‘Woah, what the fuck happened to you?’
Martin’s mouth dropped open as his gaze fell upon a battered and bruised Karl, practically collapsed on the doorstep to his room.
‘What d’ya think?’ Karl mumbled, sarcasm still evident through the tiredness in his voice, ‘I’ve been taking part in a death contest, in case you’d ruddy forgotten. Now, are you going to let me in or make me sit here until my batteries die?’
Martin saw the light in Karl’s eyes flicker and felt a surge of alarm. Feeling a lump in his throat, he nodded and Karl crawled through the door at an agonisingly slow pa
‘Oi, freak, wakey wakey!’
Roused from his snoring, Martin opened his eyes, looking less than pleased to see the gecko.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘I’m here to pick you up!’ Karl grinned, ‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten our 4am date! It’s time to go meet our mysterious stranger under the ominous glow of the moon and all that jazz.’
‘OH, REALLY?!’ Martin sat up and glared at the small lizard, ‘NOW you want my help?! Fuck, you’ve got a nerve coming here.’
He leapt to his feet and glared down at Karl. ‘You left me. You left me
“You’re shitting me.” Ian gazed dubiously at Gilda, face scrunched up after Winston’s announcement … and the type of ‘camera’ the gharial was holding out to her. It was a hat, and very familiar hat at that. It wasn’t quite the same faded green Phil’s had been, or look tattered with age. But despite the crisp newness it was still very clearly the same shape and general color Phil’s hat had been. The reptile simple shrugged as Ian took the offered hat.
“It was decided a less … hands-on camera would suit your needs.”
Ian bristled, bad hand tightening its grip on the
SDF Round 3 - Paranormal Activity - Part 1 by Evelyn-Cross, literature
Literature
SDF Round 3 - Paranormal Activity - Part 1
The breakfast room was quiet, filled with a nervous tension.
Umozozi sat down at one of the tables, shirt rumpled and eyes wild. He’d gotten there early, unable to deal with being alone in his room. There was too much on his mind.
For a while, it’d just been him and a couple of Winston’s staff. They sat in a corner of the room in front of a beat up box tv. Umozozi stared at them, but they ignored the baboon as their eyes were glued to a wrestling program. They seemed far more excited about the “match of the century”, John Cena vs. Rick Astley, and didn’t even take notice of him when he had snapped at the
Now this, this he could get used to.
Sitting below a skylight, watching the world go by as he rode the high of victory, he could not be more content.
Never in his life had he felt so powerful. For once in his life, he’d beaten the odds. He’d taken down Monkeyboy singlehandedly in a head to head contest. And best of all, while lady luck had surely been on his side, his win could be put down to his own skill, intellect and ingenuity. It was a new, beautiful feeling. Power. He was powerful. Why, with his newfound zapping skills, he could kill every one of those stupid bipedal creatures down there.
For the sixth time that morning,