Three Sentence Stories to Pass the Time

I apologise for not updating for some time, I’ve been a little lazy with my writing.

As of now, I am also waiting for a friend of mine to proofread my short horror novella, Willow Worshipped. Once she is finished and I have fixed it all up, I will be posting the novella in short parts for your viewing pleasure (or horror, I suspect).

To make up for the long wait, I have spent the last couple of hours creating a small anthology of three sentence stories, mostly horror and sci-fi themed. I was originally going to do two sentence stories but I found it hard to write a good story in only two sentences.

Some of these stories have a running theme, others are just stand-alones. The micro-stories with the running theme were inspired by an idea I had for a compilation of short stories. Who knows, I may even turn them into proper short stories someday.

Please enjoy!


Thanks to powerful advancements in technology, virtual reality headsets have changed the way we use popular social media sites such as Facebook. Nowadays, we can ‘react’ to anything within our field of vision, ‘block’ anyone we don’t want to see and ‘friend’ anybody with just a wink of an eye. Just this morning I not only sent a frowny face hovering over a horrific traffic accident on the M1, I also blocked (and muted) the screaming idiot in the truck who caused the crash and friended the blood-soaked woman lying on the road so I could write a tasteful message on her wall to let her loved ones know she had died almost instantaneously.


My name is Celeste and I had always wanted to use an Ouija board. Yes, it was during my first use of the supposed ghost summoning device that the roof collapsed and my neck was crushed by a wooden beam. Goodbye.


Ever since I got my virtual reality headset, my life has become a lot more liveable and enjoyable. My favourite part is Facebook’s fantastic ‘block’ feature which ensures I don’t have to see or hear the people who I cannot stand the most.  Now I can shop peacefully in an empty aisle, complete my job sans annoying co-workers and rest at home without having my god awful teenager screaming in my face about how much she hates me; such bliss!


Moments after my death, He met me at the fiery gates of the spiralling abyss. As I tried to convince him of my devotion to my religion, to Him, He let out a rumbling noise which I assumed was laughter. In the distance, I heard the collective scream of humanity and in that moment I knew that we had all been wrong.


Ever since Mum bought me my first ever virtual reality headset a week ago, I now have over one thousand friends on Facebook! It’s so insane but so cool how you can befriend anyone you can see walking down the street, all you have to do is wink at them and if they wink back you have a brand new friend! Yesterday, I kept trying to wink at this old guy and he just stared at me like I was some sort of freak and I realised that he didn’t have a VA headset on; thank god I could block him, it was so awkies!


After much research into supernatural phenomena, I’ve come to the conclusion that there is no such thing as ghost, demons or the paranormal. In fact, I believe that any photo or video featuring poltergeist behaviour or ghostly apparitions with no earthly explanation can instead be credited as the work of beings in a dimension that we as human are unable to perceive.  So if you always get the feeling that someone is watching you in bed or in the shower  the culprit is less likely to be a ghost or bogeymen and more likely to be an incomprehensible life form who has formed a great attachment to you and your physical form.


These godforsaken virtual whatever-the-hell-they-ares have destroyed what is left of this society. Every day I would walk down the street and see people screaming ‘SADFACE’ at the homeless and ‘ANGRYFACE’ at the church and whenever I would try to start up a conversation with someone on the bus they would always shout ‘BLOCK’ right in my face and ignore me for the rest of the ride. It’s been two hours now and I’m still lying crumpled in a heap at the bottom of these blasted stairs and although I’ve screamed myself hoarse my children and wife still haven’t acknowledged me even once.


For more updates on my online horror novella Willow Worshipped, consider following me on Twitter – @AlthaeaProse.


Visual Verse Update – Our Gothic Dreamhouse

Image by Grant Wood; Taken from

After a wonderful holiday with some good friends, I came back onto the internet and discovered something awesome. Visual Verse has added my little story to their most recent chapter!

If you click on the above link, you can find my story on page 131. However for the sake of showing off I’ll also include my story below.

I hope you enjoy it!


Our Gothic Dreamhouse

This was their dream.

A beautiful Gothic homestead in the suburbs.

