Serial Killer Round 63: La Fiesta de la Muerte! | C'est fini!
- Thread starter Malbourne
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@Twintix I don't know what you're so upset about. When you're a ghost, you get to pass through walls and haunt people!
Sorry all... had a journey yesterday and didn't get the message until this morning!
Behold, the tragic tale of my death:
Behold, the tragic tale of my death:
I sit in the cafe, contemplating my tea; head pounding from the grasps of my all encompassing hangover. This was supposed to be a break, a pause from being in the thrall of my alcohol dependence. How long had I been here now? 2 weeks? 3 maybe? How was I going to break it to her? My secret drink sessions whilst she slept. That I lied that our expensive trip was curing me and that the savings, once obtained to move us into a family home, now used to fund it was being pissed away by my deceitful second life. She had told me we could stay for as long as we needed. That life could be paused until I was ready to resume.
Time passed. More time that I should have let, but I couldn't bear to face her. It would break her. Demoralise her to the point where she will give up on me; and then where would that leave me.
I hate myself for that thought. It was always the way. The selfish reasoning that I used to justify hurting her. I knew she would never leave, so I carried on the facade. I had messed up this time though. She would have woken by now and found me missing. She would be worried sick, but when she eventually sees me she will know. She will know that I lied, and she will cry. I can't deal with this.
Selfish again.
I move on. Sitting in the cafe didn't help, and the colourful commotion outside didn't help either. A parade. Who goes to a festival such as this as a recovering alcoholic? Especially one who is lying about the recovering part. I look up and down the street deciding where to go, but the crowds and stalls confuse my sense of direction and I quickly become dizzy. I take a left, aiming up the hill to get a better grasp of the lay of the land. My training told me that much. Aim for the high ground, like we did in the DROC jungles 17 years prior, and gain a bearing, see where we are and make the decision from there.
Congo. It was always Congo. Not a day went by without a reminder of our secret involvement in that horrible war. Sweeping after the Tutsi Militias and reporting on the situation. We were never short of shocks there. Village after village destroyed, pillaged, raped and murdered for the crime of being a different tribe. Then there were the Pygmy tribes. The forest peoples being caught and eaten for 'magical healing properties.' It was savage. Blood boiling. And we couldn't do a thing. I saw a lot of death in those years in The Jungle and no matter what I did, I couldn't escape it.
Despite my thumping head and sickly stomach, I craved a drink. A chance to forget again. To pretend to be happy.
I look up as I make my way through the crowds. I see the painted faces of the festival-goers, black and white grotesque homages to the dead. Skulls and corpses with a sick irony of looking alive. These people didn't know. Their ignorance grasping at desperation of my memories that I was forced to repress. They stared at me, mockingly, like the shrunken skulls of the Pygmy tribes the years previous, laughing at me, reminding me that I was too late and helpless.
I collapse into a side street vomiting by a restaurant dumpster. The foul stench in the hot day increasing my convulsions. My thoughts went back to her. How could she bring me here? How could she not know? The festival of the dead... feeding the past I was trying to escape from. Death. Everywhere. Was that the answer? Could that free me from myself?
I head back out on the main street, pretending not to notice my vomit stained shirt. I head for the church on the top of the hill walking with a purpose I had not previously felt. I push my way passed the crowds and through the door and up the spiral staircase. The closer I got the more clear it became. This is what had to be done. I was almost running in clear anticipation and it was almost euphoric that I had found the answer. This new energy carried me up to the top of the tour, and over the barrier to stand on the edge of the ancient relic. Below me the crowds swirled like the current of an angry river and I felt like the last survivor of the sinking vessel, finally accepting the inevitable oblivion. I felt content. Then I noticed her.
She was moving against the flow of the crowds. Even amongst the patchwork mayhem of the festival she stood out in her yellow sundress. It was my favourite. It was the one she wore when I proposed to those years previous; the one she subconsciously wore when she was worried about me the most. Her movements were erratic, agitated, and she darted into the gaps in the crowds with vigour and a sense of importance. Of course she was looking for me. She knew. She always knew, but she didn't let it come between us. How could I be so stupid to think she didn't notice my comings and goings in the night.
