#1
A New York Nightmare
by James Frontfield


Six hours before a man would shed his last dying scream upon a dark New York night, Inspector Creed would be enjoying a glass of high quality whiskey at his favorite bar. His drinking habits had been increasing in intensity the last couple of years, a life of constant work had caught up with him. As he held the glass
containing his whiskey, occupied by two ice cubes, he felt an overwhelming feeling of uselessness, but drowned the thoughts quickly with a hasty sip from the glass. His first glass would be one of many, and he would later retrieve to a dark corner of the bar, falling into a daze, which would later develop into what he assumed was sleep. He awoke several hours later to the yells of the bartender, he couldn’t tell what he was saying, but he estimated that it was closing times. He hit the streets, welcoming it by taking a lone cigarette out of his front-pocket, lighting it, and began walking the dark streets contemplating, as he often would.

As the Inspector slipped into a nightmarish dream, a man would run his final lap through the forests of Central Park. The rhythmic sounds of uncoordinated running footsteps behind him would turn him unable to comprehend the fate that awaited him. As the intensity of the footsteps closed in, he would smell the alcoholic blind violence that awaited just centimeters behind, but death wouldn’t occupy his thoughts. His mind would wander to the events that lead to this horrible conclusion of a man’s life, often referred to as a joke, by his peers. Waylon Hodge had been an ordinary office worker for the Graham & Norton firm for years; a young man of 27, Waylon had been with “G&N” for over nine of them, working his way up the food chain. He was mocked for his earnest ways, and ridiculed for his lacking social skills, not made for the competitive world of business, Waylon lagged when it came to rising through the ranks.

As the years went by Waylon would sink deeper into a depression which would lead him to explore the darker corners of his mind.
As Creed reached his home, he felt a terrible itch on the back of his neck, and decided he would check it out in the mirror in his home. His home wasn’t much, located in a district deserted by the general population, occupied by junkies, homeless people and everyone society forgot. It was a district Creed felt right at home in, but also a place he loathed. As he opened the door to his empty apartment reminiscent of how his soul felt, he went into his bathroom, once draped in a sterile white, now colored by years of decay. In the mirror he saw something that frightened him, a rash shaped like a hand covered the better part of his neck, bordering to his shoulder.

The excessive smoking and drinking through the night had gotten the better of him, and proceeded to lie on what he called a bed. He awoke two hours later to the sound of the phone ringing, a brutal manslaughter in Central Park, a nice way to start a morning and a nice way to end a life.

Waylon would resort to stalking his co-workers, his blind rage towards them had been towering the last eight years, and on this, the last year of his life, he would begin stalking his coworkers, with the intent of committing murder, though never committing the deed, he thought this would be the day of his first kill.

His latest “victim” was an alcoholic sales supervisor. Waylon had followed him through the streets of New York, and it had concluded at “The Central Bar Park”. His target disappeared in a black sea of people, and his mind trailed off. By chance his glance was met by the eyes of a depressing looking silhouette. Waylon’s nerves got the better of him, and he retired to the streets, heading towards Central Park.

Inspector Creed reached the crime scene with a bad hangover, though still partly drunk as he had only gotten two hours of horrible sleep. His instincts, however, was as clear as day, and what had happened at Central Park last night, was painfully obvious. The decapitated head in Central Park was an exclamation point to this fact. All of this would’ve turned the stomach of a lesser man, but Creed was used to these kinds of surroundings, and this particular one, was awfully familiar to him. Because he had a nightmare last night, a devastating real nightmare.
Gear:
2011 Fender American Standard Stratocaster
2012 Tanglewood TW170

Boss Katana 100w 1x112
Line 6 HD500
#3
Wrong place to post this I fear...
Quote by Mattron2000
Shadowenspirit,
Developmental Tamer.
Shadowenspirit,
Ancient Sandwich Crafter



I have never made but one prayer to God, a very short one: "O Lord make my enemies ridiculous." And God granted it.


-Voltaire



So it is written.
#4
Hmmm what do we have here...
Quote by xMetalGodx
I'm not quite sure if you were trying to be funny or if you have a learning disability, either way, I was not amused.

He is not amused.
Quote by abdulalhazred
you are the best 09er EVER! i am sending you a friend request as soon as i send this

#5
Boring.
We fear violence less than our own feelings. Personal, private, solitary pain is more terrifying than what anyone else can inflict.
Jim Morrison
#7
Quote by Shadowenspirit
Wrong place to post this I fear...

Yep. You'll be better off posting this in UG Contribution, to try and get it approved as a fiction article.
#8
Quote by ZeGuitarist
Yep. You'll be better off posting this in UG Contribution, to try and get it approved as a fiction article.

couldn't stay away, eh?
#9
Cool story bro
Neon Neon Neon Neon Neon Black


UG's #1 anti-active advocate

Gear:
Engl Powerball
Carvin DC727
Schecter C-1+
Line 6 Flextone 3
Line 6 M9
#10
I posted this here to see what people thought of the language. I wanna write a novel about a guy in a cabin out in the woods...
Gear:
2011 Fender American Standard Stratocaster
2012 Tanglewood TW170

Boss Katana 100w 1x112
Line 6 HD500
#11
Quote by wyldelife
I posted this here to see what people thought of the language. I wanna write a novel about a guy in a cabin out in the woods...


Is he a psychopathic rapist with pedophilic and survivalist tendancies? If so I would be interested in reading an excerpt of this.
Quote by xMetalGodx
I'm not quite sure if you were trying to be funny or if you have a learning disability, either way, I was not amused.

He is not amused.
Quote by abdulalhazred
you are the best 09er EVER! i am sending you a friend request as soon as i send this

#14
How does one exactly retrieve to a dark corner?

Edit: Don't say "brutal manslaughter". You can't judge that it's a manslaughter until a murder inquiry has been held and the suspect has been on trial and found guilty of manslaughter. FURTHERMORE, how would anyone even begin to think that it was a manslaughter if the victim had been decapitated? Just because "manslaughter" is longer than "murder", it doesn't mean it's a better (or a correct) choice of word.
The DNA results show that Jeremy Kyle is a nob.


Quote by titsmcgee852
I want to look at your sexual naked body.
Last edited by Ed Hunter at Aug 27, 2009,
#16
You seek the source of no light
Gear:
2011 Fender American Standard Stratocaster
2012 Tanglewood TW170

Boss Katana 100w 1x112
Line 6 HD500
#18
Quote by Ed Hunter
How does one exactly retrieve to a dark corner?


You just simply enter the retrieved corner whilst dividing by zero and cumming blood. Thought everyone knew that?
Quote by xMetalGodx
I'm not quite sure if you were trying to be funny or if you have a learning disability, either way, I was not amused.

He is not amused.
Quote by abdulalhazred
you are the best 09er EVER! i am sending you a friend request as soon as i send this

#20
Quote by ZeGuitarist
You're slightly late noticing me, sir

my point remains valid, regardless of its tardiness. On a similar note, i'd like to announce to everyone that disco is indeed dead.
#21
Greame & Norton

Quote by hazzmatazz
youmakemesmile...

Quote by sebastian_96
Today I stole a girls tampons for being such an annoying bitch.





MUFC


My love for you
Is like a truck
Berserker.