+ Fictions from an aspiring teen.
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Blog name: Alluring Fiction
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owner: Creator [Tsuki]
Ver.: Two
Followers: Two
Monday, 25 January 2016 at 02:29 with 0 comment(s)
Gasp!
It all started in a cosy café after meeting her client. She had noticed him standing outside talking on the phone peeking inside the café. She felt sparks fly once his eyes landed on her. A smile graced his face sending blood to her cheeks, causing her to look away.

A soft ding radiated into the café, signalling that someone had just entered. A shadow crossed over her table. A gentle voice slipped into her ear sending shivers down her spine. “Is this seat taken?” Numbly, she shook her head and watched him sit down. A waitress came over and took his order, “One cappuccino please.” He smiled, “Oh and a slice of black forest cake for the sweet lady in front of me too please.” Her ears turned red at the compliment. A silence thick enough to be cut enveloped their table. She could feel his heavy stare but she refused to make eye contact.

The waitress came back and broke the awkwardness. A smile slipped across her face as she watched the cake appear before her. “There’s the smile I saw.” Her smile grew.
“Thank-you for the cake.” She giggled softly, enjoying the company.
“It’s my pleasure.” He winked, slowly sipping from his cappuccino. From there a conversation was initiated.

The conversation led to her exchanging numbers with him. Messages turned into phone calls; phone calls turned into outings. Friends turned into best friends; best friends turned into lovers.

To celebrate their one-year anniversary, he had taken her out on a picnic. Everything had gone smoothly. The weather was beautiful; birds were chirping. He even took her to one of the most serene and quiet places she had ever seen. Sneaking a glance at him she saw him slowly leaning forward towards her.

Her heart beat furiously in her chest and her palms sweated as she stared into the most beautiful brown eyes she had ever seen. Her vision drifted down to the parted lips that slowly and deliberately came closer. Her eyes fluttered shut as she prepared herself for the sweet, soft sensation she had always yearned for.

BANG!

A sharp pain shocked her eyes open as she stared into eyes that were once filled with sun-like warmth. Only this time a blank pair of cold orbs stared back at her. Lips that were pouted returned to its proper shape. His face betrayed nothing as she stared at him, struggling to comprehend what happened.

Red. Blood.

Gasps of pain shot out of her lips. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes as she dropped to her knees. The person who she once knew stood in front of her grunted. She watched him as he turned his back and walked away, leaving her alone. Blood spilled out of her wound as her life slowly ebbed away. Her vision became blank. Her gasps slowed until they stopped. She drew her last breath.


The stranger opened up their phone and speed-dialled the first number on their contacts. “Supplier acquired.”


Date created: 6 November 2015
Date completed: 17 November 2015
Date posted:  25 January 2016 

Shout out to my dear friend, CHIHUAHUA! For being there and helping me proof read this. Much love for you child. <3 
- Tsuki

Copyrighted by Tsuki at Alluring Fictions. Please don't steal anything!
Friday, 20 November 2015 at 00:24 with 0 comment(s)
Two Sides of A Coin
She wasn’t always evil or known to be associated with death. Everyone and everything around her loved her. It was something inside her that changed, resulting in the Fallen. It was because of something that she turned.

A soft breeze blew on that fateful day. Lucy sat on the hard bench, letting the air cool the beads that ran down her neck. Out of everyone in the city, her heart was pure as snow. People yearned for her pure love like a child wanting candy but there was only one person, a special someone who caught her heart. He was her lover, her everything and she was his morning star, his pride and joy. 

Lucy’s vision suddenly turned pitch black as something rough and hard landed on her skin. Despite the sudden loss of sight, a smile crept at the corners of her mouth as she touched the hand covering her eyes. “It’s nice to see you too,” she giggled. The hands that covered her eyes disappeared as she felt something soft and wet land on her cheek, causing a rosy hue.
“Sorry, I can’t stay any longer.” Before she could say anything he turned and left. 

Confusion and disappointment filled her mind as she watched the retreating figure. Lucy would have left him alone and minded her own business but the knot in her heart made her follow him. 

Hiding in the shadows she tiptoed around corners, following him. Eventually, she was led to a local cafe that was located near the border. Confusion filled her body as she watched him enter, resulting in sounds of glass breaking in her ears.

Lucy ran to the window only to see him be hugged by a different woman, her lips landing straight on his. When he noticed her, shock and horror appeared on his face. What she thought was glass turned out to be her heart shattering as she watched him struggle to pry the woman in his arms off of him.

Like two sides of a coin or whenever there is light there is darkness, the other side of love was hate. Pure love became pure hate. No tears would come to her brights eyes that once shone with happiness - only fiery hate could be found. Darkness crept into the corners of her broken heart, tainting it. 

Anger, pain and hate filled her heart as she stared at the man who she once loved. The white wings that she was proud of changed. From the the pure white glow, the tips slowly turned dark until nothing but black feathered wings remained. “I’ll see you in Hell,” she hissed at him. Turning her back to the place she once called home, she crossed the border that kept Heaven and Hell separate. There, a man in a red suit stood, waiting. A smile that would have sent shivers down her spine crept along his lips. 


“Welcome, my fallen angel, my dear Morning Star,” he said, opening his arms. “Welcome to Hell, Lucifer.”

Date Created:  7 September 2015
Date of Completion: 8 September 2015
Date Posted: 20 November 2015
Word Count: 500

A story that was  written in a hour for a competition.It's quite horrible really but I'd share it nonetheless HAHAHA.
- Tsuki
Copyrighted by Tsuki at Alluring Fictions. Please don't steal anything!
Tuesday, 16 September 2014 at 23:52 with 0 comment(s)
It's War
Locate target. Shoot. Run. Hide. Repeat.

In this game of war no one is safe. One wrong move and you’re done for.

Everyone is my enemy. It’s every man for himself. I'm on my own. All my teammates are either dead or lying low – waiting for a chance for me to fall. I'm running, avoiding the bullets, slashing at throats as I go. I've located my target and now I slowly itch towards it.

The explosion of a gunshot to my left makes me commando roll to the opposite direction where I take out your black CZ 75 SP-01 and shoot. It hits the enemy in the forehead. A sickening crack resonated as the bullet passed right through. More enemies are coming, rushing from my right, left and in front. Like the prey trapped in a corner by its predator I knew I was trapped. I've got no choice but to fall back; I've chosen the wrong path.

This time I'm hiding among the shrubs against the rocky terrier. I'm sweating with exhaustion; sticky from enemies’ blood; mentally tired from the war. I'm near my target. I take out your Artic Wolf sniper; it’s silverly white coating gleaming in the blazing sun. I aim. Fire.

My target fell. It was game over. I fall down with relief, wiping the sweat from my forehead. The sun overhead blazed with intensity but something felt odd. I didn't receive the sense of satisfaction I thought I would get: only the feeling that something has gone horribly wrong.

I got up and crawled to the dead body only to have horror flood me like a tsunami. Blood oozed out from the gun wound. Gritting my teeth I make a run for it. I've shot the wrong target. I have to repeat my mission from the very start.

Go back, back to the beginning. Ignore the burning in my lungs, the dryness of my throat. I have to push through my boundaries and past my limit before I fail. I have to find out where I've gone wrong. That's where I've gone wrong. Hurry. Locate it.

That was where my target was, within my mistake. I'm  running out of time: I have to hurry. I'm running straight ahead. I take notice of the guards standing around my true target and I growled underneath my breath. How could have I been so stupid? I took out a flash grenade and threw it overhead, where it landed right in the middle of the enemy’s circle. Taking my chance I ran with my 6” S35VN blade open, weaving in and out between my target’s guards. I snuck up from behind and interlocked my target’s head. Without any warning or heed I sliced through their neck, blood sprayed onto my camo clothes. The once dark green and brown overall slowly stained red.

I've won. I was jumping up and down. It was over.

“Sit back down, Bella. This is a maths exam for goodness sake, not some war.” It isn't to you, but it is for us students.

Story created on: -- August 2014
Story completed on: -- September 2014
Story posted on: 17 September 2014
Word Count: 450+ words?


So like, I had a different version of this but because the USB that contained it got stolen, I'm using the second-latest version of it. I had it changed from second person to first and a lot of other stuff changed too.... *sigh.
- Tsuki.

 Copyrighted by Tsuki at Alluring Fictions. Please don't steal anything! 

 Edit: I edited it and I realised, with all the grammatical errors I made, I wasn't going to win the competition I entered using this at all. Lmfao. Oh wells. 
Friday, 13 June 2014 at 02:33 with 0 comment(s)
The Haunted House
I’ve always dreaded walking this path. Regardless I had to follow it even if it sent shivers down my spine. The path itself wasn’t the problem; it was the house that stood at the top of the hill, beside the path, that scared me. 
Rumours said that the house was apparently abandoned; haunted. No one knew why but the atmosphere around the house made all the animals stay away. Nothing moved; not even the wind. I stayed near the far end of the pathway just to get away. Around the house was lush with vigorous greenery and lively with playful critters. I shuddered at the thought of what could’ve happened to the innocent, lively animals if they accidentally ventured into the still space. 
I ignored my fears until the fateful day when I heard children voices floating from the house, singing a melody which sounded like Ring a Ring o’ Roses. It sounded off-tune like a broken record on replay. Something just didn’t feel right. The birds weren’t singing; the animals weren’t moving; everything stayed still.  Clueless, I stopped and stood for a moment, listening. That was when the lyrics floated through the still air.  
“Walking down the pathway. Her body’s going sideways.” My blood turned cold, goose bumps formed uncontrollably as I listened. “There it goes! There it goes! Her head fell off.” Fear controlled my legs, forcing them to sprint far, far away from the land of dread. Not once in my life have I ever experienced something so horrifying. Trying to catch my breath, my pace slowed down into a slow walk.
“Look at her run,” a high-pitched voice laughed, “She’s not going to make it.” Several other voices joined the first voice, laughing. Stopping dead in my tracks I turned around quickly. No one was there. Like any paranoid and petrified sixteen-year old, I ran like the wind. My body was warm but my blood was still cold with fear.
Paranoia always followed me when I walked past. The thought of having one of those high-pitched children-like voices just jumping out at me… It made my body shake just thinking about it. I quickened my pace just so I could get out off the pathway. 
After that, I felt as though strange things were happening. I couldn’t shake off the feeling as though there was someone, or something, whispering behind my back whenever I wasn’t looking. The compelling urge to enter the house was insanely unbearable, yet I didn’t know why it fascinated me. It was like there was an invisible rope wrapped around me, pulling me towards the house.

