail as she went block to block to her final dance. I arrived onto the building next to her destination. I stood atop it, dangling my arms. Swinging them from side to side like a pendulum. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. I watched her enter from the rear and I quickly descended from my perch and went inside before the door could close. I took in my surroundings. A long hallway of concrete was ahead of me. To the left was the stage, the right, the dressing rooms. I went to the stage. Looking to my left I found some sandbags attached to ropes. I ascended them, agile enough to not cut the rope. I reached some scaffolding above the ceiling of the stage. I wandered around until I found the area above the dressing rooms. She was the only one in there. The others? Who cares. She was powdering her nose when I dropped down from my height. The last thing she heard were the knives clinking on the ground as I landed.

The stage was dark as the dancers flew across it to their posistions. All was silent. A lone spotlight breached the darkness onto the stage. The main attraction was to arrive. But she wasn't on time. About six seconds late if I counted correctly. A rope was cut and a divine figure descended from the sky of the stage. It was the star dancer. Never did learn her name but it doesn't matter. The dead are nameless. Before she hit the ground she immediately stopped. It was as if she was held by strings. She was held by strings. Strings that were tied around the five holes I made in her body. One for each hand and foot and one for her stomach. Oh wait there was six. She died by the hole in her head. I didn't stick around for the audience's applause at my art. All I needed was Gods gift for the curse I have to put up with. I left the area, my new trench coat blowing in the wind. I climbed up and traversed around my playground. I waited for the sun. The first day.

[END of Part 1]

 

I'm impressed, Lili. Perhaps post this in the Creativity Corner next time, so all these beautifully murderous tales can be forever immortalised?

 

Or you could request for a mod to move it now? Or after.

 

Just don't put this one in there. I need my story to be my 1000th. This would ruin all that I've worked on.

 

That is too bad for you; I liked my story... If it gets moved.

 

You always know how to ruin someone's night. Ah well. Eh. I'll just delete a post if this happens. Anyways whose the guy in your sig?

 

Both of you are very bad boys. We need to stick to the subject of the thread.

 

Hadn't expected it to get so far as this. Wolfie, please move us. Appreciate.

Magnificent! I am ashamed to have mine even make an appearance in this thread, let alone an opening. Not at all suitable for the introductory. Rather sloppy work, playful, slovenly written, and so very out-of-character. I write to mock, hardly ever is there any serious intent driving it. Could never make a half-decent writer because of this major flaw.

Maybe children's stories...

 

why rite so much in the spam zone?

 

Haru over Natsu anyday, NEWTIMER.

 

[video=youtube;lQlIhraqL7o]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lQlIhraqL7o&ob=av3e[/video]

 

ohh,of course, cuz im the one with 61 posts