Really bad fiction thread; or It was a dark & stormy night, pt. 2

[Ad Astra]

There was some really good writing in the "BDC" thread that got moved, so I know we can do it. Get your mind off Christmas. Enough heavy threads in here! It's time for something light. In the memory of Josh's "Tall Tales Thread," I say: Bring on your worst writing!



The line of gray figures charged towards us. My rifle picked out one after another and I fired until I heard the hammer fall on an empty chamber. The fusilade of lead didn't slow them. They paused in the trees for a moment, then their leader gave the signal in silence. As they rushed towards us I could see their eyes, dark and wide; as wild animals they came. I dropped the empty rifle, and drawing my pistol, began firing. I couldn't miss, but there were just too many. I fired point-blank, bringing one down as he was about to leap. They were just too many of them, and as the slide locked back on an empty chamber, we were overrun by the flood of squirrels.


Ad Astra

 

[Spectre]

Frantically, I sprang for a tree.
Wait a minute, I thought. What the hell am I doing? Squirrels climb.
So, I dodged behind the tree, hoping the furry flood would be parted by my protection. But, I was out of luck.
It started with my feet. Suddenly, there was a quick rustle of cloth, and a light catch, and before I could recoil in horror, one was scampering up my leg. I kicked upwards, hoping to shake him, just as more- at least two, I don't know, it's dark, can't see- mounted my left leg.
I began some kind of crazy dance in the dark, high kicking like a Cossack.
If mama could only see me now, I thought.
Ah, mama. So far away in our little cottage in Gurlitwanderlandia, where the cherry bushes grew and blueberry trees bloomed. Would I ever see her again? Would I ever see sweet Trebumbka? Trebumbka, my love, I will die in a cold place, in the rain, with small beady eyes checking my last breath.

 

[munk]

I cursed the day I bought that Squirel hormone at the sporting goods store. All I'd wanted was to put a few squirels into the pot for stew. It was hard to feed a family in a post nuke America. I mean, even the Walmarts were closed.
Only a few venders were left here and there.

I watched helplessly as a squirel attempted to become armorous on my trouser leg. But then a strange thing happened; they started to fight each other for the right to mate.

I was saved, they were killing each other off.



munk

 

[stevomiller]

My God, help me, I must save my nuts! They were right there, unprotected and in the open, just waiting for to be devoured by rabid rodents of the night! I brushed aside the swarms of tooth nashing ghoulish bushy tails, kicking and screaming as I ran like the wind before the scapmpering hordes. Alas, my nuts were unscathed, waiting in the basket at the edge of the clearing where I had dropped them! My family would not go hungry tonight.........

 

[Thomas Linton]

I gathered up the bulging nuts and ran towards the throbing woods. Finally, heaving! But would I ever be bulging again?

 

[BrentH]

Gasping, I glanced over my shoulder..

My eyes widened in shock!

The large homone crazed, amorphous mass of squirrels,
pouring out of the gloomy woods behind me -

Merged seamlessly into single monstrous entity!

14.725 feet tall at a guess.. With huge rodent teeth flashing.

Eyes fixed redly on my nuts....

I felt them shrivel in my grasp!

My goodness gracious!!! What hormone did THIS???

Luckily as is my wont, when walking in the woods.

I had strapped to my left leg my beloved lady rose..

Along with, on my right leg, My new ducti.

With a swift stooping cross draw - I whipped both weapons from their scabbards!

Ducti held vertically - rose held horizontally across...

Did those deepset eyes flinch????

Did the tooled dragons of the ducti, strike fear into this crazed beast???

 

[stevomiller]

My chest heaving (literally, I was vomitting) I pulled myself into my truck. The BMW screamed to life as I shoved my foot down the gas pedals throat. Behind me on my motor scooter was my beloved wife, brandishing my Durba WWII like it was a light saber. As we flew back down into the meadow, she swung it hither and thither, slaying dementia rodentia with every slash. She was as a barbarous she-ra, or at least a really mean haus frau with a toothache. This was nothing new to her, this killing, this slaying, this reaping of evil souls that came to devour us. Sweat glistened on her forehead, in the really bright moonlight, as her blade cut down our oppressors like a peasant woman in Romania or some other eastern european country cuts down wheat with a sycle, or a scythe, or a Nepali gal cuts rice stalks with her kurpi. It was like that. Our horse soon became tired, and we were forced to dismount and fight on foot. My kami with no name Kobra flew from its sheath, singing with bloodlust. I ran like a fool headlong into battle, looking for the leader of these bringers of bubonic bane. Full of rage, and 5 or 11 beers, I staggered up to the......the..... I forget. This is where it gets a little fuzzy for me, and things stopped making sense.......