Years later, when the house was taken down for a new park, I swore I could hear tiny voices screaming, “You’ll regret this!” Paranoia filled my body. Cold sweat trickled down my back when a sudden touch landed on my shoulders. Jumping five foot into the air, I turned around to see nothing.
“God damn it, Angie! You have got to stop playing those horror games.”
Story created on: 04 March 2014
Story completed on: 20 March 2014
Story posted on: 16 June 2014
Word Count: 500

Tsuki: I had entered this into a short story competition and I didn't even make it into the finals. I re-read through this and I realised why. It didn't create images in the reader's head.

Copyrighted by Tsuki of Alluring Fictions. Please don't steal anything. :)
Sunday, 8 June 2014 at 03:11 with 0 comment(s)
I Did It For You/She's Mine/Done
The only sound that could be heard were the soft tweets of birds, the soft hums of the air conditioner and every once in a while the roar of a car engine driving past. My average looking house was located at the far end of the street, where everyone would never pay attention to. The neighbours all thought that my family were a quiet peaceful bunch – even if we didn’t come to the monthly barbeques very often.
Whenever we did, my family didn’t socialise and party like everyone else. My dad would always drink to his heart’s content and my mum and I would hang around our age group.
Like a lone fish following the school, I would follow the rest of the kids and chase after the cockatoos. Trying to fit in, my mum would have her hand over her mouth or over her chest gossiping about the latest celebrities.
“Have you been looking after yourself?” The usual question came up like a stone being dropped in water, destroying the serene scene. Mum’s usual face would falter slightly but was quickly disguised with a shrug. The housewives would start fussing over her, telling her to look after skin because of the Australian weather while making vegemite sandwiches for the children.
“Don’t worry, I’m just clumsy.” Mum would always say. She wasn’t clumsy though.
I knew all the bruises on mum’s arms and legs weren’t from pure clumsiness. Falling over and accidentally cutting yourself can’t just be the reason why there were dark purple splotches and marks all over her body.
The man who claimed to be my father is the real reason behind it. Nearly every day, this person would throw things at my mum; punches, kicks, strangling. Name it; he’s done it.
Years later, my old man and I were sitting near each other in front of the T.V. watching whatever was on. Excluding the sounds from the T.V, nothing but silence hung in the air. My hand reached for the remote control only for it to get slapped away. “Don’t even think about it boy,” he growled, a threatening tone was evident but I was too preoccupied for it to annoy me. A red mark was forming on my hand.
The T.V. flickered once, twice, before it changed from the cricket show to the nightly news report. “Once again, the mysterious slasher has appeared. A man was found near the alley way at approximately 9:37 PM last night. The man, currently being treated at the Royal Hospital, is the fifth victim this month.  The T.V. continuously flickered as the report continued. “All wounds have been identified to be something small like a pocketknife or a small sharp object. Police is unsure if the slasher is working with an accomplice or solo.” I turned to the man lounging on the sofa with a bottle of VB beer in his hand.
“Hey dad, who do you think the slasher is?” I asked, careful to not let my emotions portray anything.
“How the hell would I know?! Could be some psychopathic girl for all I care.”
“But it could be a guy who probably has some sort of grudge against male adults.”
A fist suddenly landed in my face with a sickening crunch. I could feel something starting to drip. “You dare talk back to me boy?!” He stood above me, gulping all the contents in the bottle with his eagle-like eyes on me. A shocking pain came to my side making me cry out in pain. Rolling to the side, pain shot up when something stabbed me. Blinded with pain, stars appeared behind my eyes. “Just who do you think you are you little piece of shit.” His huge hands grabbed me by the hair, lifting me up. My hands flew everywhere in tiny small fists. A satisfying crack was heard when my fists made contact with his chin. Gravity kicked in and landed on my ass. “You’re going to regret that you fucker.” He raised his hand, his palm forming into a fist.
“Robert! NO!” I knew that voice all too well. Please, no!
Instead of feeling the impact that would’ve sent me sprawled out across the floor, I felt a sickening thud on top of me. More thuds were felt, time after time. I didn’t need to think to know what was happening. “Mum, please, don’t do this.” Love and anguish filled her eyes.
“Move it bitch.” He grabbed her messy brown locks and threw her to the side. Anger bubbled within me, my fists clenching and unclenching. Once more, she threw her body onto the bastard’s raised fist. Her nails dug onto his bicep as though she was hanging for dear life. Another fist flew and this time, it connected with her cheek knocking her unconscious.
My anger burst. I saw red. “You did not just do that you bastard.” All the anger, the hatred that had been suppressed from all the previous years overflowed with such force my whole body shook.
“Huh?” The old man turned and spat in my face. “Whatcha gonna do about it, cunt?” Something inside clicked and my pocket knife was drawn before I knew it. His eyes slowly widened in realisation. “You fucker! You’re that slasher!” he roared. He jumped at me; hands wide open in a groping motion. I side-stepped and kicked his legs, making him fall towards the wall.
“Nah, I’m not.” My lips curved into an arrogant smirk when fear clouded his eyes.
“You… You!” Fear had paralysed him, like a prey being cornered by its predator. My knife was drawn; my prey was in front of me. The tip pierced his skin, blood trickling down his throat.
“You don’t deserve an easy death after all the crap you put me and mum through.” Pressing harder, the person underneath me squirmed.
“I’m sorry, please.” Remorse filled his voice but disgust filled my gut. All this bastard cared about was his own life and not about his wife or his kid.
My hands moved on its own, a gash appeared at his throat. Blood flowed from where the flesh peeked through. A feeling of satisfactory curled my lips upwards.

Groaning from the other side snapped me back into reality. “Oscar, what happened?” A gasp resonated. “Why are you covered in blood?!”
I moved to the side, revealing the man with the cut across his neck and eyes rolled back.
“Y-You monster!” Confusion filled my brain. “How could you?!” She backed towards the wall as though there was a monster in the living room.
“Mum, don’t be scared. It’s me, Oscar, your son.”
“You’re no son of mine!” She screamed. “Give them back!” Gurgles filled the air as she slumped down.
“I did everything for you. I did it for you, mum.” A whisper filled with longing filled the air as I stared into her blank eyes.

Created on: 17 March 2014 
Completed on: 20 March 2014
Word Count: 1,148

Creator: Changed because it was way to dramatic... :|

The only sound that could be heard were the soft tweets of birds, the soft hums of the air conditioner and every once in a while the roar of a car engine driving past. My average looking house was located at the far end of the street, where everyone would never pay attention to. The neighbours all thought that my family were a quiet peaceful bunch – even if we didn’t come to the monthly barbeques very often.
Whenever we did, my family didn’t socialise and party like everyone else. My dad would always drink to his heart’s content and my mum and I would hang around our age group.
Like a lone fish following the school, I would follow the rest of the kids and chase after the cockatoos. Trying to fit in, my mum would have her hand over her mouth or over her chest gossiping about the latest celebrities.
“Have you been looking after yourself?” The usual question came up like a stone being dropped in water, destroying the serene scene. Mum’s usual face would falter slightly but was quickly disguised with a shrug. The housewives would start fussing over her, telling her to look after skin because of the Australian weather while making vegemite sandwiches for the children.
“Don’t worry, I’m just clumsy.” Mum would always say; she wasn’t clumsy though.
I knew all the bruises on mum’s arms and legs weren’t from pure clumsiness. Falling over and accidentally cutting yourself can’t just be the reason why there were dark purple splotches and marks all over her body.
The man who claimed to be my father is the real reason behind it. Nearly every day, this person would throw things at my mum; punches, kicks, strangling. Name it; he’s done it.
Years later, my old man and I were sitting near each other in front of the T.V. watching whatever was on. Excluding the sounds from the T.V, nothing but silence hung in the air. My hand reached for the remote control only for it to get slapped away. “Don’t even think about it, boy,” he growled, a threatening tone was evident but I was too preoccupied for it to annoy me. A red mark was forming on my hand.
The T.V. flickered once, twice, before it changed from the cricket show to the nightly news report. “Once again, the mysterious slasher has appeared. A man was found near the alley way at approximately 9:37 PM last night. The man, currently being treated at the Royal Hospital, is the fifth victim this month.  The T.V. continuously flickered as the report continued. “All wounds have been identified to be something small like a pocketknife or a small sharp object. Police are unsure if the slasher is working with an accomplice or solo.” I turned to the man lounging on the sofa with a bottle of VB beer in his hand.
“Hey dad, who do you think the slasher is?” I asked, careful to not let my emotions portray anything.
“How the hell would I know?! Could be some psychopathic girl for all I care.”
“But it could be a guy who probably has some sort of grudge against male adults.”
“Are you trying to say that I’m stupid?!” He roared. Pain shot through my ear at the intensity and volume of his voice. No complaint or words came out of my mouth, my eyes focusing on the fur ball that sat in the corner of the room.
My mum loved this cat. She said it would always keep her company when I was at school and my dad was doing who knows what. She also said that it was her best friend, someone she could turn to. She had originally named it ‘Orangutan’ after the colour of its fur and because it had unusually long limbs but changed it to Tigger after the bouncing tiger from my childhood T.V show: Winnie the Pooh.
“In other news, the strange deaths of animals on the streets have brought many animal lovers to tears. This mysterious slaughterer has been targeting pets and stray animals alike so make sure to keep your pets indoors at night.” I had grabbed the cat by its cuff and a loud hiss resonated in the room followed by a loud ‘OUCH!’ I chased after the cat, running after it to the small backyard. I caught its orange fluffy tail, watching out for the claws as it tried to scratch me.
 A loud crash from inside and a female scream made me drop what I was doing. “ROBERT! STOP!” My anger bubbled within me, my fists clenching and unclenching as I heard my mum continuously scream. A loud thud could be heard from inside the house followed by the sound of slapping and heavy thumps. My fingers inched towards the item in my pocket. “Please, stop. No more.” Without even thinking I had drawn my pocket knife and grasped it firmly in my right hand. My left hand grasped the door pane tightly to the point my knuckles turned white.
I remained at the door until nothing but silence was heard. All of a sudden, soft crying made me step inside the moment my dad turned the corner. He saw the pocket knife and his lips curled into a smirk. “Are you going to hurt me boy?” he snarled. My anger popped and I ran at him, my arm raised.
Before I could do any harm to him, he stopped me with one hand, grabbed the knife and landed a punch, sending me breathless. I coughed and gasped for the precious air that was knocked out of me. “I’ll be taking this, you ungrateful brat.” He walked upstairs to his room before shutting the door with a loud ‘bang’.
I painfully got up, wincing as I walked to my mum’s side who was crying to the side hugging the cat that had sprinted into the house. A resentful feeling built up in my chest as I watched the scene in front of me. Disgusted, I left the lounge room and went out back where I stayed for the rest of the day.
Night fell with the moon and stars glittering in the midnight sky. I creaked open the door and carefully slipped in, making sure that I avoided the light that slipped through the curtains. My eyes glanced left and right, searching for the object that was taken away a couple of hours earlier. It felt like hours when only a few minutes had passed when my eyes finally landed on the knife that was hidden well in the dark. I picked it up and opened it, staring at the blade, numerous thoughts flooded my head. 
I tip-toed over to the side of the sleeping figure and raised the blade. Hesitation washed over me like a tsunami, making me pocket my blade and slipping back out to search for something else.
I found the sleeping silhouette in the backyard, underneath the light of the full moon. I grabbed the cat and drew my knife, stabbing it in the eye. A loud cry of pain came from the fur ball. To keep it from waking up the whole neighbourhood, I slashed the neck. Bright red blood spurted at me as the body in my hand went limp. “She’s mine, not yours. I’m meant to look after her, not you.” I growled with menace.

