# August 2013 - LM - The Date From Hell



## Fin (Jul 31, 2013)

*LITERARY MANEUVERS*​The Date From Hell​



The winner will receive a badge pinned to their profile and given a month’s access to FoWF where you’ll have access to hidden forums and use of the chat room.


Have the prompt included in some way into your story.


*The judges for this round are:*

~~~~~; *Leyline*; *Shinyford*; *J Anfinson*


*Rules*


*All forum rules apply.* The LM competition is considered a creative area of the forum. If your story contains inappropriate language or content, do _not_ forget add a disclaimer or it could result in disciplinary actions taken. Click *here* for the full list of rules and guidelines of the forum.
*No Poetry!* Nothing against you poets out there, but this isn’t a place for your poems. Head on over to the poetry challenges for good competition over there. Some of us fiction people wouldn’t be able to understand your work! Click *here* for the poetry challenges.
*No posts that are not entries into the competition are allowed.* If you have any questions, concerns, or wish to take part in discussion please head over to the *LM Coffee Shop. *We’ll be glad to take care of your needs over there.
*Editing your entry after posting isn’t allowed.* You’ll be given a ten minute grace period, but after that your story may not be scored.
*Only one entry per member.*
*No liking entries until the scores go up.*
*The word limit is 650 words not including the title.* If you go over - Your story will not be counted. Microsoft Word and Google Drive are the standard for checking this. If you feel it’s incorrect, send it to the host of the competition and we’ll check it for you and add our approval upon acceptance.




*There are a few ways to post your entry:*


If you aren't too concerned about your first rights, then you can simply post your entry here in this thread.
You can opt to have your entry posted in the *LM Workshop Thread* which is a special thread just for LM entries. You would put your story there if you wish to protect your first rights, in case you wish to have the story published one day. Note: If you do post it in the workshop thread, you must post a link to it here in this thread otherwise your story may not be counted.
You may post your story anonymously. To do so, send your story to the host of the competition. If you wish to have us post it in the workshop thread then say so. Your name will be revealed upon the release of the score.

Everyone is welcome to participate. A judge's entry will receive a review by their fellow judges, but it will not receive a score.

*This competition will close on:*

Wednesday, the 14th of August at 11:59 PM, GMT time.
click here for the current time.

*Good luck, everyone.*​


----------



## WechtleinUns (Aug 1, 2013)

*The Date from Hell, California*

*The Date from Hell, California*

Steam whistled from Magdalena's teapot. Nearby, eggs sizzled on Chuy's grill, along with strips of bacon and potato hash. Magdalena leaned over the diner counter, sipping piping hot coffee from a smooth porcelain mug. They were closed, but Magdalena always had a soft spot for Vlad, one of her best regulars. Besides, it wasn't often that he came with a lady friend. The two of them rested in a side booth, near the entrance.

The girl slept with her head on Vlad's shoulder. With hair tousled and in disarray, she was dressed like a nightclub party girl. A short, pleated, purple skirt, and a tightfitting cami hugged her body. Her hands wore elbow length purple and black gloves, studded with plastic diamonds on the side. Her makeup from the night before was smudged, and her mascara had run down with tears from the previous night.

Vlad slept comfortably. His arm was wrapped around her in a protective gesture, holding her close to him. He had cuts on his knuckles and face. His dress shirt was in shreds, and his left shoe was missing. Magdalena stared at the two them intently. Then she turned to her husband.

"Looks like a fight, Chuy. You think he won?"

"No. Not a fight. A damsel in distress," Chuy said, grinning with his eyes closed as he flipped over a couple of eggs, "and I know he did."

Chuy put the eggs and sausage onto a plate. Sprinkling paprika and salt over them, he added beans and potato hash, and rang the bell. Magdalena took the plates and two mugs of coffee and clinked them down on the table in the booth.

"Wake up, dears. Looks like you two had a rough night."

Vlad and the girl opened their eyes. Raquel immediately sat up and looked around, then lay her head down with a thud. Vlad saw the food and looked at Magdalena. "I can pay you for this." He said.

"Don't you dare think of it, honey. Now you and your lady friend eat up. You hear?" Magdalena was about to turn back to the counter, but turned back and looked at the girl. "What's your name, dear?" She asked.

"Um. Raquel."

Magdalena smiled. "Raquel. What a beautiful name."

The two of them ate in silence. Raquel picked at her food in the most lady-like manner possible. As the sun came up and shone through the diner windows, however, she couldn't escape her tangled appearance.Looking across, she found Vlad staring without shame, and blushed.

He mashed the eggs, potatoes, and hash, and wolfed them down with two corn tortillas. Reaching his hand up to shift his glasses, which was a habit he had formed during university, he remembered they'd shattered in the fight.

"Hmm," he said. His mind flashed back to the night before. Miguel was going to come after them. It wouldn't have been safe to return to the apartment. In the heat of the moment, he had chosen Chuy's diner, but now those two in danger, as well. Vlad shoved an egg inside his mouth and chomped.

"That guy," he said, "Is ruthless."

Raquel didn't answer him. She made herself small, as if afraid to touch anything, lest it break. Her stomach cried out for food, and her head rung like a gong, however, so she ate in small bites, and sipped the coffee. The flavor entered her nostrils and rejuvenated her spirits with relish. Vlad finished eating, and called to magdelena.

"Trouble?" Magdalena asked.

"Yeah. We need to leave." Vlad said. Magdalena immediately gave him the keys to Chuy's Black Vista Cruiser.

"Keep it safe," Magdalena said. Then, turning to Raquel, "Need a go plate? Where you from, darling?"

Raquel glanced over at Vlad. He smiled wryly, but didn't say anything. Magdalena looked at her expectantly.

"Yes. Thank you. And I'm from Hell, ma'am. Hell, California."


----------



## BreakingMyself (Aug 2, 2013)

Reciprocation. - Adult themes/Violence.​


----------



## Mr mitchell (Aug 4, 2013)

*                                                                                                                                                                     I dated the wrong girl*


This was the date from hell. The girl I was with had started eating, but at the same time, she spoke with a mouthful. We were in a bar, which looked nice from the outside but in the inside, it was different.  Dirty, dusty and the walls were tearing apart. 


The girl was from London and we lived in the same street. She had blonde hair, blue eyes and had a nice smile. But my problem was that she seemed rude at the dinner table and had no manners at all. I have never felt this lonely even I was with someone.


We had no chemistry from the word go. I was bored like if I had just watched a boring film.


"Are you going to eat your dinner?" She asked.


I shook my head. "Sure..." 


"What's up?"


"I don't know. Maybe it's this date?"


"I see... You don't like me?"


I become stuck as she was right about the fact that I don't like her. I had my own reasons. She dressed like she wasn't interested in me with her t-shirt. Did you knew anyone who went on the date with a t-shirt. I didn't.  I was wearing a sharp suit. 


Then, without thinking, she tipped my drink over and I stood up and frowned at her. It was like as if I was spit on. I pointed my finger at her, said, "How dare you!" I turned and left as I saw no point of being there. She was so 
unwelcoming. 


I sat on the pavement with my hands covering my face. Tear fell down my cheeks with a sadness. I just dated the wrong girl.


----------



## InkwellMachine (Aug 6, 2013)

*Wedding Invitation*

By Benjamin Cook


Roderick,


                This was always beyond my control, you must understand. You are a man, after all. You’ve seen beautiful women; been close to them, I’m sure. You must know what they’re capable of. You must know what they can do to the senses.

                Of course, I like to entertain the thought that I am an intelligent individual with a good eye for danger. I _have _been here far longer than you initially thought possible, have I not? Even so, it appears that no one is entirely immune to desires of the flesh.

I have become a slave to instincts that I cannot control, my actions and thoughts seized entirely by lust for a woman’s touch. I will not write her name, for I fear the mere action of penning the letters may be enough to induce another episode, but you no-doubt know the woman of whom I speak. You will agree that her beauty is unparalleled.

After learning the taste of her breath, mapping with my fingers her hills and valleys… any man would have learned desperation quickly.
Any _man_. You know what I am. You know how far above such temptations I am. How was I to know that I would be susceptible to—let alone completely enamored with—this one woman?

This is no justification, mind you. I readily admit that what I’ve done is wrong. I only wish for you to understand that this was a crime of passion, not cruelty. You see, what a mortal feels for a woman I feel doubly in all cases, barring anything that would keep me from moving on. That is to say, I become attached to nothing unless I choose to. Imagine that capability, and then imagine the consternation that followed when, for the first time, I began to yearn.

I do regret my actions, but was there truly any hope that I wouldn’t do exactly as I have done? I have no need for food or drink, sympathy or love, not even female companionship—forcing myself on women is far easier for me than it is for a mortal.

I needed nothing, save for this one woman.

_Need, _Roderick. I needed her. It is a common expression among your kind, but you cannot begin to understand what it is to desire only one thing with the whole of your being. Consuming. Overwhelming. I could think of nothing, save for her pale skin, auburn curls, lips that beckoned with each utterance.

There were nights that I would depart from my body and hover inside her chambers, watching, unable to take her. For a long while the greatest advance that I could bear was to caress her skin, and at first even that was such great euphoria that I would have to recoil immediately or risk going mad with desire.

I have tried in my desperation to sate myself with other women, but none satisfy. I am unable to fulfill my calling, Roderick. I feel my strength wane; the fires of my home lap at my hooves.

She will be there, waiting—I have seen to that. As for you, time will tell. I doubt that dealing with demons earns you a piece of heaven, but I will ensure that you have a place below.

Thank you for all that you've done; for introducing me to her. It was, perhaps, the most important night of my life. Thank you.


--Sincerely, Cain.


----------



## J Anfinson (Aug 7, 2013)

*Some Girls Talk Too Much (Judge Entry - Language Warning)*

Some Girls Talk Too Much (Judge Entry - Language Warning)


----------



## Euripides (Aug 8, 2013)

*Romantic Failure - (language)*

I knew the night was not going to go at all as I had envisioned when I realized that I hadn’t informed Allison our date was going to be outside, during the winter, in Minnesota. I looked over at her huddled up in a thin coat, skirt, and ballet flats and muttered to myself for my stupidity. 

“What was that?” Allison asked.

“Nothing” I replied, and leaned over the steering wheel and looked up at the sky. “Beautiful night isn’t it? Look at how bright it is!”

Allison glanced outside, and reached forward to adjust the air vents. “Yeah it is. Why did you call me up so late? And where are we going?”

“You’ll see when we get there.” I looked over and smiled with what I hoped was both a reassuring and romantic smile. “I thought it would be nice to go see the full moon tonight.”

Allison snorted and traced a fanged smiley face in the fog on her window. “We could have seen the full moon sitting on my back porch. I mean, it’s just a full moon, happens pretty often, like what, every month or so?”

“This is a full moon, on the solstice, during perigee! It’s not just ‘another’ full moon. This is pretty cool! To have this all fall on the same day?” I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice. 

“Fine. How much longer until we get there?” Allison sighed then reached over and put her hand on my thigh and gave a little squeeze.

I gestured to the sign on the interstate, “I think you’ll probably be able to guess here in a moment.” 

Allison read the sign as we passed, then looked over and grinned. “We’re going to the dam!” I just smiled and kept driving. This is where we had done a last school project together, and where we had fallen in love.

When I pulled into the parking lot and stopped the car I said that we should go for a quick walk. Allison looked at me skeptically and raised an eyebrow.  Behind her I could see the ice frozen in dipping mounds, glowing white against the black basalt. 

I handed her my hat and gloves, “We’ll make it quick, I’m sure the moonlight looks beautiful on the waterfall, should be frozen. Then we’ll go get some hot cocoa or something.” Allison pulled on the gloves and hat. I held out my hand to her and we started walking along the path to the bridge over the river. 

The 1940s-era log bridge over the river had a path worn through the snow, packed hard into ice. I let go of Allison’s hand and held onto the railing as I started across to the center of the bridge. Allison lagged behind, and looked at the ice formations growing from the cliffs.

“Did you hear that! An owl!” she whispered.  I looked back, she stood there with her hands on the railing, with a slight smile on her face and her eyes closed.

“Hurry up,” I said, “aren’t you cold?” and I waved her over to me.

“I’ll be there in a second.  Why such a hurry?” When she started walking toward me again, I took a couple more steps to stay in front of her.

I turned quickly, dropped to one knee, and held up a ring to her in offering, clenched between my cold fingers. In anticipation, I looked to see her expression, but she wasn’t paying attention as she walked toward me. 

She bumped into me and looked down. “What the hell are you doing?” she asked as she stepped around me, “Get out of my way.”

I scrambled frantically in the snow as I watched the ring; a 1-carat diamond solitaire set in platinum, tumble from my grasp and plummet into the darkness below. Almost speechless, I replied, “Nothing."


----------



## Lucifer (Aug 9, 2013)

*Hell's Date (Language) (Graphic Violence) (649 word ct.)*

“OK Abraham just be yourself .. OK..”


And with a few deep breaths he exits the car with a shrill veil of confidence. He enters the restaurant and there Mary was waiting in the tiny lounge. Mary had filled out nicely in her years away, a stunning figure in her red dress and high heels. She smiles so big it forces Abe to do the same, Mary comes in to hug him.


“Hi!”


“Hey, Mary!”


Their embrace renews old feelings from time lost, Abe pulls away..


“Let's get this night started? Shall we?”


“Sure.”


Mary giggles, Abe was on cloud nine walking into that small Mexican restaurant, for once things where going to go his way. They're seated at a bar for drinks by an elderly Mexican waitress. The restaurant is sleepy only having a handful of patrons. Abe states the obvious...


“It's kind of dead in here..”


“Yeah it's a damn shame too cause it's hard to get decent tamales around here!”


“Oh, is that why you moved away?”


She scoffs..


“Dang! Low blow! Besides I had no choice, I had to move away! The crazy stuff parents will do.”


“Well I'm glad you're here with me here now.”


“Awe..”


Mary sequels


“..well, I'm glad to be here!”


As she says this, three shady men enter the restaurant behind her. They're all dressed in various suits except for the big one that leads. He wears a navy blue track suit with gold chains that dangle low off his heavily tattooed neck. The waitress that seated Abe and Mary now charges toward them. She yells at them in some Spanish tongue, pointing at them menacingly. This immediately garners the entire restaurants attention. Track suit stops her at arms length and clutches her dress, the old lady gasps and freezes.


“Where is he?”


“No este aqui”


He looks back at his goons and asks


“Th'fuck she say to me?”


“She says he's not here.”


One of them answers gingerly. An older Mexican gentlemen dressed in a stained apron emerges from the kitchen clutching a butchers knife. The kitchens door swings shut, it being just on the other side of the bar. One of the suits notices the chef and runs towards him stopping some feet away. He flicks his coat back and reveals a gun to the chef..


“What'cha gonna do old man?! HUH?!”


The old man drops the knife, it clangs to the ground. The suit takes a few steps closer to the old man yelling..


“Where's your boy old man?! He owes us a lot of money!”


“I don't know.”


As the old man answers, the man in the track suit winds his fist back and backhands the old lady, she crumbles into a heap. Abraham flinches in his seat while dread strikes him paralyzed, he wishes to just disappear. The rest of the suits spread out doing crowd control in the cozy restaurant. Mary angrily glares at the man in the track suit as he reaches for his gun.


The man terrorizing the old chef goes to draw his pistol as well, Mary slips off her heels with her toes. exploding from her seat and through the air, Mary tackles the suit before getting his gun out. Blood sprays up and hits the old man as he yells in horror and runs. Before anyone realized what was happening a blur of red dashes in between the tables. Mary grabs thug number two from behind and tears out his throat with her teeth. Red mist sprays the dining area as Mary eats the flesh from her victim. The entire restaurant locked in fear and amazement except one,


“Th'Fuck?!”


Track suit aims at Mary as she flings the dead corps at him, he dodges and shoots blindly. The man in the track suit looses site of her, Mary pops up behind him and now rips him to shreds.


END.


----------



## Fin (Aug 10, 2013)

*Possible New Sitcom
Anonymous Entry​*
The bellow was Biblical. It roared its way down the everlasting  corridor decorated with black and white chequered walls. It stormed  over the matching floor and battered at the squares on the ceiling.  


 Grrannuth dropped is cards onto the  table. “Always when I have a winning hand!”


 Trecher, Flith and Bojer looked down to see seven aces, and then up to see the tail-end of Grrannuth disappearing out of the door.


 He ran. The clatter of his hooves drowned out the ever-present Muzak; The Four Seasons in a continuous loop, as played on a Bontempi  organ with the Latin beat setting stuck to on.


 At the end of the corridor Grrannuth stopped for a moment and checked its appearance. Then it un-slouched as upright as possible, and with the three pronged soul-toasting fork tapping in counter- point to its hooves it strutted into the Bosses Cavern.


 Beneath the stalactites dripping vitriol were pools containing  slowly dissolving damned. In the middle of the floor was a dry spot. A mighty desk made of planed and polished bones stood there. Behind it sat a large, dark haired man. This man wore a  Savile Row suit and Berluti shoes.


 Grrannuth made his obeisance. “My Lord.”


 “Where have you been? You weaselling pustule from a gargoyles bum.”


 “The pit of thieves my lord.”


 “Hmmm... Well and bad. I have to step out for a bit and I'm leaving you in-charge. Don't mess the place up.”


 “Yes my lord.”


 “I have a date with Margaret Roberts at Somerville College in Oxford. Don't disturb me unless it is an emergency, and that does not include messages from the weirdie beardie in the sky, understood?”


 “Yes my Lord.”  


 “You won't understand this, but I'm tormenting to tell someone. With this meeting I will introduce a future leader to the idea that money is more important than people. Then I shall meet with Arthur Scargill and fan his self righteous greed. That will mean a confrontation that will eventually bring back Victorian values. Not many years after we will have workhouses  back. Oh glorious nights!”


 “Yes my Lord.”


 “Back to work.”


 “Yes my Lord.” Grrannuth backed away bowing until it was clear of  the entrance.


 The large man stood up. He was humming Miserable Days Are Here Again.  


 An elevator descended from the ceiling. He stepped in. “1946, Oxford.”


  The doors closed and the Muzak started. A stern look stopped it. Then an Iron Maiden track started up, only the singing was replaced by screams of the damned.


 Moments later the doors opened into a mild evening at the local park. The smell of honeysuckle ticked his nose, he was instantly nostalgic for brimstone.


 He made his way across the sward where an attractive young woman was sitting alone.  


 “Hello Margaret, I'm Hobbs, Jack Hobbs. How do you do?”


----------



## Fin (Aug 10, 2013)

*Sarcophagi of the Soulless   
By Malthazar MacNamara
Anonymous Entry​*

With a head full of lysergic acid, I was hell-bent on finding insights into the machinations of consciousness, but periodically lost control of my faculties and started arguments I couldn’t win. 

Most of the time with myself. 

I pulled the top drawer of my dresser open with a little too much vigor, and a poorly-crafted bust of Timothy Leary fell to the floor and shattered like my soul.