Even from this distance she was beautiful. Her golden skin likening her to the magnificent statues in the summer palaces of St Petersburg. Her long dark hair flowing loosely around her shoulders maintaining the morning look from her hasty and rushed departure. Her heavy breast rising and falling in agitated pants as she moved through the crowds, and her hands never leaving her swollen belly, protecting the life within.
What was I doing? How was I so detached from my responsibility? My all-consuming selfishness clouding my thoughts from my servitude to family. They needed me. And I was about to abandon them. No. I wouldn't.
She looks up as if she knew and our eyes met. She freezes in the street as I stare back. She looks relieved, then confused, then concerned as the crowds push past. I realise I am still on the tower, and how it looked. I try to convey reassurance to her, but this is not an emotion easily passed over 100 yards, particularly as the rising sun is sat firmly at my 6 o'clock. I gesture to her to wait, I will come down to her, and she nods understandingly.
Then she looks horrified. I feel a sharp pain in my head, the thumpings of the previous night's whiskey binge intensify exponentially and I feel the wind as the ground rushes towards me. They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die, but I barely had time to realise that I had been hit and knocked forwards. I feel guilt... I see the anguished faces of my wife and my unborn child.
Then nothing.
Time passed. More time that I should have let, but I couldn't bear to face her. It would break her. Demoralise her to the point where she will give up on me; and then where would that leave me.
I hate myself for that thought. It was always the way. The selfish reasoning that I used to justify hurting her. I knew she would never leave, so I carried on the facade. I had messed up this time though. She would have woken by now and found me missing. She would be worried sick, but when she eventually sees me she will know. She will know that I lied, and she will cry. I can't deal with this.
Selfish again.
I move on. Sitting in the cafe didn't help, and the colourful commotion outside didn't help either. A parade. Who goes to a festival such as this as a recovering alcoholic? Especially one who is lying about the recovering part. I look up and down the street deciding where to go, but the crowds and stalls confuse my sense of direction and I quickly become dizzy. I take a left, aiming up the hill to get a better grasp of the lay of the land. My training told me that much. Aim for the high ground, like we did in the DROC jungles 17 years prior, and gain a bearing, see where we are and make the decision from there.
Congo. It was always Congo. Not a day went by without a reminder of our secret involvement in that horrible war. Sweeping after the Tutsi Militias and reporting on the situation. We were never short of shocks there. Village after village destroyed, pillaged, raped and murdered for the crime of being a different tribe. Then there were the Pygmy tribes. The forest peoples being caught and eaten for 'magical healing properties.' It was savage. Blood boiling. And we couldn't do a thing. I saw a lot of death in those years in The Jungle and no matter what I did, I couldn't escape it.
Despite my thumping head and sickly stomach, I craved a drink. A chance to forget again. To pretend to be happy.
I look up as I make my way through the crowds. I see the painted faces of the festival-goers, black and white grotesque homages to the dead. Skulls and corpses with a sick irony of looking alive. These people didn't know. Their ignorance grasping at desperation of my memories that I was forced to repress. They stared at me, mockingly, like the shrunken skulls of the Pygmy tribes the years previous, laughing at me, reminding me that I was too late and helpless.
I collapse into a side street vomiting by a restaurant dumpster. The foul stench in the hot day increasing my convulsions. My thoughts went back to her. How could she bring me here? How could she not know? The festival of the dead... feeding the past I was trying to escape from. Death. Everywhere. Was that the answer? Could that free me from myself?
I head back out on the main street, pretending not to notice my vomit stained shirt. I head for the church on the top of the hill walking with a purpose I had not previously felt. I push my way passed the crowds and through the door and up the spiral staircase. The closer I got the more clear it became. This is what had to be done. I was almost running in clear anticipation and it was almost euphoric that I had found the answer. This new energy carried me up to the top of the tour, and over the barrier to stand on the edge of the ancient relic. Below me the crowds swirled like the current of an angry river and I felt like the last survivor of the sinking vessel, finally accepting the inevitable oblivion. I felt content. Then I noticed her.
She was moving against the flow of the crowds. Even amongst the patchwork mayhem of the festival she stood out in her yellow sundress. It was my favourite. It was the one she wore when I proposed to those years previous; the one she subconsciously wore when she was worried about me the most. Her movements were erratic, agitated, and she darted into the gaps in the crowds with vigour and a sense of importance. Of course she was looking for me. She knew. She always knew, but she didn't let it come between us. How could I be so stupid to think she didn't notice my comings and goings in the night.
Even from this distance she was beautiful. Her golden skin likening her to the magnificent statues in the summer palaces of St Petersburg. Her long dark hair flowing loosely around her shoulders maintaining the morning look from her hasty and rushed departure. Her heavy breast rising and falling in agitated pants as she moved through the crowds, and her hands never leaving her swollen belly, protecting the life within.
What was I doing? How was I so detached from my responsibility? My all-consuming selfishness clouding my thoughts from my servitude to family. They needed me. And I was about to abandon them. No. I wouldn't.
She looks up as if she knew and our eyes met. She freezes in the street as I stare back. She looks relieved, then confused, then concerned as the crowds push past. I realise I am still on the tower, and how it looked. I try to convey reassurance to her, but this is not an emotion easily passed over 100 yards, particularly as the rising sun is sat firmly at my 6 o'clock. I gesture to her to wait, I will come down to her, and she nods understandingly.
Then she looks horrified. I feel a sharp pain in my head, the thumpings of the previous night's whiskey binge intensify exponentially and I feel the wind as the ground rushes towards me. They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die, but I barely had time to realise that I had been hit and knocked forwards. I feel guilt... I see the anguished faces of my wife and my unborn child.
Then nothing.
That was awesome.
I've been thinking about my death post more and more as it gets more likely I'll need it. These death posts have me really looking forward to my death in this game, funny enough.
I've been thinking about my death post more and more as it gets more likely I'll need it. These death posts have me really looking forward to my death in this game, funny enough.
Heh, "spun bottle syndrome"...sky14kemea said:
Damn. Now I've thought it through, and now I'm sad.
I think I'm gonna call it quits.
With what's happened this round, I just can't seem to actually care about this round anymore, I just want it to be over already. =/
No, I'm not El Killer, but this pretty much just means that the round will end a bit sooner, so fuck it.
With what's happened this round, I just can't seem to actually care about this round anymore, I just want it to be over already. =/
No, I'm not El Killer, but this pretty much just means that the round will end a bit sooner, so fuck it.
I feel you..Dr. Thrax said:
After this round ends I don't think I'm coming back for a while. I'm either ignored until I snap or people just don't seem to care enough.
I'm sure the killer is a little upset given that we're all essentially brandishing our spines to him/her. I imagine that takes some of the fun out of it.
Maybe I shouldn't have said that.
Maybe I shouldn't have said that.
[HEADING=1]
Haha! Third time's a charm, right? At this point, you could chuck a rock and hit somebody with a role!
BREAKING NEWS: DR. THRAX HAS TAKEN THE THREE-TEN TRAIN OUT OF THE LAND OF THE DEAD! IN ADDITION, THE TWO ENTWINED ROLES HAVE BEEN ASSIGNED. CHECK YOUR INBOX; YOU COULD BE ONE OF THE LUCKY PERROS!
[/HEADING]Haha! Third time's a charm, right? At this point, you could chuck a rock and hit somebody with a role!
@Elem. Dear Wat.: I loved the post. I mean it when I say I really appreciate that you all are willing to go for a post even in spite of the distinct shrill of a flatlining serial round in the background. Thank you!
...But I did have to check the title to see which forum I was on for a second there!
...But I did have to check the title to see which forum I was on for a second there!
I've been sitting in this pile of tiny drink umbrellas for a few hours now. Honestly, once you get past the pointyness, it's pretty comfy. Starting to run out of tequila, though, and I'm drunk as fuck, somehow. It turns out that a pinata can actually consume several gallons worth of alcohol and not die of alcohol poisoning.
As I down the last few drops of precious tequila, I toss the bottle aside and decide it's time to see just what the hell's been going on lately. It has been pretty quiet in my area, wonder if everyone's already dead?
Walking is a tad difficult, guess I shouldn't have had so much alcohol. I also seem to have a couple tiny drink umbrellas stuck to me... Guess I'm just even more festive, then!
Curiously, the sounds of fiestas weren't filling my ears as I stumbled about the villas, in fact, it was pretty quiet all around. I let out an earth-rumbling belch and I could hear it echo for quite some time.
Oof, that certainly did feel good, stiiillll a bit too wobbly, though, it's certainly making walking a fun challenge.
At least, as fun as my drunk ass brain can make it out to be...
Wait, do pinatas even have brains? Fuck, I dunno.
Where the flying fuck is everyone?
Half an hour passes by when I suddenly feel the need. The need to hurl.
Sweet christ, what was I thinking? Why did anyone even let me consume that much alcohol???
Welp, turns out that pinatas barf candy!
Time to cross that off the list of "Things I Did Not Know About Sentient Pinatas".
There's a lot I don't know about myself, it seems..
I suppose some kid will find it and be happy.
Or maybe some adult will find it and see that it's all tequila flavored and will probably get you blackout drunk within three seconds.
Or maybe some kid finds it and promptly dies of alcohol poisoning just from being within five feet of it.
Who knows?
Well, I just spent a half-hour arguing with an empty wooden barrel.
I can't particularly recall what the argument was about, something about bananas, I think...
It's a good thing there's nobody around to see this.
I hear yelling off in the distance, probably any survivors arguing over this whole ordeal, it kinda hurts my head, being this drunk is no fun, I'm going to have one helluva hangover later..
Wait, why do I know what a hangover is?
Why do I know that "blackout drunk" is totally a thing?
I'm a goddamned pinata, we eat candy, make off-site children and then get smashed open (And sometimes we're devoured by other pinatas, but we don't actually die!), I'm not supposed to know this shit!
Sweet christ I'm going insane.
I just want to go back to my goddamned garden.
I had a home, it's comfy as fuck, there were even tasty pinatas to eat!
Wait, I got sent here by HQ 'cause there was a party in need of a pinata, shiet, all I gotta do is just get smashed and I'll be sent back to my garden!
Sweet fuck, though, there's nobody around!
Guess I'll have to do it myself. Once I can stagger elsewhere..
Queue a montage of me attempting various solutions to get myself smashed, one would think I was in some cartoon.
Hammers, heights, walls, various other objects, you name it, I tried to smash myself with it. I even found a cannon, which I used to shoot myself at the nearest wall.
Needless to say, it didn't work, I left a Pretztail shaped indent in the wall, just like the classic cartoons. My tiny drink umbrellas got singed.
In my drunken stupor, I decided a Rube Goldberg machine was called for, and would be the solution to my problem.
So I set up shop in a nearby plaza, snagged various objects and got to work, slowly. You'd be surprised how difficult it is to work when you're this hammered.
Speaking of hammers, I've just nailed myself with one, and a nail.
It's going to be a looooonnnggg day.
I'm honestly surprised that I've managed to come up with such a device, perhaps the drunken stupor is just getting me to throw caution to the wind and use just about every idea I could fit into this contraption.
Hours have gone by and I am done!
I'm surprised I've managed to go unmolested this long, I haven't seen a single soul since I took my break in my tiny drink umbrella pile.
The contraption itself is probably gonna take about twenty minutes to fully execute. Hehe, wordplay...
It's grand! It's got cannons, colorful ribbons, fruit, barrels, rings, stones, and bread! It even has some confetti cannons and fireworks at the end!
Really no time to test this out, no opportunities, more like it.
Once this baby starts, there's no stoppin' it! Only got one shot at this.