Completed on: 27 March 2014
Word Count: 1,234
Creator: Still didn't work.

The only sound that could be heard were the soft tweets of birds, the soft hum of the air conditioner and every once in a while the roar of a car engine driving past. The house with its peeling paint was located at the far end of the street, where no one would pay attention. The neighbours all thought that my family were a quiet, peaceful bunch – even if we didn’t come to the monthly barbeques often.
Whenever we did, my family didn’t socialise and relax like everyone else. My dad would always drink to his heart’s content and my kookaburra-loving mum and I would hang around our respective age groups.
Like a lone fish following the school, I would follow the rest of the kids and chase after flocks of cockatoos. Trying to fit in, my mum would have her hand over her mouth or over her chest gossiping about the latest celebrities.
“Have you been looking after yourself?” The usual question came up like a stone being dropped in water, destroying the serene scene. Mum’s usually calm face would falter slightly but was quickly disguised with a shrug. The housewives would start fussing over her, while making vegemite sandwiches, telling her to look after her skin because of the Australian weather with its blazing sun and scorching heat.
“Don’t worry, I’m just clumsy.” Mum would always say; she wasn’t clumsy though. Not even close.

I knew all the bruises on mum’s arms and legs weren’t from pure clumsiness. Falling over and accidentally cutting yourself can’t just be the reason why there were dark purple splotches and marks all over your body.
The man who claimed to be my father is the real reason behind it. Nearly every day, this person would torture her; punches, kicks, strangling. You name it; he’s done it.
Days passed; months passed; years passed but nothing changed. The abuse continued; scars faded only for new ones to replace them, more visible than before. The anger within only grew stronger and stronger.
My old man and I were near each other watching whatever was on T.V. Excluding the T.V, nothing but silence hung in the air. I reached for the remote control only for my hand to get slapped. “Don’t even think about it, boy,” he growled. The threatening tone was clear as daylight but I was too preoccupied for it to annoy me. A red handprint formed on my hand.
The T.V. flickered once, twice, before it changed from the cricket show to the 7News report. “Once again, the midnight slasher has appeared. A man was found near the alleyway at approximately 12 AM early this morning. The man, currently being treated at the Royal Hospital, is the fifth victim this month.” The T.V. flickered once more as the report continued. “All wounds have been identified to be something small like a pocketknife or a small sharp object. Police are unsure if the slasher is working with an accomplice or if they’re on their own. They are also bewildered by the fact that the all leads end up as a dead end.” I turned to the man lounging on the sofa with a bottle of VB beer in his hand. 
“Hey dad, who do you think it is?” I asked, careful to not let my emotions slip. 
“How the hell would I know?! Could be some psychopathic girl for all I care.”
“I heard it’s a guy who probably has some sort of grudge against male adults.” 
“Are you trying to say that I’m stupid?!” He roared. Pain shot through my ear at the intensity and volume but no complaint or words came out of my mouth. My eyes were focused on the fur ball that sat in the corner.

My mum loved this cat. She said it always kept her company when I was at school and my dad was doing who knows what. She also said that it was her best friend, someone she could turn to. She had originally named it ‘Orangutan’ after its orange fur and because it’s unusually long limbs but changed it to ‘Tigger’ after the bouncing tiger from my childhood T.V show: Winnie the Pooh.
“In other news, the strange mutilations of street animals have brought many animal lovers to tears. This mysterious slaughterer has been targeting pets and stray animals alike so make sure to keep your pets indoors at night.” I had grabbed the cat by its cuff. A loud hiss resonated followed by a loud ‘OUCH!’ I chased after the orange bundle, running after it into the small backyard. I caught its orange fluffy tail, watching out for the claws as it tried to blind me.
A loud crash from inside and a female scream made me drop what I was doing. “ROBERT! STOP!” Anger bubbled within me, my fists clenching and unclenching as I heard my mum continuously scream. A loud thud could be heard from inside the house followed by the sound of slapping and heavier thumps. My fingers inched towards the item in my pocket. “Please, stop. No more.” Without even thinking I had drawn my pocketknife and grasped it firmly in my right hand. My left hand grasped the door pane tightly – turning my knuckles white.
I remained at the door until nothing but silence was heard. Soft crying made me step inside just as my dad turned the corner. He saw the pocketknife and his lips curled into a smirk. “Are you going to hurt me boy?” he snarled. My anger popped and I ran at him, my arm raised.
Before I could do anything, he stopped me with one hand, grabbed the knife and landed a punch, leaving me breathless. I coughed and gasped for precious air. “I’ll be taking this, you ungrateful brat.” He walked upstairs to his room before slamming the door with a loud ‘bang’.
I got up, ignoring the pain that shot up from my leg; I walked to my mum’s side who was crying, hugging the cat that had sprinted into the house. A resentful feeling built up in my chest as I watched the scene in front of me. Disgusted, I left the lounge room and went out back where I stayed for the rest of the day.
Night fell with the moon and stars glittering in the midnight sky. I creaked open the door and carefully slipped in, making sure that I avoided the moonlight that slipped through the curtains. My eyes glanced left and right, searching for the object that was taken away a couple of hours earlier. It felt like hours when only a few minutes had passed when my eyes finally landed on the knife that was hidden well in the dark.
I tiptoed to its location, opened it and stared at the blade. The memories of abuse, the images of my battered mum crying, all the scars that littered my body fuelled the anger within. Instead of closing it and slipping it into my pocket, I glided over to the sleeping figure. Memories of feats before this floated into my mind as I brought my raised arm onto the body, once again all the anger inside dissipated.

Story created on: 20 March 2014
Story completed on: 04 April 2014
Story posted on: 08 June 2014
Word Count: 1,200

Creator: I'm not satisfied with it at all but I just hope I get a good mark for my English haha.

Copyrighted by Creator of Alluring Fictions. Don't steal anything. :)
Thursday, 21 November 2013 at 03:01 with 0 comment(s)
Fight For Freedom
He drew his last breath, his last tears falling off his face. Éclair clenched the dirty golden locket she was given and gave him one last prayer. She sat beside him, keeping his soul company until he was finally moved to who knows where.

The location of where the men were moved was kept hidden from the nurses. Éclair didn’t know why; was it to keep them from seeing such a horrible sight or was it just to keep the nurses in the dark? Either way, she just hated the fact that the nurses were made to be inferior – that they couldn’t take it.

Dusting herself off and slipping the pocket into her bloodied pocket, Éclair moved from her station to get some air. Moving away from the once-white tent she walked to the tent with the red ‘P’ hanging from the top.

“Please send this to Private Smith’s fiancé,” Éclair stated, holding the locket by its chains.
“First name?” The old nurse behind the counter frantically searched for an envelope to put the locket in. “We do have a lot of ‘Private Smith’ after all.” She said it in a tone that it was hard not to smile but Éclair didn’t smile. The lady stared at her and sighed. “It’s war my dear. He died for resistance, he died for the country. The only thing that we nurses can do is to smile and make this war bearable for them.” Hearing those words made Éclair smile just a bit but the old nurse knew it was more than enough. “So his first name?” Éclair blinked – clueless – until she realised what she meant.
“Oh right, John Smith,” she said, passing the locket to the old nurse. “And please send a message as well. ‘To Annabelle, I love you. From John’.” The lady nodded once and Éclair left the room.

Éclair went back to her station and treated the wounded soldiers that came in and out every few hours or so. As the days went by, she tried to smile for them but her smile began turning weary. Her frown lines gradually becoming more visible. The patients that would come in screaming frightened her; the ones that told her that they were scared to die made her feel pity; she just hated the war and the current government altogether. She just wanted everything to end, so that there wouldn't be anymore suffering. Thoughts came into her head where she would personally deal with the situation herself, that she was strong enough to kill her inner feelings and become a killing machine but she removed the thoughts at once. She was a nurse for goodness sake! But then when she had taken all she could, Éclair snapped.

She had enough. There was no way she could put up with it anymore. As a nurse, Éclair took the liberty of sneaking into the supply stock and stole a clean male uniform. She took a bandage and wrapped it around her breasts, constricting it to the point there wasn’t any lumps and it was hard to breathe. Éclair checked herself twice before putting on the male uniform. “Looks too clean,” she mumbled underneath her breath. She knew she was going to regret what she was going to do next in the future, but she did it anyways. Taking out a Stanley knife from one of the boxes she made several cuts on her arm, leg and a small cut on her face through the uniform, before wrapping another bandage around the wounds. With a quick check in the mirror she noticed that her hair was too feminine to be recognised as a guy. Staring at the knife in her hand, she closed her eyes and cut off the luscious locks that had taken her years to grow. For the last time, she checked herself in the cracked mirror and nodded. “Good enough.” With that, she left the tent as a new soldier fighting as a member of the resistance – to try to free her country.

Éclair sat with other male soldiers in a truck who had sullen faces. Despite the faces and the depressing atmosphere, she was prepared to risk her life to fight. “Careful men, we’re entering enemy base.” The sergeant whispered, his hand tightly clasped around his rifle. Everyone else began getting ready for the war but Éclair was already ready, her hands in position to use the weapon. Despite being a female, her father had secretly taught her how to use guns and some martial art at a young age.

BOOM. A loud explosion landed right next to the truck which sent it flying. Éclair gasped as everyone began screaming. Despite the flying truck, she managed to open the door and tumble out, not caring if anyone else survived or not. It was the survival of the fittest after all.

She landed with an ungraceful bellow before staring at the familiar boots in front of her. The boots belonged to people who followed the notorious leader that ruled over the country, creating chaos everywhere. Hatred bubbled inside her and before she knew it, she had taken out her knife and with a quick slice, the opposing soldier shook on the ground with blood spurting from his neck. “THE RESISTANCE IS HERE, GET INTO YOUR BATTLE FORMATION!” The leader of the opposing army roared. He began shouting orders, trying to kill anyone who resisted the Lord but it was too late. With her female body, Éclair was nimble and thus was quick to slip into the other army’s borders.

Éclair began killing the soldiers, despite the fact that her life was on the line. With her knowledge of guns and her use of martial arts, before the opposing army knew it, a quarter of their front line had died. “STOP HIM!” The leader roared.
“Too late.” Éclair whispered into his ear. She had managed to get to the leader and with one pull of the trigger, blood splashed everywhere and the ex-leader’s body slumped onto the floor. She stood over the body, not noticing another soldier behind her. Before she knew it, a stinging sensation appeared at her throat and she felt a trickling trail.
“Hands up before your head goes,” A soldier with a heavy accent growled behind her. She spat on the ground and did what she was told.

Éclair’s stomach grumbled, yearning for something to fill it. She didn’t know how long it had been but she knew for sure that every second hour, other soldiers would come in and torture her. They would whip her on the arms and legs; torture her with a knife and other torturous things that she didn’t dare name.
“TELL US EVERYTHING!” One of the soldiers glared. The other soldier grinned at her as he continued torturing her. Éclair sucked up as much moisture as she could in her mouth and spat it at the person hovering above her.
“Over my dead body,” she growled, trying to make her voice low as possible. The soldier wiped her spit away from his face and grinned.
“My pleasure.” He angled the blade above her heart and brought it down.
“Wait,” the other soldier stopped his mate before it met its target, just missing by a few inches. “The Lord wants to meet him, the single soldier who managed to kill so many people by himself.” His eyes stared at her coldly before motioning his mate to let her go and bring him to the leader.

“Oh? So you’re the person who killed so many people?” The Lord stared at her with interest. Éclair looked around to see that there was only one person with a rifle standing guard. “You’re much younger than I expected.” Éclair showed no expression in front of him, trying not to rush up and kill the man. The lord got off his seat and made his way towards her, observing her as though she was a rare animal in the zoo. “You should work for me, I’d pay for you a lot for your handy work.” He stood in front of her, staring her down. Éclair scoffed at his offer.
“I’d rather die than work for you,” she snarled. The leader sighed and wagged his finger in front of her in disappointment. Éclair took that opportunity to jump up and clamp her teeth onto his finger biting down hard. The leader swore in anger before slapping her across the face. She let go in surprise.
“If that’s what you want then so be it.” He signalled for his man to come close and aim his rifle at her.

Before Éclair got shot, she quickly ran behind the person handling the gun and knocked him unconscious. During the hours that she wasn’t tortured, she had managed to unlock the handcuffs to the point they would fall off with a single shake.

She picked up the dropped gun and aimed it at the quivering leader. “L-Let’s talk about this,” the leader laughed unsurely. He took several steps back. Back towards the door that led as an escape.
“Don’t even try running away. I’ll shoot before you can,” but her threat fell upon deaf ears as he tried to make a run for it. Éclair shook her head and shot, the bullet piercing right through a vital point.