I looked out my window at the clumps of cottonwoods and the wispy snowflakes flying, lazy and fat. It was 1971, and I was nineteen. The date crept up on me -- September 7th. The early snow turned the outside world into a sterile place where a cold death hid behind every dusk.

I felt the poles inverting and stood up to catch my breath. Something profound sat perched beyond my mental horizon, elusive. 

I placed four more tabs on my unfurled tongue. 

I looked about the room in which I’d grown up. Childhood decor had been replaced with painted designs on each wall; an ankh upon one, surrounded by discs of the sun; large intertwined mandalas colored in vibrant reds and yellows; and the all-seeing eye of Ra, scrawled out in marker one night when I was lost in a jubilant dance with psilocybin. 

The 7th of September brought me back to the present moment and the warm buzzing in my stomach intensified. This date aligned me with the keys to a portal through which I heartily lunged; though the past two years had been scary, this time I felt prepared and independent of my fear.

A Russian-roulette of time-travel, fueled by thoughts and stoked by the chemical in my brain. Scenes of unbelievable clarity challenged my perception:

I joined covens in chanting under Andalusian thunderstorms; heretics bound, hands and feet tied at papal behest before archaic torture devices; self-immolating monks ablaze in the street. Eyes clenched tight, I sailed upon creaking vessels of unknown origins. I stood in a loincloth and found myself ensconced in tribal ceremonies in unknown jungles swarming with insects. 

If you see a bluebottle fly, there must be a corpse nearby. 

A buckling shudder collapsed through my brain and deposited me in the next experience.

A crone waved her slender finger at me and disappeared, replaced by three armed soldiers marching in lockstep. One of them opened his mouth to reveal teeth shaped like steak knives. 

I flew through the skyline of a large city, glittering stone and glass facades jutting out like the jewel-encrusted fingers of royalty from a tangled layer of decayed civilization. 

A fevered energy pulsated within the city, sick yet eternally vital. The sky darkened, and I saw the face of a man standing on a bridge at the center of the city. With outstretched arms, he prepared to leap into the busy street fifty feet below. Without a word he collapsed into a pile of snakes. One of them wrapped around my leg and just as it sank its teeth into my flesh, I realized my legs were made of stained alder like those of a table.

I recoiled and exhaled, bringing my focus to the pallor of the sky; blue and purple and orange, shifting, amalgamating into a theater at the moment prior to the start of a show. 

Massive maroon curtains slid apart. Before me was a damp bathroom, grimy and well-used. A wrinkled face stared from the mirror. 

I breathed in deep and with a couple of rasping coughs, I looked down at the old man’s watch. September 7th. I felt a rush of epiphany teasing me from the outskirts of sanity. In the magazine basket sat a magazine dating from 2011. 

I lifted the man’s head, gripped both sides of the small sink, and laughed at the reflection for a long time.


----------



## Ghosts of the Maze (Aug 10, 2013)

*Pit Stop*

A young couple sat in a 24-hour diner, trying to wake up to coffee under the hot fluorescent lights.  She cradled his hands with her own, and stared out the window, toward their car with the small rental trailer hitched on in the back.

“Would you stop doing that?”

“Sorry. Do you think that she’s okay?”

“She’s fine. I just need a few minutes.”

She looked and noticed the young lines on his face, and the bags under his eyes, and stole a French fry, hoping that she could get him to smile. 

“I’m really excited, you know?”

He nodded his head and looked down at his beige coffee. 

“We can look up Chuck and Katie when we get down there. They’re only an hour away, I think.”

He said nothing.

“I think this is really going to be when it all comes together. I don’t know why, I just do. I can drive for a little bit. If you want. Or we could find a place.”

“I’m fine. I’m awake. Just thinking.”

“Okay.”

The waitress came and refilled their coffee without a word. They had been the only customers, and she had been the only server.

“How much do you think she makes?”

He shrugged.

“I don’t know. Not enough.”

“I’m going to give her a good tip.”

She didn’t care that he rolled his eyes. She looked outside and tried to make out the shapes of the trees against the black night, not knowing what the town had looked like in the day. Her attention wandered and before she knew it she had lowered her sight back onto the parking lot.

“I just don’t feel right.”

“Terri, can we just have twenty minutes?”

She shook her head, and stood up.

“Something could happen.”

He turned around and watched her stepped out of the diner, and over to their car. He’d turned back to his coffee and half eaten burger when she walked back inside, gingerly held the detached car seat by the handle, and carefully pulled the door open before stepping in and slowly letting the door close against her butt, so that the bells wouldn’t ring and wake the baby. She smiled when he looked over, and playfully tiptoed and put a finger to her lips reminding him to be quiet, though she couldn’t do a thing about the country music being played through the speakers. 

“I told you not to bring her in here. It’s too bright.”

The baby kicked when she sat the carrier down, and he watched her face grimace, and her closed eyes tighten, and he tried to breathe deeply, not wanting to hear her cry awake. The mother looked over and rocked the seat slowly until she had stopped fidgeting. 

“See? Still asleep.”