If this thing doesn't break me the fuck open, ain't nothin' will.
I took my spot and pulled the rope to set the whole thing in motion.
I was kind of giddy, to be honest. Kinda weird, being excited for your own destruction.
I guess, though, when you simply magically reform back in your garden after being smashed open with a stick, you take these kinds of things in stride. Our entire purpose in life is to be smashed open for party goers, after all.
I think I'm finally starting to sober up, I'm starting to admire the feat of engineering I've managed to pull off. When you don't have fingers, it's rather impressive the things you manage to do.
Like building a giant Rube Goldberg machine with the sole purpose of killing yourself in a flashy way.
And there went one of the cannons! Those are so fun. I don't know why there were so many cannons just lying about this place, probably best to not think too much on it...
And I just woke back up, apparently passed out, but one of the other cannons just went off and if I had a urinary tract I'm sure I'd have pissed myself.
Looks like this is starting to finally wrap up, I think I may have been a bit generous with my earlier twenty minute guesstimation on how long this would take. Guess I went just a little overboard. Oh well.
Aaaannnddd here it is, the finale, four cannons placed in the cardinal directions with heavy payloads all pointed right at me. Once they fire, the confetti will fly and the fireworks will light up the skies. Not really sure why I wanted fireworks, but I was drunk. Still am.
Note to self: pinatas do not sober quickly. At all.
...
...
...
Oooooo, out of body experience! I've always wanted one of these.
The fireworks are nice, and the confetti left a colorful dusting around the entire area, including the pile of candy that now sits where I used to.
Hate to be the sorry ************ who has to clean that up, ha!
Maybe they'll just leave it up as a testament to the will of someone wanting to die.
Eh, doubt it.
...
...
...
I woke up laying face-down in a patch of grass, familiar smells.
My garden!
I promptly found the asshole responsible for sending me to that place and barfed in his fucking shoes.
All of them.
As I down the last few drops of precious tequila, I toss the bottle aside and decide it's time to see just what the hell's been going on lately. It has been pretty quiet in my area, wonder if everyone's already dead?
Walking is a tad difficult, guess I shouldn't have had so much alcohol. I also seem to have a couple tiny drink umbrellas stuck to me... Guess I'm just even more festive, then!
Curiously, the sounds of fiestas weren't filling my ears as I stumbled about the villas, in fact, it was pretty quiet all around. I let out an earth-rumbling belch and I could hear it echo for quite some time.
Oof, that certainly did feel good, stiiillll a bit too wobbly, though, it's certainly making walking a fun challenge.
At least, as fun as my drunk ass brain can make it out to be...
Wait, do pinatas even have brains? Fuck, I dunno.
Where the flying fuck is everyone?
Half an hour passes by when I suddenly feel the need. The need to hurl.
Sweet christ, what was I thinking? Why did anyone even let me consume that much alcohol???
Welp, turns out that pinatas barf candy!
Time to cross that off the list of "Things I Did Not Know About Sentient Pinatas".
There's a lot I don't know about myself, it seems..
I suppose some kid will find it and be happy.
Or maybe some adult will find it and see that it's all tequila flavored and will probably get you blackout drunk within three seconds.
Or maybe some kid finds it and promptly dies of alcohol poisoning just from being within five feet of it.
Who knows?
Well, I just spent a half-hour arguing with an empty wooden barrel.
I can't particularly recall what the argument was about, something about bananas, I think...
It's a good thing there's nobody around to see this.
I hear yelling off in the distance, probably any survivors arguing over this whole ordeal, it kinda hurts my head, being this drunk is no fun, I'm going to have one helluva hangover later..
Wait, why do I know what a hangover is?
Why do I know that "blackout drunk" is totally a thing?
I'm a goddamned pinata, we eat candy, make off-site children and then get smashed open (And sometimes we're devoured by other pinatas, but we don't actually die!), I'm not supposed to know this shit!
Sweet christ I'm going insane.
I just want to go back to my goddamned garden.
I had a home, it's comfy as fuck, there were even tasty pinatas to eat!