A place where she could cook him meals, knit him sweaters, satisfy his every need.

It was only fair; after all, he had worked for so long for this moment.

Thirty years, in fact.

Thirty years of his life toiling in a field where nothing dared to grow.

Thirty years spent dealing with dry spells, locust plagues and suspiciously poisoned crops.

Thirty years of having her tired blue eyes staring down his back as he walked out of the door to work every morning, only to have the same reception when he came home every night.

Thirty years without intimacy, thirty years childless.

Thirty years in the same country, in the same state, in the same house.

But not anymore.

Now, for the first time in thirty years, they could spend their days side by side, locked in unending holy matrimony right here.

A beautiful Gothic homestead in the suburbs.

This was their dream.


For more information about Visual Verse and how to submit a story, check out my blog post about it here.

FFftPP Week #7 2016

It’s that time again. Flash Fiction time! Today, the little pupper below provides the inspiration for my writing. For more information about Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner and rules for entering, click here.


Photo Source:

“…for the thousandth time, I promise you, it wasn’t me!”

The small canine glanced at me, a patient look in its eyes. Its black tail thumped against the wooden boardwalk. The sound reminded me of my own quickening heartbeat.

I could feel beads of sweat beginning to form on my brow.

“I didn’t drink from your bottle again, honest!”

Its stare was unflinching.  The wet patches under my arms were getting bigger.

“A-alright, so I took the tiniest of swigs…just a sip! I mean, come on…it’s probably only put a few more years onto my life!”

“Jackson Smith, you’ve been alive for three hundred and sixty five years.”

A deafening voice echoed around me, making me fall to my knees. The black puppy gazed at me. Without moving its mouth it boomed one final message.

“Your time has come.”

“No…please no!”

The ground below me opened into a swirling vortex of brimstone and smoke. I began to scream as my body started to sink.

The tiny labrador turned and started to patter its way down the pier. Its little wagging tail was the last thing I saw before the whirling spiral engulfed my head.



Short Story-Time: The Terrible Truth About Valentine’s Day

Here is my contribution to what is arguably the most romantic day of the year.

Be sure to send it (or link it) to all of your loved ones, preferably those who are single, hate Valentine’s Day or love a bit of dark (and somewhat skewed) history.

For maximum enjoyment, read it out loud a few days before Valentine’s Day and after a couple of glasses of your preferred alcoholic beverage.



Hey you, the one with the big gloomy frown!

Yes I’m talking to you. Don’t look so shocked.

Why have you been actively avoiding all those mushy romantic posts on Facebook and WordPress for the past week? What’s with that big blank space in your diary on February 14th? Why do you roll your eyes every time you see a big Valentine’s Day get-a-treat-for-your-special-someone sale advertised on TV?

Oh, I get it. No really, I do.

It’s because you’re single, right? Or is it because you’re just sick to death of all of this, as you call it, ‘commercialised Hallmark holiday bullshit’?

Maybe it’s a little from column A and a little from column B.

No, wait! I’m not mocking you; honest!

Listen; just listen to me, okay? You’re perfect, you’re just the type of person I want to talk to.

I want to tell you something that is really important. You could go as far as to say that it may even save your life.

Are you sitting down? Okay, here it goes, then.

I am going to tell you the terrible truth about Valentine’s Day.

What!?  You already know the truth? Not only that, you also know the origin of Saint Valentine’s Day already?

Okay, let’s hear it then. I’m all ears.

Woah, woah, woah…where the hell did you hear that?

Secret marriages? Old men in funny looking hats?

Persecuted Christians!?

Valentine’s Day was never a Christian celebration!  That’s like calling Christmas a Jewish celebration.

For crying out loud, it isn’t even supposed to be called Valentine’s Day!

Your ignorance astounds me, it genuinely does.

Now listen up, I’m going to give you a very important history lesson.

Before some guy came along and decided February 14th should be named after some other guy, February 14th was part of a three day festival of purification.

During the time of Ancient Rome it was known as Lupercalia, or ‘Wolf Festival’. It was said to be a celebration dedicated to the founders of Rome, Remus and Romulus as well as the she-wolf who raised them.

Of course, that was how the Romans celebrated it. Long before they took over the tradition, the festival was held by a group of nomad shepherds. These shepherds lived in an unmarked region which overlapped with Rome, hence how the Romans came to know of the festival.

Anyway, it doesn’t matter who holds the festival, what matters is what occurs during the main ceremony of the festival.

Before the ceremony began, a group of priests (the Romans called them Luperci or “brothers of the wolf”) would gather at a special cave. They believed this was where the twin boys Romulus and Remus were raised by their wolf mother.

At this cave, the priests would perform a purification ceremony. This ritual was very specific and as such entailed the use of very specific objects. This included two male goats, a dog, a small bronze dagger, sheep wool and the milk of a pregnant she-goat.

The ceremony always started with the sacrifice of the two male goats and dog with the dagger. Once that had been performed, two young men would be led to the altar. It was of utmost importance that these young men were of noble birth.

The head priest would then wipe the sacrificed blood off the dagger using a swab of wool. Of course, the wool must have already been soaked in the she- goat’s milk overnight. It couldn’t have just been given a quick dunk; it must have absorbed the milk completely.

After this has been done, the two young men would have their foreheads anointed with the sacrificial blood off of the wool.

The next step was a crucial part of the ritual. With blood dripping down their foreheads, the two young men would have to laugh. Their laughter must have been loud enough to echo throughout the interior of cave. The louder and the more joyful it sounded, the better.

I know this sounds weird but trust me; I’ve been studying this ceremony for decades.

The hides of the sacrificed goats would then have to be stripped clean off. Some of the skins would be draped over the priests while others would be cut into lengths and dipped in the sacrificial blood.

The priests would then run back into town, slapping any crops, buildings or women who they happened to pass with the lengths of goat skin.

For Romans, this process was thought to have helped increase fertility in women and reduce complications during childbirth. They also considered it an important cleansing ritual that would purify their city and chase away evil.

At least they got part of it right, I suppose.

The Lupercalia Festival went on for many centuries.

Then the Christians came along, scrutinised the festival’s apparent deviousness and banned its proceedings in Rome.  By the end of the 5th century, Lupercalia was no more.

Oh, so you found that interesting, did you? You say it’s opened your eyes to the misconceptions of the past?

Well, I’m glad to hear that, I guess.

Do you remember how I said this ceremony was celebrated long before the Romans? Well, it’s true. The purification festival has been going on for a very long time. I dare to say that it was around even before the nomad shepherds existed. They just recorded the finer details of the ceremony and the Romans managed to perfect it.

I suppose the only thing the Romans got wrong was how often the ritual needed to be done. They always performed it once a year whereas the shepherds estimated it only needed to be carried out once every century.

Perhaps the Luperci were just being safe.

What’s that you say? How long has it been since the last ritual?

Well if we assume the ceremonies stopped at the end of the 5th century, the last one would have been done approximately 1500 years ago.

That’s fifteen ceremonies that have not been performed.

I would consider that a pretty damn lucky streak. The shepherds estimated that the amount of times the ritual could be avoided was maybe eight or nine times. They weren’t stupid enough to give it a try, of course.

What’s that? What would happen if the ceremony wasn’t performed?

Unfortunately my friend, that is where my knowledge on the subject stops.

However, I’m certain the shepherds did have some idea what the ramifications were of not performing the ceremony. The problem is that all they seemed to refuse to tell anyone who wasn’t a shepherd.

No really! I have read a replicated recount of a shepherd who was brutally killed by other shepherds for insinuating that he was going to write the consequences down for future shepherds to read.

I guess they didn’t like to keep records of it. I wonder how they would feel knowing the ceremony hadn’t been performed for nearly an entire millennium.

Fifteen missed ceremonies going on sixteen missed ceremonies.

If you want my opinion on the absence of purification ceremonies, I’d say it’d be kind of like if you skipped insurance payments.  Sure, you never think anything bad will happen, so you might not make a payment for a little while. You might even drop the payments entirely and laugh it all off as a useless investment.  Then all of a sudden, something bad happens to you, but oops! You didn’t make any payments, so you’re on your own. You’d be in some serious trouble, I imagine.

Now replace insurance with purification ceremonies, you with the entirety of humanity and something bad with something bad which may have ramifications for all life as we know it.

Yeah, looks pretty bleak, doesn’t it?

Could we do something about it, you ask? Could we perhaps make preparations to begin this ceremony as soon as the 14th comes around again?

I’m assuming you didn’t know that the three day purification festival actually starts on the 12th  and not on the 14th, right?

Oh don’t fret; it’s only one more missed ceremony. We’re doing pretty well so far, I think. Surely one more isn’t going to be that big of a deal.

We can afford to miss one more insurance payment, can’t we?

Besides, this gives us plenty of time to start getting ready for next year.

So, what do you want to do first then? Find the goats or round up some rich frat boys?

Scene Challenge of the Week

I’ve decided to have a go at writing in a flash fiction challenge.

What is flash fiction? Well, it’s a story that usually has less than 1000 words. This particular flash fiction challenge comes from ‘The Art of Writing‘, a blog run by Tobias Mastgrave.

The rules are simple: write a 150 word story that is just one, continuous sentence. Okay, so it isn’t that simple but it sure is interesting.

The cue for this week is “Papa, I want…”

Without further ado, here is my entry for the Scene Challenge of the Week:


“Papa, I want a dolly with a pretty pink petticoat, brown button eyes and sparkling ballet shoes;

a music box that plays soothing lullabies that I can listen to while I sleep;

a brand new diary made of the finest leather so I can write all my secrets inside it along with a matching feathery quill;

oh and I would absolutely die for a piece of chocolate cake made of the finest Belgian chocolate with a strawberry on top of it as well as a cool, refreshing glass of milk to wash it down with;

if it’s not too much trouble, could I also get a nice clean blanket to keep me warm at night and if it’s quite alright with you could I also get a pretty blonde wig so I can brush my hair again and a lovely new dress to replace these stripy blue and white pyjamas…Papa, why are you crying?”

Willow Worshipped Part 1: Well that just happened…

(Anyone interested in drawing a cartoon character please scroll down to the bottom for more details!)

So today, I decided to have a go at continuing a short horror story I started in the middle of last year.

Well, five and a half hours and 13 extra pages later and I can happily say that I have completed it.

Actually, when I say completed I mean I typed the last word of the last sentence of the story. I still need to do some major editing/proofreading before I can be fully satisfied with it.

This post is pretty much just a bit of gloating over the fact that I’ve actually finished another story.

Oh heck, I’ll give you a bit of a preview to the story as well I suppose.

‘Willow Worshipped’ is a short horror story that gained inspiration from two of my favourite pastimes – watching horror movies and reading online recounts about the horrifying things people do.

We’ll start with horror movies because I think it’s the more boring inspiration. I love horror movies (and stories) that revolve around a crazy kidnapper. I couldn’t imagine what it must be like getting abducted by a sick individual.

I think the worst person to be kidnapped by would be someone who was totally obsessed with you. Someone who knows where you work, where you sleep, someone who would flip out if they discovered you did something that ruined their perfect image of you and your work. If you’re reading this and thinking to yourself “hey, this sounds like Stephen King’s ‘Misery'” then you are absolutely right. I’m happy to admit that ‘Willow Worshipped’ was more than likely inspired by one of my favourite Stephen King novels.

I’m also a bit of a guilty fan of freaky transformation horror movies. A crazed maniac takes a poor, unsuspected victim and turns them into their greatest desire – think ‘The Human Centipede’ and on a less horror and more of a directed by the same guy who made ‘Clerks’ way, ‘Tusk’. ‘Willow Worshipped’ loves this trope and if you do then I hope you’ll love ‘Willow Worshipped’ too.

My second biggest inspiration for this short story is a bit more of an interesting one. I’m sure you’ve heard of the phrase ‘once it’s on the internet, it’s there for good’. Unfortunately, there are a lot of people who haven’t heard this statement before. That’s probably why there are so many terrifying bits of TMI (too much information) on the internet.