“For now. She’ll wake up eventually.”

“Well, thank god for that.”

He hummed dismissively. 

“I’m really excited to get down there.”

She’d repeated the sentiment to herself, over and over inside her head, until the words came out without sounding absurd.

“Everything’s going to be different.”


----------



## Charlaux (Aug 12, 2013)

*HS3*

July 15[SUP]th[/SUP], 2017

Public unease gains new momentum as Prime Minister announces that the date for final completion nears, and hints at the possibility of further development.

The news, coming during this morning’s prime minister’s questions, that the reach of the new HS3 rail network could be extended to include a further twenty seven stations and that progress is ‘unstoppable at this stage’ is being met with renewed anger by campaigners. Backlash against the new rail link strengthened last week as opposition leader Michael Spencer spoke at a resident’s meeting in Aylesbury to support the need for a public review of current plans to replace existing services provided by HS2. Doubts surrounding the project continue to spread following a series of leaks from high-level Government whistleblowers, including rumours of spiralling costs, the use of an entirely foreign workforce, and reports that the track currently disappears into a near vertical pit in a field outside Bewdley.

Speaking at the meeting to local residents, Mr. Spencer criticised the prime minister’s projections for economic growth. “There is no hard evidence to suggest that this new network will deliver any real savings to the public. Instead we are looking at more than a decade of crowded trains, soaring ticket prices, and the desecration of the greenbelt. He’s set us on the highway to hell, and he doesn’t even realise it.” 

When asked to comment on the latest revelations, Mr Spencer was unavailable for interview. His press secretary denied speculation that he has travelled abroad.

Meanwhile, a report published today by environmental scientists who recently visited Aylesbury to investigate sightings meteorological phenomena in the area, is yet to be released into the public domain. The report is rumoured to fail to identify the causes of frequent meteor showers, contaminated water systems and ground-to-cloud lightning. Speaking on _The Evening Review,_ Anita Dawson, a research scientist from Oxford University, urged the public to write to their MPs.

As readers continue to report widespread road closures and a spreading green miasma, the Prime Minister spoke only to defend plans. “HS3 is ahead of schedule, and under cost. We have already invested a great deal of time and money into this project – we are committed to this, the contract is signed, and there is no turning back now.  We are just waiting for the date.”

One motorist, who asked to remain anonymous, described an increasingly common scene: “The construction sites are sprouting up overnight, in the middle of roads and motorways, in car parks, in gardens. They don’t speak, and you can’t drive anywhere without seeing them at the roadside, tearing the earth apart with their fists.”


----------



## Fin (Aug 13, 2013)

*The Date from Hell
Anonymous Entry


*​
He winces as she laughs at his joke. The laugh is nasal, and could probably cut through cheese. And it goes on far too long. She slaps his hand in mock annoyance.  “Oh, you!” she guffaws. People around the bistro are beginning to stare.

It wasn’t even a very good joke.

Gingerly he opens his eyes, one after the other. She is still there. He sighs, and toys at his spaghetti and meatballs. She, the napkin tucked into the top of her blouse covered in splashes of bolognaise, slurps up another portion of her own and smacks her lips in satisfaction.

He closes his eyes again. Why had he ever thought this would be a good idea?

“So,” she says at length, “tell me a little more about yourself.”

“Oh, there’s not much to tell,” he says. “I manage a… um… residential facility, which takes most of my time. My boss, the man upstairs, keeps me busy.”

“P’shaw! You must have some time off!” she opines. A fellow diner glares at her, and receives a small piece of spaghetti between the eyes as his reward. “Everyone has some time off.”

“I suppose a little,” he agrees grudgingly. “I listen to Polkas. And write poetry.”

“He’s a poet!” she smirks, and takes his hand in hers. It is clammy, and streaked withwhat he hopes is tomato. He tries to hide a shudder. “Tell me a poem then,” she whispers at forty decibels.

“I… I couldn’t,” he says, trying to pull away. “Really, I…”

“Oh, go on!” she beseeches. “For me! For little me!”

“No, honestly, I…” However, he knows he’s defeated. He can’t say no. He has no choice but to offer up a poem, a piece of his heart, a secret, painful thing. But which? The verse about the cloud? The one about the daisies? No! That was it! The puppy poem!

He opens his mouth...

“Aw! Has your tongue got Brewer’s Droop?” she nasals before he can begin. “Can’t get it up? The poem, I mean?  Doesn’t matter! I’ve got one for you instead!” She takes a deep breath. “_’Twas on the Good Ship Venus …_”

“No! No! No!” he shouts, all but jumping from his seat to stop her. He frantically motions to a waiter. “Check! Check!”

The waiter brings the bill, and he stands, swipes his card and pushes her out of the bistro in almost a single move.

“This was a bad idea,” he says when they get to the parking lot. “I don’t know what I was thinking. We should just go home.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” she says. “I thought we were getting on.” She still has the napkin tucked into her blouse.

He sighs again. “Listen,” he says, “it would never work. You don’t know what I’m really like.”

She puts a hand on his arm. Gentle. “I do,” she says.

“You don’t. I’m…”

“I know who you are,” she repeats. She indicates his head, his legs. “They’re a bit of a give-away.”

“Oh. Oh, I suppose…”

“But I also know you write poetry. And you like Polkas. And… and you’re lonely.”

He is. Ever since the demotion. So very, very lonely.

“And you’re kind, I think,” she goes on. “Deep down.”

He laughs in ironic disbelief. “Kind! Me? With this job?!”

“Kind,” she insists. “You’re not just your job, you know.”

He heaves another sigh. She’s not the girl of his dreams, that’s for sure. But he’s in a dead end job, and he has horns, and goat’s feet and a tail. He’s not really in a position to be picky.

“Come on,” says Abaddon, the Beast, the Lord of Hell, the Angel of the Abyss. “I’ll take you home. And tomorrow… maybe I could read you a poem.”

She claps her hands with glee, and kisses him on the cheek. “That would be lovely, Mr Beelzebub,” she says.


----------



## Staff Deployment (Aug 13, 2013)

*Growing a Conscious Over Wine*


----------



## lcg (Aug 14, 2013)

*Shoes On Date (POV of a pair of shoes) - Some Language*

“What’s wrong with me? Tell me, what is wrong? You came to me on your own, right, not because of this stupid ‘SALE: 75% OFF’ tag?"

"What! You too? The blush of shame on your face says it all. Go away, you don’t deserve me. Go to that red slut sitting over there! It will pay you fine when her high heels unbalance you and make you fall on your ass. Its glossy shine might make you think that she is pretty, but she is a bitch--a bitch outside, a bitch inside. But of course you only see her glistening straps. Go now!”

_Sniff, sniff_

'Nobody understands my value, not even that stupid salesman.'

_Sniff, sniff_

“And Red Sultress, don’t you dare mock me. I might be plain and black, but I'll live longer than you. I don’t need your height to attract customers. The perfect one will come. I won't be a one-night stand like you, but I'll be her companion in every way.” 

“Wait, what! You are shifting me from here? You young people do not have any respect. If I could shout, I would blister your ears. And why are you putting me in this dark room? Who'll see me here? Put me in the front, IDIOT, in the front!”

_Looks around itself. _

“Hey. You seem quite--ummm--dusty. Yikes! There are wet patches on you. Don’t they ever come here to clean you? And what exactly is this place--Lord, it smells here!”

_Sighs_

“Come again, what did you say?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I did not know that you were rotting. So that's what I smell- oh, sorry dear, I didn't mean to be rude, it's just rather difficult not to notice. I’m sorry to disturb your rest.”

_Hums under its breath._

“Do you know how long we are supposed to stay here? I want to go out in the front to find the perfect mate for me. How will they see me if I’m hidden in here, whatever this place is?”

“What do you mean I’m never going out again? I am just two years old. They can’t put me in the store room.”

_Taps the shelf. _

“You are what? I can’t believe that you are only one year old. You look much more ancient!” 

“No, no, you are mistaken. I’m not going to the recycling plant yet. I’ve not even kissed any feet for trial.”

“Yes, I know what feet will be perfect for me. Smooth, white and without any cracks. I hate cracks. I have nightmares about my soft leather being wounded with cracked heels.”

“Is that a laugh? It sounded more like wheezing. Anyway, my biggest dream is to find those perfect feet. I'll do anything to protect them from pebbles. I'll even weather the rains and puddles for them.”

_Salesman comes inside and picks up the shoes. _

“See, I told you, you were mistaken. Time for my date. Do I look fine? Farewell, my friend. I'll pray for your early recovery.”

_Whistles as salesman cleans it._

“Where are they? Where are the feet which are going to be my mate?”

_Madam, here we are. These are at seventy-five percent off. Try them._

“What? You are asking her to try me? Have you seen the size? Can’t you see I’m too small for them?”

“No, no, no! HELP! I’m being squashed. Ooh, aah. Get off me, you fat lady. SOMEBODY PLEASE FREE ME.”

_Sighs in relief as the salesman takes it back to the shelf. _

“Yeah, yeah. I know the world sucks. It was the worst date anyone can have. We don’t match at all. See I’m all squished. And there are scars inside me too.”

‘Bloody, stupid salesman!’

“Sorry, I forgot you are resting. I should go to sleep too. I couldn't sleep all night because of that red witch belittling me.”


----------



## Staff Deployment (Aug 14, 2013)

*Untitled*

It was her own request to see the inside of my head. I brought her in with deliberate reluctance, forgetting in a moment of blind adoration that the monster I keeped locked up in there had not yet been chained that morning.

I dreamt deeply and vividly, and in that dream Sarah and I ran from this monster. She supposed it was merely a quirk of the experience; she didn't sense any real danger. We circled the school while it followed us, always one hallway behind, turning the corner just as we vanished from sight, stalking us relentlessly and with perverse curiosity.