Wait, I got sent here by HQ 'cause there was a party in need of a pinata, shiet, all I gotta do is just get smashed and I'll be sent back to my garden!
Sweet fuck, though, there's nobody around!
Guess I'll have to do it myself. Once I can stagger elsewhere..
Queue a montage of me attempting various solutions to get myself smashed, one would think I was in some cartoon.
Hammers, heights, walls, various other objects, you name it, I tried to smash myself with it. I even found a cannon, which I used to shoot myself at the nearest wall.
Needless to say, it didn't work, I left a Pretztail shaped indent in the wall, just like the classic cartoons. My tiny drink umbrellas got singed.
In my drunken stupor, I decided a Rube Goldberg machine was called for, and would be the solution to my problem.
So I set up shop in a nearby plaza, snagged various objects and got to work, slowly. You'd be surprised how difficult it is to work when you're this hammered.
Speaking of hammers, I've just nailed myself with one, and a nail.
It's going to be a looooonnnggg day.
I'm honestly surprised that I've managed to come up with such a device, perhaps the drunken stupor is just getting me to throw caution to the wind and use just about every idea I could fit into this contraption.
Hours have gone by and I am done!
I'm surprised I've managed to go unmolested this long, I haven't seen a single soul since I took my break in my tiny drink umbrella pile.
The contraption itself is probably gonna take about twenty minutes to fully execute. Hehe, wordplay...
It's grand! It's got cannons, colorful ribbons, fruit, barrels, rings, stones, and bread! It even has some confetti cannons and fireworks at the end!
Really no time to test this out, no opportunities, more like it.
Once this baby starts, there's no stoppin' it! Only got one shot at this.
If this thing doesn't break me the fuck open, ain't nothin' will.
I took my spot and pulled the rope to set the whole thing in motion.
I was kind of giddy, to be honest. Kinda weird, being excited for your own destruction.
I guess, though, when you simply magically reform back in your garden after being smashed open with a stick, you take these kinds of things in stride. Our entire purpose in life is to be smashed open for party goers, after all.
I think I'm finally starting to sober up, I'm starting to admire the feat of engineering I've managed to pull off. When you don't have fingers, it's rather impressive the things you manage to do.
Like building a giant Rube Goldberg machine with the sole purpose of killing yourself in a flashy way.
And there went one of the cannons! Those are so fun. I don't know why there were so many cannons just lying about this place, probably best to not think too much on it...
And I just woke back up, apparently passed out, but one of the other cannons just went off and if I had a urinary tract I'm sure I'd have pissed myself.
Looks like this is starting to finally wrap up, I think I may have been a bit generous with my earlier twenty minute guesstimation on how long this would take. Guess I went just a little overboard. Oh well.
Aaaannnddd here it is, the finale, four cannons placed in the cardinal directions with heavy payloads all pointed right at me. Once they fire, the confetti will fly and the fireworks will light up the skies. Not really sure why I wanted fireworks, but I was drunk. Still am.
Note to self: pinatas do not sober quickly. At all.
...
...
...
Oooooo, out of body experience! I've always wanted one of these.
The fireworks are nice, and the confetti left a colorful dusting around the entire area, including the pile of candy that now sits where I used to.
Hate to be the sorry ************ who has to clean that up, ha!
Maybe they'll just leave it up as a testament to the will of someone wanting to die.
Eh, doubt it.
...
...
...
I woke up laying face-down in a patch of grass, familiar smells.
My garden!
I promptly found the asshole responsible for sending me to that place and barfed in his fucking shoes.
All of them.
Fucking.
Christ.
I was born a ramblin' man and WHY DID I JUST TYPE THAT WALL OF TEXT.
So yeah, there's my death/I quit post.
I honestly had no intentions of it being that long, but my fingers wouldn't stop typing.
I need to go think about my life choices. @.@
Even if they do win, it's hardly them who caused this round to collapse. I wouldn't be surprised if they were just as fuckin' confused as we are.Caramel Frappe said: