Author’s Note: If any of you are wondering why these stories are being posted instead of the next chapter of Bedlam, please see the update on my profile.

As for the stories themselves, I think they demand a little explanation. These stories are the result of a “game” which a friend and I came up with. It’s almost more of a writing exercise than a game, but it’s still rather fun. The original idea was to come up with a few random items, and then to write a story incorporating them. With the first few stories we also imposed a genre restriction. Writing these stories wasn’t meant to take long (we took somewhere between a half hour to an hour for each and I don’t think any of our stories went over two pages). A definite ending wasn’t required either, just write until you either finish or don’t feel like writing any more. After they were done, we shared them and talked about them: what we liked, what might happen next, etc. It was a surprisingly fun game, which forced us to write about things we’d have never thought about otherwise.

I liked my stories so much that I decided to put them on Fictionpress. A number of them could turn into full length stories, but don’t get your hopes up. For the moment they are read-as-is. Feedback would be appreciated however. And I highly suggest that anyone who enjoys writing should grab a friend and try the game for themselves. :)

And if anyone is curious, the friend I played with is FireKitty in my favorite authors list. I’m hoping she’ll post some of her own, so you can compare our twisted minds, but until then you might consider reading her Fateful Kiss story. It’s good, but don’t get your hopes up for an ending. I’ve been bugging her for a year and she still hasn’t finished it. But who knows, maybe some reviews will get her moving. Did I mention that World of Warcraft is an evil addiction? :P

Session 2, Story 3 of the Writing Game: Black Heart

Random Things to Write About: playing cards, light, door knocker

About this story: This is my absolute favorite of all the writing game stories. For some reason it just feels like something I wouldn’t normally write, and I’m quite pleased by the result.

BANG, BANG, BANG.

The sound of the knocker made everyone in the room jump. The men looked around at each other in fear. Only a single light bulb, hanging from the ceiling, provided a meager light in the room, and the reverberations of the knocking made it swing from its wire, producing ominously alive shadows throughout the room.

“Was anyone expecting company?” the largest of the men whispered harshly, his voice ragged with fear. Slowly each of the men shook their heads.

They had been prosperous men once; each a seeming businessman hiding behind the façade of an honest citizen, but in reality the kings of the dishonest and illegal traffic of the city’s criminal underground. They had built their fortunes on murder and deceit, and now someone was making them pay.

Within the last week, they had all lost everything. Their companies went bankrupt. The crimes which they had ordered were thwarted. Their families found out about their indiscretions and left them. And worst of all, the police now knew who they really were, and they were hunted men. But something worse than the police hunted them. They knew that without a doubt. Someone, or something, stalked them in the shadows. This something was the cause of their downfall.

That was why they now met, here in this dark room. Their plan was to hunt the dark thing in turn, and perhaps they could reclaim the comfortable, powerful lives which had once been theirs.

But now there was a knock. And the ragged men, their clothes dirtied and torn from their various escapes, their faces drawn and worn with too little sleep and food, these ragged men felt fear touch them as it had never before.

They were not used to fear, or rather not used to feeling it themselves, only in producing it in others, so perhaps that is why they did not heed it as they should have. Instead, the speaker moved slowly toward the door. With one trembling hand he turned the knob; with the other he pointed a gun at the entryway.

Before he could open the door, it was flung wide with a flourish. At the doorway stood a man in shadows. Slowly, he moved into the swinging light of the room, his features gradually revealed. He was a study in black and white.

The man wore a long, black jacket, which moved slightly about his legs as though blown by some unseen breeze. His dark clothes distorted his shape against his jacket, making it seem as though he were as fluid as the shifting shadows. Knee-high, thick-soled boots sounded muffled against the concrete floor, as if he had no real substance to give them sound. Black gloves adorned his hands, and shoulder length black hair swung freely about his face. The only thing about him which was not black was the pale moon-white of his skin, which seemed to glow from the midst of his darkness. And most frightening of all were the two coal-dark eyes which seemed to burn in their sockets.

Immediate recognition came to those in the room. They had all met the man. Had all known him as a friendly, trustworthy face in their lives, but as each called out a different name, they realized that none truly knew who he was. And another realization came: here was the hunter. Here was the man who had brought them down.

They all immediately reached for their guns, but just as quickly all were stopped as some unseen force squeezed their hearts and they found themselves unable to move.

“W-who are you?” their speaker finally croaked out, terror clutching at him.

The man seemed to think for a moment, and then he smiled. The sight chilled them all. “My name is not important.” He walked further into the room and sat himself in one of their chairs, propping his legs upon the table. “You only need to know that I am here to punish you for all that you have done.”

“Haven’t we been punished enough?” one of the others whined.

The man only shook his head, his smiled widening. “Hardly,” he spoke. “But the rules of the game demand that I give you a fair chance. So I will. One chance only.” He pulled a deck of cards from a pocket. The men shivered to see the bloody red of their backs. The man casually began to shuffle the deck, his fingers moving almost lazily across them as he continued to speak. “We will play a game. A simple game. We will all draw cards. In any order you wish. And any who draw a card higher than mine will be free. Any who don’t…” He let the words trail off as he smiled at them all and they shuddered in terror.

With a sweep of his hand the man spread the cards across the table. “Who will be first?” he asked innocently.

“Not you,” one of the men decided, reaching toward the table. The others quickly followed him.

When all had chosen, the man reached to draw his own card. “Very well.” He plucked a card without even looking at it and laid it before him. “Now then…” he looked at the men about him. “Time to finish the game.”

Hesitantly, they began to turn their cards, and relief began to show on their faces as, one by one, a face card was revealed. Surely he couldn’t have gotten so lucky as to draw higher.

“We win!” One of the men rashly shouted. But the shadow man only continued to smile. When all the cards lay face up before him, he reached to his own card. The men of the room, so used to getting their own way, so quickly forgetting their recent lessons, almost dismissed him … until the card was flipped.

When they saw the card the man had drawn there was a collective groan, and as one they turned to run to the door. And as one they dropped first to their knees, then to the floor, the life gone from their bodies, though their faces remained twisted in terror.

Calmly, the shadow man rose from the table, gathered up his cards, and went to the door. There he disappeared back into the shadows of the night, behind him the only evidence of his presence was his chosen card, still lying upon the table. The ace of spades sat beneath the still swinging bulb, the motion of the light making the symbol look as though it moved … as though it were a beating black heart.