Member
You say 'No more.'
I'm looking over my shoulder again.
The truth be told:
I see my name,
And it's written in red.
I'm looking over my shoulder again.
The truth be told:
I see my name,
And it's written in red.
- Last Seen: 6 hrs ago
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
- Posts: 306 (0.08 / day)
- VMs: 10
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Username history
- X Fiendfyre X 7 mos ago
- ███████████ 10 yrs ago
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Most recent →
Sillyman59,
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Status
Recent Statuses
5 days ago
Current
"Take yer fuckin' pills!"
1
like
2 mos ago
Whoever designed Hunt: Showdown's new UI can kiss the fattest part of my ass.
5
likes
4 mos ago
"I just want to say I'm a big fan of your work. The way you write dialog reminds readers it's really hard to write dialog."
1
like
7 mos ago
When the status bar is civilised and sensible, it makes me uneasy.
4
likes
1 yr ago
I'll stick to heroin and laxatives, thank you very much.
3
likes
Bio
You can call me James, if you like. I live near Toronto, Canada (EDT, UTC-4). I'm one of those weird nerds that also loves sports of all types (I'd better. It's literally my job to watch hockey, and it keeps me very busy.) I am also bilingual, so you may catch me speaking/swearing in Québec French.
My roleplay interests vary greatly: anime and video game fandoms; gritty, modern realism; maybe historical fiction; or fantastical tales of monsters and magic. I wouldn't say no to a clever combination of any of those! Interesting, multi-layered characters & intriguing, thought-out plots always catch my fancy... as do enthusiastic and involved partners. I do my best to respond every day, and I will always try to inform you of an extended absence.
I've been doing this twenty years. I was on the old guild, but I lost access to that email address and could not import it from the other site. You'd think the experience would improve my writing ability. The jury is still out on that one.
Go Leafs!
Out.
P.S.: Misusing affect and effect is a pet peeve of mine. Watch yourself! XD XD
My roleplay interests vary greatly: anime and video game fandoms; gritty, modern realism; maybe historical fiction; or fantastical tales of monsters and magic. I wouldn't say no to a clever combination of any of those! Interesting, multi-layered characters & intriguing, thought-out plots always catch my fancy... as do enthusiastic and involved partners. I do my best to respond every day, and I will always try to inform you of an extended absence.
I've been doing this twenty years. I was on the old guild, but I lost access to that email address and could not import it from the other site. You'd think the experience would improve my writing ability. The jury is still out on that one.
Go Leafs!
Out.
P.S.: Misusing affect and effect is a pet peeve of mine. Watch yourself! XD XD
Most Recent Posts
The cacophony of the lumber mill was useful when it came to numbing your brain to the world outside of it. Between all of the sawing, slamming, and scraping, one usually had no time to be with their thoughts. That was especially useful to Stanley this morning, as he had no wish to waste a second's thought regarding the night before. However, even the noise and physically demanding tasks that came with his job were not proving to be enough of a distraction. The back of his skull ached incessantly, and his vision occasionally blurred. Getting out of bed this morning had taken every ounce of his will, and not all of that had to due with the pain in his head. If he'd had it his way, Stanley would have stayed home today to take stock of his senses. Unfortunately, the miller had been pushy with his returning to work only three days after Amelia's death. Missing a random day for a reason he couldn't explain would surely see him sacked.
Stanley's thickly calloused hands worked automatically over the log he was currently de-barking, moving a pristine, thick straightblade back and forth over a lengthy piece of lumber until it held nothing but a smooth surface on every side before moving on to the next one. As he worked, sporadic images from the night before swam across his vision. The church, the headstones, the cemetery hedge; it all just played on rewind. No matter how hard he concentrated, he could not remember how he had managed to return to his house and reach his bed. That warm breeze was the talk of the town, and Stanley held the impossible assertation that it had everything to do with the strange event he had witnessed.
Amelia's face was fresh in his mind. Her lips were pale to the point of nearly matching her porcelain skin. Her thick black hair framed her round, flawless face like flimsy curtains. The gaze of her green eyes pierced his very soul. Stanley did not want to remember her like that. He wanted only memories of her smile or her laughter.
Then there was the way she had said his name. It set his teeth on edge.
Stanley
He heard it again, whispered in his ear as clear as day. It sent a vicious chill down his spine and caused him to jump with surprise, letting out a yelp that was audible even over the noise of industry. Snapping his head around to look behind him, Stanley saw nothing, naturally. And when he turned back to his work, he noticed with horror that he had torn a huge gouge out of the log he had been cleaning. Closing his eyes with resignation, he shook his head. He was losing his mind, it seemed... and now it was affecting his work.
"Stan!" came a shout from several feet away, down near the water wheel on the bank of the river. It was the unmistakably gruff and bellowing tone of the miller, Hod Wellman. "Alright there, lad! You look as if you've seen a ghost." The blonde, mustachioed miller chortled at his little joke as he mounted the wooden steps to approach where Stanley stood. He moved with grace one might not expect from such a massive figure, all of it surely muscle. The man had to be in his 50's, and yet he seemed more fit than half of Accrington.
"All's well, Master Hod!" Stanley reassured him, cursing the older man's ironic choice of words. Stanley raised a weathered hand as if to tell Hod not to bother approaching, coupled with a wry smirk. His acting couldn't erase the cold sweat upon his forehead or the way his heart throbbed in his chest. If Hod saw what he had done to this log, he might very well get the sack anyway.
Hod did not cease his approach, unfortunately. He came right up to Stanley, stopping before him and looking past him at his work. Immediately, Hod's face fell into one of disbelief. Stanley closed his eyes and let the air hiss from his noise, expecting the worst reproach imaginable.
"Well, would you look at that!" Hod exclaimed, his voice positively overflowing with mirth. Stanley's eyes snapped open in surprise and his mouth widened slightly. "You're moving at a cracking pace today, aren't ya, lad?" He reached down and pat Stanley's shoulder with enough force to buckle the younger man's knees. "Excellent! We'll make a decent miller of you after all, Master Humber. Excellent indeed!" He then went off, humming a tune to himself excitedly.
"But..." Stanley stammered awkwardly and confusedly, brow furrowed tightly. He watched Hod go for another moment, wondering if his head injury had caused him to abandon the last of his sense before looking back at the log he had been working.
The gouge within the wood he had dug out when his hand slipped was gone. He reached out and felt over it, noting that it seemed even smoother than possible. He looked to the right and left and saw that every other log on the line was smooth as well, including some he hadn't even got to yet. Who could have done that? He looked 'round and noted that everyone else seemed busy with their own tasks. No one could have come over here and de-barked everything so quickly. What on Earth was going on here? Had he lost time again? Or was he officially going mad?
Stanley's thickly calloused hands worked automatically over the log he was currently de-barking, moving a pristine, thick straightblade back and forth over a lengthy piece of lumber until it held nothing but a smooth surface on every side before moving on to the next one. As he worked, sporadic images from the night before swam across his vision. The church, the headstones, the cemetery hedge; it all just played on rewind. No matter how hard he concentrated, he could not remember how he had managed to return to his house and reach his bed. That warm breeze was the talk of the town, and Stanley held the impossible assertation that it had everything to do with the strange event he had witnessed.
Amelia's face was fresh in his mind. Her lips were pale to the point of nearly matching her porcelain skin. Her thick black hair framed her round, flawless face like flimsy curtains. The gaze of her green eyes pierced his very soul. Stanley did not want to remember her like that. He wanted only memories of her smile or her laughter.
Then there was the way she had said his name. It set his teeth on edge.
Stanley
He heard it again, whispered in his ear as clear as day. It sent a vicious chill down his spine and caused him to jump with surprise, letting out a yelp that was audible even over the noise of industry. Snapping his head around to look behind him, Stanley saw nothing, naturally. And when he turned back to his work, he noticed with horror that he had torn a huge gouge out of the log he had been cleaning. Closing his eyes with resignation, he shook his head. He was losing his mind, it seemed... and now it was affecting his work.
"Stan!" came a shout from several feet away, down near the water wheel on the bank of the river. It was the unmistakably gruff and bellowing tone of the miller, Hod Wellman. "Alright there, lad! You look as if you've seen a ghost." The blonde, mustachioed miller chortled at his little joke as he mounted the wooden steps to approach where Stanley stood. He moved with grace one might not expect from such a massive figure, all of it surely muscle. The man had to be in his 50's, and yet he seemed more fit than half of Accrington.
"All's well, Master Hod!" Stanley reassured him, cursing the older man's ironic choice of words. Stanley raised a weathered hand as if to tell Hod not to bother approaching, coupled with a wry smirk. His acting couldn't erase the cold sweat upon his forehead or the way his heart throbbed in his chest. If Hod saw what he had done to this log, he might very well get the sack anyway.
Hod did not cease his approach, unfortunately. He came right up to Stanley, stopping before him and looking past him at his work. Immediately, Hod's face fell into one of disbelief. Stanley closed his eyes and let the air hiss from his noise, expecting the worst reproach imaginable.
"Well, would you look at that!" Hod exclaimed, his voice positively overflowing with mirth. Stanley's eyes snapped open in surprise and his mouth widened slightly. "You're moving at a cracking pace today, aren't ya, lad?" He reached down and pat Stanley's shoulder with enough force to buckle the younger man's knees. "Excellent! We'll make a decent miller of you after all, Master Humber. Excellent indeed!" He then went off, humming a tune to himself excitedly.
"But..." Stanley stammered awkwardly and confusedly, brow furrowed tightly. He watched Hod go for another moment, wondering if his head injury had caused him to abandon the last of his sense before looking back at the log he had been working.
The gouge within the wood he had dug out when his hand slipped was gone. He reached out and felt over it, noting that it seemed even smoother than possible. He looked to the right and left and saw that every other log on the line was smooth as well, including some he hadn't even got to yet. Who could have done that? He looked 'round and noted that everyone else seemed busy with their own tasks. No one could have come over here and de-barked everything so quickly. What on Earth was going on here? Had he lost time again? Or was he officially going mad?
The cemetery was off-limits at night. Everyone in Accrington knew that. Of course, there had never actually been an example of someone being punished for being there after hours. Nor were there guards posted at the gate, which didn't even have a lock. There was no need. Everyone simply obeyed this rule, and that was that. Well... almost everyone.
Stanley Humber was not the rebellious type. He considered himself a good, honest man, and if you asked anyone else in Accrington, they would more than likely agree. This would be after an expression of pity flickered across their faces. Stanley's a good lad, they'd say with nod and a hint of a grimace, Such a shame that business with his wife. Neither of them deserved that.
As such, it would be some wonder to them if one of the other citizens of Accrington were to find out what Stanley was up to every Wednesday night. Days at the mill were long. It was rather common for Stanley to be up before the Sun and home after it had set. As such, there wasn't time during the day for him to visit the cemetery. As such, the young man had built up the questionable habit of taking a dim lantern and passing through a thin part of the hedge that bordered the back of the cemetery in the middle of the night.
Tonight the air was still and the sky was clear. Stanley hadn't even bothered to bring his lantern with him. Though the cemetery's position on the edge of town afforded Stanley privacy from prying eyes, even with the lantern, he felt as if everything was lit well enough tonight that he wouldn't need it. The walk to the cemetery proved as uneventful as ever. No creatures stirred in the woods that bordered the cemetery. The windows of each house were dark, the inhabitants fast asleep. As usual, Stanley would be the only one in town having a rough Thursday morning due to lack of sleep.
Stanley slipped through the gap in the hedge, having turned it into an art form after so many times doing it before. The first several times he had tried, the hanging brambles and branches had given him cuts and scratches that had been difficult to explain away. He weaved his way through the headstones, feet moving across a well-memorized path. At last, he came upon one that looked just like all the others. Dark, roughly hewn, and sticking out of the ground at an angle. The only thing that set it apart from all the others was the name etched into it.
Amelia Humber
Stanley usually began by murmuring a prayer, asking for leniency when it came to his inability to let the dead go. Tonight, however, when he closed his eyes and bowed his head, he could not find it in himself to pray. After a few brief moments, Stanley opened his green eyes and frowned, fixing his dead wife's grave with a certain insecurity... as if seeing it for the first time. It seemed alien to him for some reason that he couldn't put a finger on. It wasn't until recently that he had stopped crying when he came here. Now this? Was he beginning to move on? For some reason, that thought scared him. If he moved on, he would forget her. He didn't want to forget her...
Suddenly, a warm breeze cut its way through the cemetery. It was unpleasant and without warning, causing leaves to rip from their boughs and streak through the air in the dozens. What had been a windless evening was now being enveloped by a tempest, despite the sky being cloudless. Then, just as soon as it had come, the breeze ceased. The leaves picked up by the wind fell to the ground almost directly in a most unusual display. Stanley's brow furrowed at this strange occurrence, his head turning this way and that as if to find a reason for it.
A few moments passed. In this time, Stanley had turned from Amelia's headstone to look up towards the house across the lawn from the nearby church. The mysterious wind did not seem to have roused the vicar. Though unsettling, Stanley felt as if it was nothing more than a strange happenstance and that the night could continue without another thought being put to it. He turned back to his wife's grave....
And there she was. Standing right in front of him as pale and lifeless as she had been on the night of her passing... yet very much there.
"Stanley." she whispered in a voice as cold as death.
Stanley let out a scream of surprise and fear, feeling as if his heart had stopped in his chest. He jumped back from the image of his deceased lover, catching his left foot on the exposed root of a nearby tree. This caused him to fall backwards, the world turning upside down. Before he could break the fall with a backwards-thrown hand, his head struck the ground with a thud and everything went black.
Stanley Humber was not the rebellious type. He considered himself a good, honest man, and if you asked anyone else in Accrington, they would more than likely agree. This would be after an expression of pity flickered across their faces. Stanley's a good lad, they'd say with nod and a hint of a grimace, Such a shame that business with his wife. Neither of them deserved that.
As such, it would be some wonder to them if one of the other citizens of Accrington were to find out what Stanley was up to every Wednesday night. Days at the mill were long. It was rather common for Stanley to be up before the Sun and home after it had set. As such, there wasn't time during the day for him to visit the cemetery. As such, the young man had built up the questionable habit of taking a dim lantern and passing through a thin part of the hedge that bordered the back of the cemetery in the middle of the night.
Tonight the air was still and the sky was clear. Stanley hadn't even bothered to bring his lantern with him. Though the cemetery's position on the edge of town afforded Stanley privacy from prying eyes, even with the lantern, he felt as if everything was lit well enough tonight that he wouldn't need it. The walk to the cemetery proved as uneventful as ever. No creatures stirred in the woods that bordered the cemetery. The windows of each house were dark, the inhabitants fast asleep. As usual, Stanley would be the only one in town having a rough Thursday morning due to lack of sleep.
Stanley slipped through the gap in the hedge, having turned it into an art form after so many times doing it before. The first several times he had tried, the hanging brambles and branches had given him cuts and scratches that had been difficult to explain away. He weaved his way through the headstones, feet moving across a well-memorized path. At last, he came upon one that looked just like all the others. Dark, roughly hewn, and sticking out of the ground at an angle. The only thing that set it apart from all the others was the name etched into it.
Amelia Humber
Stanley usually began by murmuring a prayer, asking for leniency when it came to his inability to let the dead go. Tonight, however, when he closed his eyes and bowed his head, he could not find it in himself to pray. After a few brief moments, Stanley opened his green eyes and frowned, fixing his dead wife's grave with a certain insecurity... as if seeing it for the first time. It seemed alien to him for some reason that he couldn't put a finger on. It wasn't until recently that he had stopped crying when he came here. Now this? Was he beginning to move on? For some reason, that thought scared him. If he moved on, he would forget her. He didn't want to forget her...
Suddenly, a warm breeze cut its way through the cemetery. It was unpleasant and without warning, causing leaves to rip from their boughs and streak through the air in the dozens. What had been a windless evening was now being enveloped by a tempest, despite the sky being cloudless. Then, just as soon as it had come, the breeze ceased. The leaves picked up by the wind fell to the ground almost directly in a most unusual display. Stanley's brow furrowed at this strange occurrence, his head turning this way and that as if to find a reason for it.
A few moments passed. In this time, Stanley had turned from Amelia's headstone to look up towards the house across the lawn from the nearby church. The mysterious wind did not seem to have roused the vicar. Though unsettling, Stanley felt as if it was nothing more than a strange happenstance and that the night could continue without another thought being put to it. He turned back to his wife's grave....
And there she was. Standing right in front of him as pale and lifeless as she had been on the night of her passing... yet very much there.
"Stanley." she whispered in a voice as cold as death.
Stanley let out a scream of surprise and fear, feeling as if his heart had stopped in his chest. He jumped back from the image of his deceased lover, catching his left foot on the exposed root of a nearby tree. This caused him to fall backwards, the world turning upside down. Before he could break the fall with a backwards-thrown hand, his head struck the ground with a thud and everything went black.
Without you
Tearing me down
Without your
Silence the sound
You cannot
Cancel me out again
Tearing me down
Without your
Silence the sound
You cannot
Cancel me out again
Stuck in place...
Still here. Still looking.
Makin' bacon pancakes!
Over here!
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