Most of these TMIs tend to come from crazy, obsessive fans. One particular tidbit that caught my eye was a story about a man who just happened to be in love with a character from a 90’s Saturday morning kid’s cartoon. In fact, he loved her so much that he made a um…’love’ doll that looked just like her.

If that wasn’t bad enough, a revelation was made that he had used an actual human skeleton as the frame to make his perfect love doll. It both terrified and disgusted me. I think it’s safe to say that once you eventually get a chance to read ‘Willow Worshipped’ you’ll discover that…interesting story played a huge role in it’s creation.

Another fairly big inspiration that helped me to write ‘Willow Worshipped’ is the interesting world of character voice acting and all the crap the more famous voice actors have to deal with. Again, fans can get just a little bit too TMI.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my little sneak peek into my brand new short story! I’ll hopefully have it all edited soon (all 23 pages of it, eek) and I’ll place it up here for everyone to read and critique.

[Oh, another thing! I would love to hire someone to draw Willow (the animated cartoon character that the story is all about). I have a shitty concept sketch but I’d love someone who can draw a decent looking 90s cartoon character to illustrate her to help promote the story! If you’re interested, please comment below!]

Short Story-Time: The L-ed Girl

I will admit, I am a bit nervous about this.

I don’t think this is the best story I’ll ever write. In fact, it does seem a little juvenile to me. But it’s one of the first short stories I’ve ever completed that I’ve felt fairly satisfied about.

Since the first draft I created at the end of 2015, I’ve been over this story a dozen or so times, changing bits and removing pieces. Despite all the work I think I’ve put into it, I have an inkling some of the grammar may be a bit off. I’m also concerned that the ending doesn’t make as much sense as I think it does.

That’s where you come in. I’m making you my unofficial editor. Please read this story and tell me what you think. Are there any grammatical errors I need to fix up? Do any of the sentences sound weird or awkward? Is the ending clear enough or does it at least make sense?

When I first showed my forever suffering brother the first copy of this, he said he didn’t entirely understand the ending. Since then I have fixed it up to try and make it a bit more understandable.

In saying this, I would also appreciate it if you could not only be my unofficial editor, but also my unofficial critic. Please tell me your interpretations of this story, if you have any. Do you see the ending in a different way than I intended? I was surprised when my brother first gave his interpretation of it, but I genuinely liked what he thought it was supposed to be. Like all art, I believe stories can be subjective.

So if you have the time, please read this one and let me know what you think!


The L-ed Girl

This is, unfortunately, a true story about a close friend of mine.

She works as an editor for a fairly unknown children’s magazine called Girlz Rock. For security reasons, I’ll refer to her using the pseudonym Leilah.

I’ve been friends with Leilah since she was about 9 or 10. When I first met her, I found myself drawn to her. There was just something about her that I wished I could have. We shared a few things in common too, so I initially thought getting to know her would be easy.

Oh, how wrong I was. Leilah was a shy girl and as hard as I tried to keep a conversation going, she only ever acknowledged me with single words or small nods.  I decided not to take it personally.

After learning about her introverted nature, I decided the best way to have a deep and meaningful conversation with her was via email. So one night, I wrote a short but carefully detailed message to her and clicked the send button. I received a reply an hour later. It was almost two pages long.

Ever since that fateful night, Leilah and I have been through thick and thin together. She had a very nervous disposition as a child, so I was the one who tended to push her into new experiences. I always complimented her writing abilities and when she graduated from high school I convinced her to do a journalism degree.

I think it was the right thing to do. After all, without that degree she would have never gotten that interview at Girlz Rock magazine.

In her more recent emails, she often tells me tales about the many things that go on at the Girlz Rock HQ. The fun office parties and the strange and exciting excursions she goes on.  Last week, they went to the Nickelodeon SlimeFest and she got to interview Guy Sebastian. She even sent me the finalised article a week before it was actually published. This wasn’t an unusual occurrence as she often sends me copies of the magazine’s articles to peruse.

That is how I got my hands on the single most terrifying story I have ever read.

The story I am talking about was a competition entry submitted to the magazine that Leilah works for, Girlz Rock.

Just to clarify, Girlz Rock is a monthly published magazine which is aimed at a female pre-teen audience. The magazine usually specialises in stereotypically feminine articles and how-to guides, ranging from cooking and fashion to celebrity gossip and book reviews.

More recently, the magazine has begun dabbling outside of its usual pink and purple prose. Perhaps this was an attempt to gain a wider audience but I honestly believe it was to sell more copies. The magazine was starting to go down the shitter, after all. They had the internet to blame for that I suppose.

The magazine’s lack of popularity was definitely taking a toll on Leilah. Ever since she had gotten the job she had dedicated her life to Girlz Rock, working long hours to produce the best content she could. Knowing that the dying magazine was on its last legs was really hitting her hard.

Getting back to the point of all this, one example of the magazine’s editors going beyond their usual comfort zone was the Girlz Rock Halloween Campfire Horror Story Competition.

Now into its third year, the competition always starts in August and runs through to September. In a bright and colourful two-page spread in the August issue, the audience of the magazine are asked to submit their scariest story. It could be a true story, a ghost story, a nightmare – as long as it was the most horrifying story they could imagine. They would then have to either post the story in a letter to the magazine’s HQ or email the story to the Girlz Rock official website. The deadline was mid-September.

Then, every year in the last week of September, the entries are judged by the entire staff of Girlz Rock. This was a fairly easy process as the magazine only had a handful of staff on it. Each member would sort through the submissions and choose their favourite. Out of the several stories chosen, one would be declared the winner and included in the October edition of the magazine. The writer would be sent a certificate and a halloween gift pack for winning, then the competition would wrap up for another year.

Seems innocuous enough, right? Well, not necessarily.  Every year there are always…unusual entries. Leilah always told me about those ones, I guess she needed someone to vent about their upsetting nature. Some were unnecessarily gory, written by children who were watching movies way too mature for them.  Others were sob stories written by hormonal girls who probably had just gotten their first period. There was one girl who submitted the same story every year, and every year the story was rejected.

Then, in September of 2015, the magazine received yet another story via email. The email ended up getting swamped underneath the dozens of other entries. Despite only having such a small circulation, the magazine managed to get quite a few entries in the competition. Leilah theorised this may be due to girls sending multiple entries under different emails, going around the competition’s policy of one entry per reader.

Unfortunately for Leilah, due to co-workers going on holidays, getting married, having babies and just being purely lazy, she was the first person assigned to look through the online submissions. So, at a ridiculously early hour in the morning, Leilah found herself reading through some of the stories. She was a poor sleeper and because of this her body clock was ridiculously out of whack, so she found it easier to do most of her work after midnight.

Anyway, she was browsing these fairly crappy and downright cheesy horror stories while finishing her third bottle of Shiraz. Actually, she’s probably more like scanning them at this point I assume. At one point, I don’t know exactly when, it all becomes a blur. This could be from her tiredness, or maybe from her drunkenness. Then, after a seemingly endless amount of time, she most likely stood up from her desk to get more wine or go to the bathroom. When she comes back, she sits back down and tries to find where she was up to in the current story she was reading.

It’s all a bit of blur but the story begins to make less and less sense as she continues to read. So she forwards the story to me, along with a very sloppily written message. Then, overcome with exhaustion, she closes the story and goes to her bed to have her first proper sleep in days.

To fully understand what state of mind Leilah was in at this point of time, the following paragraph is a word for word copy of the email she sent me before she crashed into a deep slumber:

Hi Min,  sbout ti go to sleep.. do u mind checking thid story out? its for the Halloween comp. I swear to god the words kept chaning and rearranging letters and shit fuuuuuuck im so fuckking tired n wasted the start seemed p good thou plz tell me if its good or if its just shit,, its about a gf whos trying to spook her bf I think, lol just read it plz. Leilah xxxxx

I first saw the email on the evening after she sent it. When I was on the couch and nice and comfy, I opened the word document and was met with a story written in 12 point Times New Roman.

What you are about to read is an untouched version of the story Leilah had attached to the email. I am really emphasising the point that I have in no way whatsoever altered this text.

Here it is.


The Girl who was L-Worded by Everyone

Once upon a time there was a girl named Hallie. Most of the time, Hallie wished she was dead. But sometimes, she didn’t. Those times were when she was with her step-brother, Danny.

He meant more to her than anyone in the entire world.

They had known each other for such a long time and they knew all of each other’s secrets. Even the secrets that Hallie never told anyone else.  

Danny had promised to never leave Hallie, and that made Hallie so happy.

But one day, Danny started talking to another girl, Kady. Unlike Hallie, Kady was a fat, ugly whore.  Her face was covered in zits and oozing with pus and her breasts were like two tiny limp sacks of shit. She opened her legs to any boy who asked her to and as a result she’d gotten knocked up in high school.

Lucky for her coat hangers exist.

But now, Kady had her eyes set on Danny. Much to Hallie’s despair, the two began to hang out a lot. Danny even lied to Hallie and said he was visiting friends when he was actually seeing Kady!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

One day, he said he  l-worded Kady to one of his friends!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Luckily, she had been watching him but she had disguised herself so he didn’t recognise her. When she heard Danny L-WORDED !!!!!!! Kady she got really, really, really, really ,really,, really,, really, really, really,, really ,really, really, really, really,, really mad.

She decided to play a trick on Danny as revenge for abandoning her. When he was hanging out with the slut, Hallie snuck into his room and cut up his books. She tore up his posters. She stomped his model planes. She broke his favourite soccer trophy.

When he came into his room was so mad. He yelled at Hallie and made her cry. He had never made Hallie cry before. He said he hated her. He said she had to leave now.

Hallie told him she was going to tell her step-daddy the horrible things he was saying to her. Danny said he was sorry and he hugged her and he said she could stay as long as she wanted to. Danny said he l-worded her. Hallie said she l-worded him back.

That night he let her sleep beside him. But she woke up in the middle of the night and she knew something was wrong. He was gone.

She heard noises outside and looked out his window. He was talking to Kady!!!!!!!! They were laughing and h-wording and then they k-worded!?!?!?! Hallie screamed and screamed and scREAMED AND SCREAMED AND SCREAMED AND SCREAMED

Danny raced upstairs and told Hallie to shut the FUCK up or she’d wake his dad.

He told her she was a dumb stupid bITCH and that he NEVER l-worded her.

He told her she would never be l-worded by ANYONE, not even by her step-daddy.

She hit him. Then she hit him again. He fell back and his head hit the corner of her bed. Then she hit him again. Then she hit him again and again and again and again andai adign and again and again and again aigamd again and again anfaogn and again angaigand again.  

His eyes were all rolled back funny and he began drooling but she just kept hitting him harder and harder.

Then Hallie sat on the floor and started crying.

She cried and cried and cried and cried until the ambulance came and took her away.

the End


In retrospect, this probably seems like a fairly shitty story, written by just another emotional teenage girl with some very obvious issues. I completely understand how you might see it to be this way. If I was in your situation, I would feel the exact same.

Now, I have heard some horrific stories before. In fact, you can put your trust in me when I say that I have read some really disgusting, stomach wrenching things that would make any ordinary person wince.

But let me assure you quite strongly that this is the first thing I have ever seen that has made my whole body go cold.

I’ve been trying to get in contact with Leilah in any way I can but she hasn’t been acknowledging me. That idiot, she’s probably still out of it after that night long drunken stupor. I mean, she’s hard enough to contact as it is, why the fuck does she go and get plastered like this all the time? It makes it that much harder to try and communicate with her.

I sincerely have no idea how she found this story or how it got into her hands. After all, there is no way in hell that anyone else would know about all this information. I mean, Danny’s a fucking vegetable now, how could she have gotten all of this?

Something must have just clicked in the past few days. Maybe it was all those scary stories she was reading, something had to have acted as the golden key to that long abandoned cellar door…

No, that’s impossible. For god’s sake, she was what, 9 or 10 when this happened? How could a girl that young remember all of…this in such vivid detail?

Who am I kidding, this is entirely my fault. I didn’t work hard enough. I didn’t push hard enough on that cellar door. My one job, my whole fucking purpose was to ensure that she never remembered all this bullshit, and I failed.

For the love of god, she’s even reverted back to that l-word crap. Poor naïve girl, it was her only barrier back then before I was around.  Her logic was that if she could just forget the word, then the meaning of the word and what her Daddy was doing to her would just go away.

Then the adults finally caught on and they locked that monster away to rot in his cell and she began to rebuild her life and her childhood. That was where I came in.

I guess I started off as something like an imaginary friend. I gave her supportive messages any chance I could, usually through subconscious thoughts or sticky notes I wrote when she wasn’t around.  When those didn’t work I resorted to emailing her. If something started getting a bit too intense, I would take over and make it alright.

I was just trying to make life for Leilah as smooth as possible, you have to believe me.

Everything was going so well and then her mother got remarried and she began spiralling again. Her step-brother, Danny… he just didn’t understand the severity of her condition. He was trying his best to comfort her, to be a good brother but he was a teenager and he needed his own life. I guess Leilah didn’t understand this. After the incident with Danny, I now sincerely believe there is no way that Leilah can have a serious relationship with any man.

I can keep going on for hours about the many problems and issues dear Leilah has, but that doesn’t stop the fact that she somehow remembered everything, l-word and all.

No, I have to stop lamenting over this right now. I am the reason this has happened and as Leilah’s lifeline and safety net, it’s my responsibility to fix this mess.

While she’s still asleep, I’m going to delete the original email with the story attached to it. I’ll also delete the forwarded message, just to be sure. Then before she wakes up, I’m going to write her an email under the name Min like I’ve been doing ever since we were kids.

As always, I’ll be her concerned online pen-pal inquiring to make sure she is okay.  I’ll interrogate her, but only lightly. I just want to be sure that she has completely wiped away any last traces of the story she wrote.

I’m so glad she was drunk that night and I’m even gladder that she’s gone into a deep sleep. She must be in her safe place right now, forgetting the last tidbits of what she wrote. The email she sent me prior to falling asleep confirms she probably has already forgotten what she did.

I have to be so careful. Hallie must never remember anything ever again. Not what her Daddy did, not what happened to Danny, not anything. It could ruin her and it could ruin everything I’ve tried to do for her.

Even when I’m writing this I’m trying to be extra safe. I’m leaving no traces on the computer, I’ve uploaded this document safely on my secret cloud server attached to Min’s email address.

I’m sorry, Hallie. I’m so, so sorry. I promise you I will never let this happen again.

But what if it does?

What if she finally does get her head around the awful things that happened to her and to Danny?

What if she discovers who I actually am? What if she goes to a psychologist, a psychiatrist?

Thinking about it makes me feel queasy.

I guess my only option is that I may have to protect her even more. I’ll have to stop letting her take over less and less. Maybe it’d be for the best if she just stayed inside her safe place and I did all the work from now on.

After all, isn’t that what I have been doing since square one? I was the one who actually had to press the ‘apply now’ button to get into university. I was the one who completed complicated assignments after she had collapsed on the couch and cried herself to sleep. For the love of god, I even had to send her resume (which I typed) off to the Girlz Rock HQ for her.  I still can’t believe she thinks they called her out of the blue for an interview.

This was all my doing. Everything good that has happened in her life was a result of me working through her. She was merely a vessel for every single one of my successes.

As for the supposed ‘real’ Hallie? She’s still fucking mess and she can barely function without me.

I had to stop her from committing suicide twice last week. If I hadn’t of been here, she would have been dead anyway. What a waste of a perfectly good body. Sure, it may be a little bit chubby and somewhat of an eyesore, but I think I can work on that.

Yes, I think keeping her in her safe place from now on would be for the best then.

I know you don’t understand this you naive little girl, but I’m doing this for your own good.

I’ll live the life you’d never possibly be able to, Hallie.

Then, when I achieve everything that you couldn’t even imagine in your wildest dreams, I will release you one last time just so I can tell you the truth.

I never l-worded you in the first place.