The bang from the gun caused soldiers to rush into the room, gaping at the sight before them. Some saw Éclair and raised their rifle at her but they didn’t dare shoot. Who dared shoot someone that managed to defeat the person they followed? “It’s over.” Éclair walked towards them, still carrying the weapon. All of the soldiers made a clear path for her as she walked past. She threw the weapon aside and exited outside. Everyone looked up at her and rumours quickly arose. “It’s over. The leader’s dead.” Her voice drifted over the men below, who had quieted down the moment she spoke. She looked at the sky and smiled softly. The war was finally over. The rebellion had won.


~~~~
Creator:
Okaaayyy... Weird but yeah. Lmfao. This was my English exam... well... part of it that is. Only from the red "S' and afterwards is. Haha. (I kind of tweaked it just a bit too to make it seem better.) Original length for English exam is 600... The bit that I put in is almost literally over. 1,196 words. (Y) Yee. Lmfao. Oh wells.

Story created on: 15 November 2013
Story completed on: 20 November 2013
Story posted on: 21 November 2013

   Copyrighted by Creator; any similarities are by coincidence.
          Take anything from this story and the Creator will personally find you and slaughter you. ^^

Word Count: 1,677
Thursday, 31 October 2013 at 03:36 with 0 comment(s)
Poison-laced Notes
Music was her favourite class. Singing was her favourite hobby. It was basically the one thing that kept her motivation up when it came to school. It was no wonder why ever year she was in music class. For her, it was a bit disappointing that she didn't top the class but she still enjoyed it nonetheless.

It was the final term for her music class and her final assessment was singing. Singing was her strong point since she just absolutely loved to sing. Her parents knew it was her dream career to become a vocalist but they didn’t provide her with any professional training – like she wanted it anyways. Psh.

Even without professional training, she managed to put herself into the highest category for singing – soprano. She was one of the only two in her class that could do it (she didn’t know if there was anyone else from the other class could do it or not). There was another girl who was extremely close to being a soprano but ended up being a mezzo soprano. But even so, since there weren’t enough girls the teacher put two more girls who she assumed could hit the high notes into the soprano group just for practice.

Most of the times, there were some misunderstanding between her and the other soprano singer. There was something about that vocalist that just made her want to just…. Wrap her hands around her throat and squeeze it. She’s told one of her friends about her want before and their only response was “Whoa, calm down Whitney. You’re scary.”

To her, she felt it was because of the way the other singer kept on boasting about the way she sings. About how she was able to hit the high notes with ease while everyone else was struggling. “No, I don’t find that funny at all. I do it so yeah,” she replied with a cocky tone while rolling her eyes in the process. Whitney balled her hands into a tight fist, trying to resist the strong urge to punch the girl. No, calm down Whitney. Don’t let this chick get to you, she told herself.

The lessons went by and the cockiness of the other soprano just grew. But Whitney hadn’t told the other soprano about how she felt about her. Backstabbing wasn’t really her thing so she kept it to herself and just ignored the girl. By the time the practice was over and they were allowed to split up into their own group, her resilience to not punch her had grown thin. Her mind filled with poison, bitterness in her words. But still, she kept up the façade of being nice just for the sake of it.

The time for the final assessment had come and Whitney had lost it. She asked if she could talk to the other soprano privately. She didn’t want any distractions when she was finally getting everything, all her bitterness and poison, out of her system.

When they were alone, Whitney turned around and had her hands tightly clasped behind her back just in case she would end up lashing out at the other girl. “Look, Krystal, I know you’re nice and all that but in all honesty… You need to stop with all your cockiness and bitchiness when it comes to singing,” she said, trying not to let her emotion show. She didn’t want to end it in a bad way and get caught into trouble. “So what you have professional training and all that crap, some of us are trying hard too you know. Like seriously, for fucks sakes, just try not to be a total bitch anymore would you? By the way, I didn’t back stab your or any of that shit. So don’t think badly of me or anything alright?” With that, Whitney left Krystal alone before she could do anything harmful… Like punch the girl in the face for example?

But Whitney was glad. She was happy that she finally got everything out of her system before it became unbearable.

The next few weeks, Whitney was surprised to see that Krystal hadn’t been showing her cocky side for a while but thought nothing of it. Maybe her little honesty talk made Krystal what she was doing but Whitney didn’t count on it.

Little did Whitney know, it actually was because of her that Krystal had slowly changed. Krystal never got the chance to express her feelings – to say thank you. Those feelings of thankfulness stayed hidden for the next few lessons until she actually got the chance to tell Whitney it. To say thank you.


She never did. Graduation passed, they both moved on and lost contact of each other. That thankfulness remained hidden in the depths of Krystal’s heart forever.

~~~~~
Creator:
A random spark of inspiration. I don't even know how it turned out. haha. Pretty... Crap in my opinion but oh wells. Haha. Sigh. Oh wells... 

Story created on: 25 October 2013
Story completed on: 31 October 2013
Story posted on: 31 October 2013

       Copyrighted by Creator; any similarities are by coincidence.
           Take anything from this story and the Creator will personally find you and slaughter you. ^^

Word count: 799.