Spoiledmeat
January 5th, 2011, 11:51 AM
Hey. I'm at a spot into my story here, where I do not know how to continue. I will c/p it and then explain what is going on, and my plans.
Disclaimer: This story is purely fictional and in no way represents anyone or anything but the imagination of the author, or anyone or anything that may have helped contribute/sparked his imagination. Warning: Some language throughout the story may not be for some readers.
Blood lust was the only thing on his mind as he felt the knife being driven into the woman's body, and the suction the warm, sticky blood created as he ripped it out.
The woman was silenced after three stabs, and more than likely dead after five, but that didn't stop him. He was driven mad with the satisfaction of the feel, the texture of the blood against his skin. He knew he would be caught. He didn't give a damn, but he had to give a fight.
Wednesday, 12/14/1953.
This was detective John Steinberg's last case before retirement. He hoped It'd be like the last few he'd had. Easy. His Green cap and undershirt, his blue eyes and black mustache, and the brown shoes and blue overalls all had his colleagues thinking of getting their sink fixed, but he knew that it was just a bad day in college when that picture was taken. Steinberg was a lengthy man, almost in his forties. His complexion was that of a baby's bottom, wrinkly and wet. White, too. The jet-black hair was an accessory to the odd coolness to be seen in his face. No, it was too cool. Almost wet. Freezing.
“Wake up, fool!” said the warden. “Cell inspection. Get the hell out of here and into the lineup!” I did so, grumbling as I wiped the water off my face and onto the dirty orange jumpsuit. The warden was obsessed with checking the cells every day, after every meal. It made me sick, and I had missed breakfast.
END
So that's it. You may be thinking that these are non-related sections. Well, they are entirely related. Basically the person the murdered his wife is the same as the prisoner. They are entirely the same person. The prisoner is reliving what got him into prison though his dreams, thus the murder. I'm not entirely sure what to do with the detective part, but my Idea is that he's also going through his own rendition of what the detective went through to catch him in his dream. At the end of the story is when I want to blow the reader's mind and make them fully realize that all three mini-stories are the same person. I've got writer's block and do not know how to go on from the point that I'm at. Mind you, I can only write more on the murder or detective parts untill the prisoner goes to sleep. Help me please.
P.S. Feel free to bash this story, but if you do so, give constructive criticism and tell me how to improve. Please don't rip off any part of this. By the way, cookies to whomever can correctly point out all the references to outside things in this. I plan to put more. a LOT more. So Ideas on that would be helpful as well. Thanks in advance!
-TheMeat:shock:
Disclaimer: This story is purely fictional and in no way represents anyone or anything but the imagination of the author, or anyone or anything that may have helped contribute/sparked his imagination. Warning: Some language throughout the story may not be for some readers.
Blood lust was the only thing on his mind as he felt the knife being driven into the woman's body, and the suction the warm, sticky blood created as he ripped it out.
The woman was silenced after three stabs, and more than likely dead after five, but that didn't stop him. He was driven mad with the satisfaction of the feel, the texture of the blood against his skin. He knew he would be caught. He didn't give a damn, but he had to give a fight.
Wednesday, 12/14/1953.
This was detective John Steinberg's last case before retirement. He hoped It'd be like the last few he'd had. Easy. His Green cap and undershirt, his blue eyes and black mustache, and the brown shoes and blue overalls all had his colleagues thinking of getting their sink fixed, but he knew that it was just a bad day in college when that picture was taken. Steinberg was a lengthy man, almost in his forties. His complexion was that of a baby's bottom, wrinkly and wet. White, too. The jet-black hair was an accessory to the odd coolness to be seen in his face. No, it was too cool. Almost wet. Freezing.
“Wake up, fool!” said the warden. “Cell inspection. Get the hell out of here and into the lineup!” I did so, grumbling as I wiped the water off my face and onto the dirty orange jumpsuit. The warden was obsessed with checking the cells every day, after every meal. It made me sick, and I had missed breakfast.
END
So that's it. You may be thinking that these are non-related sections. Well, they are entirely related. Basically the person the murdered his wife is the same as the prisoner. They are entirely the same person. The prisoner is reliving what got him into prison though his dreams, thus the murder. I'm not entirely sure what to do with the detective part, but my Idea is that he's also going through his own rendition of what the detective went through to catch him in his dream. At the end of the story is when I want to blow the reader's mind and make them fully realize that all three mini-stories are the same person. I've got writer's block and do not know how to go on from the point that I'm at. Mind you, I can only write more on the murder or detective parts untill the prisoner goes to sleep. Help me please.
P.S. Feel free to bash this story, but if you do so, give constructive criticism and tell me how to improve. Please don't rip off any part of this. By the way, cookies to whomever can correctly point out all the references to outside things in this. I plan to put more. a LOT more. So Ideas on that would be helpful as well. Thanks in advance!
-TheMeat:shock: