Glowing Hands

I stared at my hands, basking in the soft glow they emitted. My arms tingled as the glowing design worked its way up my arms from my palms. The design had randomly appeared years ago, glowing whenever it felt like it. I had finally learned to control when they glowed. I could now hide the spidery vine that reached up to my shoulders at will. I didn't have to wear long sleeves in the middle of the summer anymore. While I hadn't figured out exactly what the marks meant, or what they did, I wasn't afraid of them randomly lighting up a room. Maybe they are a gift.

A Hell On Earth

It was so strong that she tasted it in her mouth. The carnage was overwhelming. Bloody instruments and tables lay scattered through out the room. Buckets filled with blood and other fluids were also placed here and there. A half mutilated body lay on one table, still strapped down. It was nauseating. Beyond the room, there was a long hallway that had been converted into a type of cell block. The smell of unwashed bodies mixed with the stench of decomposing ones. Some of the inhabitants of the cells were able to come to come to there doors, begging for release. Others, many with gangrenous wounds simply remained where they were. If there was a hell on earth, this was it.

Pain and Memory

Mr. Grey had told her that she had been unconscious for three days, and missing for two weeks before that. She had simply disappeared one night after stating that she was going to her dorm's gym. Two weeks later, her friend, Pasha had found her lying in the floor if the entry way. She was dressed, although not in the clothes she had left in, but her feat were bare and bloody. She had no memory of how she had gotten there or where she had been for those two weeks. Every time she tried to remember what happened, s searing pain shot through her head. If she tried to press on through, the pain and pressure only got worse. The doctors said it was probably due to the fact that she had sustained two concussions. She also had three broken ribs, two cracked ribs, busted knuckles, lacerations on her face and arms, and the bottoms of her feet had been scraped raw. They said that, from appearances, she had at some point gotten into a fight barefoot on rough terrain. They said that the broken bones and cuts would heal, but they could not tell her for sure whether her memory would return.

Only a Name

Literally. Up and down his arms, across his chest. Even all over his back and legs. They were written in different styles and sizes, but the were all my name. I knew this because no one spells their name the way I do, well, no one on their right mind anyway. Thanks Mom, whoever who are.

"Why do you have my name written all over your body?" I asked, dreading the answer.

He have me a sheepish look and answered, "Honestly, I have no idea. "

"What do you mean you have no idea?!?!" I shouted and he flinched. "It's all over you! That doesn't happen by accident."

"They kinda just......appear." He answered, not looking at me anymore.

"They just appear." I echoed. My voice dripped with sarcasm and skepticism.

"Ever since I turned eighteen they've been showing up. No explanation, no reason. There's not even a set number of days in between when they appear. No set time either."

I staggered and flopped down in a chair. This was too much. Not only was there some guy that had my name written all over him; but he didn't eve know why it was there. What in the world was going on? This was like some crazy sci-fi scenario. This couldn't be happening. It-

"Uh, excuse me," his words brought me out of my racing thoughts, "can I put my clothes on now?"

A New Me

My current one was getting a little too popular. I had just gotten comfortable with it too. Finally, it didn't take people calling my name two or three times because I didn't realize they were talking to me. Luckily, they just thought I was deaf or deep in thought. But now everyone knew my name, and I do mean everyone. That's what happens when your name is broadcasted in the evening news with the tagline "Wanted for Murder. Considered armed and dangerous. If seen, please call your local law enforcement or the FBI hot-line listed below. Do not confront or antagonize." They didn't have a photo yet, but they would soon. The fix for that was easy. A little shave and some dye and I'd be a "new" man. I also kept a stash of colored contacts for times like this. My name however, that would be harder to change. Not just on paper, but in my head. Once again, I would have to train my self to answer to a new name. One of these days, I am going to forget what name I started out with. Further more, the next time a strange body appears in my living room I will get rid of it and disappear immediately. No trying to figure out who it is or why they're dead. Once the body's gone, I'm gone.

Thanks and a Plot

Hi all. I hope all is well with your lives. I want to say thanks to all of you for reading.

If this is your first time here, I hope you enjoy your stay and that you will return. I try to update every week day (Mon-Fri) so feel free to check back in.

If you are returning, I am glad to know that you have enjoyed yourself here enough to return. Thanks for your continued interest.

Today, I am deviating from my usual "stories" to bring you a plot. At work today, I was trying write 9/18/15 I wrote down 9/18/25. So, after discussing the random ten year jump with my co-worker, we came up with this plot:

     A person is gifted through "lightning strikey" magical means the ability to travel through time. He/She does this by writing down the date that they wish to travel to. (Maybe they should find a book that lets them do this? anyway...) The catch- he/she can only travel to a particular date once. They cannot write down, for example, 5/4/1945 then 6/15/1999 and then 5/4/1945 again. There is the ability to travel to the "future" (defined as any date before the ability was discovered or any date beyond that that the character has not lived through), but because the future is not written, it carries great risk. Also, the more he/she travels to the past, the harder it will be for them to return to "their time" without someone noticing gaps in their memory (because they can only return to the "current date" once).

Sound fun?

Scribbles to Kill For

 He stared at the scribbling on the wall. The entire back wall, ceiling to floor, had been painted to be a gigantic chalkboard. Every inch was covered in mathematical and scientific formulas and scribbles. He knew his father had been obsessive about his work, but this was a bit extreme. There were whiteboards hung from the other walls, also filled with writing. Two tables stood parallel in the center, littered with paperwork and contraptions with no obvious purpose. Plates with half finished food and cups of coffee shared the tables with them. He was a genius in his own right, but even he could not decipher his father's work, but somewhere in this madness was something worth killing for.