digibutter.nerr

[Francine]

The clearest thing I could remember was the red cup. It was the stereotypical red plastic cup, holding the stereotypical foul-smelling liquid. I took a sip as I side-stepped through the crowd of people in the dining room of someone I don't know. No one ever knew who hosted the parties; all we cared about was that there was in fact a party.

Everything started to fade once I got to the kitchen. I found some half-finished and forgotten bottles of who-knows-what-kind-of-alcohol and poured what could top off my drink. The bright, shining red cup stayed clear as everything else swirled and blurred as I chugged the beverage. Shaking hands, I grabbed the bottle again, spilling some over my hand, into the cup, still crystal clear.

Right after I had finished the second helping, someone had grabbed me around the stomach and pulled me back. I nearly lost grip on the cup.

"Hey baby..." a slightly familiar voice slurred into my ear. From the side I could smell the breath, just as poisoned as mine. The arm pulled me away, and I stumbled along backwards, keeping my eyes on the cup at all times. Everything seemed to move too fast, as if we were going through the throng of people instead of around them. I was pulled up the stairs and into a dark room. The arms swung me around, and I landed on a pile of coats that people had left on the bed.

No no no... I thought and tried to make out, but it sounded only like mumbling. I tried to push away, the cup still in my hands. It hit the face of the person, but it didn't deter them. Hands, or at least I think they were hands, grabbed my shirt collar and ripped it, trying to get me topless. I rolled and knocked over something on the side table with the cup, sharp as ever. I suppose it was a snow globe, since later there was glass and water on the floor along with blood. I kicked the person off me with all I had into the mess of the snow globe.

A shattering scream, footsteps up the stairs, a thousand eyes on me, the corpse on the floor, on me, the corpse.

--

Yeah bored, not gonna finish.

[Yellow Magikoopa]

Nice work. ((What is it with murder stories lately? >_>))

[Popple]

Ok, that wasn't really thought provoking or well...is there a particular reason you felt like writing a story about *crag* and murder?

[Sam]

very awesome story. But it needs moar of a history.

[Super Tsuki]

August. Truly spectacular. You should write more stories. This is a small sample of you vast wisdom. Truly august.

[Super Cyber Mario]

I love it.

[Kii]

Pretty awesome. You've got a nice, captivating writing style.

[Joshamuffin]

Use it to write a damn book, like rawrskey plans to do.

[Francine]

But writers don't eat. Neither do artists, but whatever, I'll eat prints instead of manuscripts. I bet paint has more nutrition than regular text ink anyway.

[Merlink]

Good story. Well thought out. Except... kind of depressing, not in a sad way, in kind of an emo way.

[Francine]

I don't see how this could classify as emo. It's about a girl (or could be a guy if you want to see it that way) getting drunk at a party, being almost *cragged*, and accidentally killing the rapist.

[Merlink]

I don't know... it just leaves me with that... feeling....

[Para]