We managed to escape its senses after a while. I recommended we climb the stairs, all the way up to the fourth floor where suburban bedrooms inexplicably resided, and where we would find a suitable hiding place to wait things out until I would awaken. Halfway through our ascent, Sarah tripped and shouted, and I berated her, for the monster now knew of our whereabouts. And indeed, we could hear it encircling the stairway below.

We made it to the fourth floor, and we ducked into the master bedroom. A small closet presented itself as the sole hiding place so we ducked inside and hastily slammed the doors shut, plunging ourselves into darkness. Thin slits of yellow light permeated through the wicker and through the thin slit between the doors.

We waited, then. We waited as the monster ascended to the highest level, and we waited as it sniffed curiously around the upstairs and as it pushed itself into the master bedroom and began to close in on our hiding place. It was slow, drawn-out, and intensely painful, in an anticipatory way. The monster would soon peel open those doors and find us huddled helplessly in the corner, and it would feast.

I said to Sarah: "I cannot stand the thought of being devoured in my own dream, and I cannot stand this excruciating suspense. I will force myself awake rather than face this pain and uncertainty." So I did.

I forced myself to wake up. I violently yanked myself out of the dream and into the cold blue light of my early-morning room. I blinked and stared at the wall and thought, "Good."

... But, back in my head, back in the dream, Sarah remained cornered inside that closet. When the monster peeled open those doors it found her, scared and alone and unprotected. And it feasted.


----------



## Staff Deployment (Aug 14, 2013)

*The Blind Date From Hell*


----------



## Gargh (Aug 14, 2013)

**Language Warning*

What the hell*

The room was dusky, dark and sweet as Kali trod the carpeted steps from the storm-porch down to the lobby of the restaurant. The place felt strange and, as the weighted glass door shushed slowly closed, she realised what it was. Absolute silence.

          She gave her name and the statuesque Maitre-De pulled back a thick, velvet curtain and showed her through a double pair of the same heavy, glass doors to a table. He pulled out a chair and she sat, crossed her legs and shuffled slightly on the plush, sinking seat.

          She glanced around self-consciously. Not only was she the first one here, but also the only one here. What kind of place was this for a blind date? She signalled to the man behind the bar for a drink but too late, he was already on his way with a chilled bottle of champagne.

          'The gentleman sends his apologies, he has been detained and begs you to wait but please order without him. At his expense, of course.'

          Kali raised her eyebrows at the request but replied, 'Sure, why not?'

          The waiter uncorked the bottle, poured a glass, iced the bottle and then returned with a menu.

          Kali drank a little too quickly whilst choosing, the waiter swooping in to top her up with alarming regularity. The menu was decadent but, hungry as she was, she ordered a straight-up steak with all the trimmings.

          'Can I interest you in something to start Madam?' the waiter pressed her.

          'No, thanks.'

          'The gentleman will be disappointed,'

          'Well then he shouldn't have been late, should he?' Kali replied.

          The waiter's face dropped to a scowl, 'Very well,' and he left abruptly.

          Kali was a little taken aback. She watched him stalk away. Prickled, she began to take fresh stock of her surroundings. The silence was becoming oppressive and she fidgeted impatiently. Whichever way she sat, the seat kept tilting her slightly back, passive, uncomfortable. She got up to use the bathroom.

          All eyes followed her in, and all eyes followed her out. She could swear she heard the camera dome following her too - whizzing around under the plastic every time she moved - but before she had time to over-think it, her meal arrived.

           The waiter placed it in front of her. The meat was blue, fresh from the abattoir.

          'I ordered this well done; charred, cinders.'

          The waiter paused and looked up to the dome, 'The gentleman prefers you eat it this way.'

          This time she definitely heard the camera whirring furtively.

          'What the hell?' 'You mean that creep's been up there the whole time, watching me?'

          She turned to face the dome and stuck two fingers up. 'I get enough of lowlifes like you at work, I'm leaving - sort yourself out.' She stood up quickly but bumped in to the waiter.

          'Out of my way,' she blurted.

          His arms were like iron bars, folded across his chest.

          'You will wait until he comes,'

          Kali backed slowly away. 'For fuck's sake,' she muttered 'You're really going to do this?'

          The waiter advanced, unperturbed. Kali reached up the sleeve of her shirt and pulled a sjambok from across her shoulders.


From the street you could hear nothing but a stunned passer-by watched it all, reporting  later in hushed tones. He described a woman one minute, then a demon the next. He described a whip that dropped a man to his knees with one swipe and the look of horror on a face that was pinned and suffocated against the glass. And he described the carnage that followed, the blood smeared across the doors, and the velvet curtains that she pulled closed behind her as the demon resumed her shape and left muttering 'Bloody perverts never learn,' dusting the filth from her coat.


----------



## Guy Faukes (Aug 14, 2013)

*A Date from Hell (Literally)*


----------

