dsfjr1190
Civilian
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John Dies at the End is the best online serial novel I have ever read. It held my interest the whole way through.
_______________________
It's a drug that promises an out-of-body experience with each hit. On the street they call it Soy Sauce, and users drift across time and dimensions. But some who come back are no longer human.
Suddenly a silent, otherworldly invasion is underway, and mankind needs a hero. What it gets instead is John and David, a pair of college dropouts who can barely hold down jobs.
Can these two stop the oncoming horror in time to save humanity?
No. No, they can't.
_______________________
This is a comedy-horror story but the comedy doesn't diffuse the horror. This is a mature story for heavy violence, brutality, and language. You can read it at the following link: http://www.johndiesattheend.com/a.html or look below for snippets of the story to see if it interests you.
Here are some snippets from the story (I'll put tags on them incase you want to go in blind):
_______________________
It's a drug that promises an out-of-body experience with each hit. On the street they call it Soy Sauce, and users drift across time and dimensions. But some who come back are no longer human.
Suddenly a silent, otherworldly invasion is underway, and mankind needs a hero. What it gets instead is John and David, a pair of college dropouts who can barely hold down jobs.
Can these two stop the oncoming horror in time to save humanity?
No. No, they can't.
_______________________
This is a comedy-horror story but the comedy doesn't diffuse the horror. This is a mature story for heavy violence, brutality, and language. You can read it at the following link: http://www.johndiesattheend.com/a.html or look below for snippets of the story to see if it interests you.
Here are some snippets from the story (I'll put tags on them incase you want to go in blind):
"It's a speargun. They use it to shoot whales. You see the trigger there, that thing there is a safety mechanism. There, it's off now. It fires a harpoon four feet long, but you only got one shot. So wait until you've got four or five kids lined up before you fire, see if you can impale them all at once."
John reached into the trunk and pulled out my chainsaw. He pulled the cord. The engine growled to life. He pulled the trigger and the teeth spun in a blur.
"Okay," said John, taking a deep breath. "Remember, these are children. Aim low."
John reached into the trunk and pulled out my chainsaw. He pulled the cord. The engine growled to life. He pulled the trigger and the teeth spun in a blur.
"Okay," said John, taking a deep breath. "Remember, these are children. Aim low."
It was Ronald McDonald's eyes that haunted me.
I had been walking toward the entrance of one of the six McDonald's franchises in Rockville when I glanced at the cartoon clown logo in the window, and screamed. I frightened one little girl on the sidewalk so badly that she screamed, too. One middle-aged man in a baseball cap who had been strolling toward the entrance behind me very discreetly turned on his heels and walked the other way. I felt like a jackass.
But I couldn't help it. I stood there on the sidewalk outside the restaurant for several minutes, gawking at the thing. It was one of those clear plastic static signs, pressed to the inside of the glass with the cartoon image filling most of that pane. The cloud of red hair, the size 60 red shoes, the yellow suit, and the...well...
I reached out and brushed my fingers over the glass.
The image is so perfectly drawn, so vivid, I thought.
Other late-night customers brushed past me and cast quick, stealthy glances my way, looking at the crazy man with the beard stubble and the ruffled dark hair, wearing the faded charcoal jacket over a black button-up shirt with a row of crimson chinese characters down the front (it's not as gay as it sounds). Look at the nut, staring into the four foot-tall corporate logo like it holds the meaning of life. Don't get too close to him, honey.
But they didn't see what I saw, I was sure of that. They weren't looking or screaming or puking. No, they saw the happy clown with his arms spread wide, one leg cocked at a 45-degree angle with one red floppy clown shoe tipped up into the air, big smile spread across his red and white face, welcoming paying customers into his burger factory. I remembered it from the last 100 times I had been here.
What I saw at the moment was a clown standing there with his gut split raggedly open, as if cut with a dull utility razor. He was... how can I put this delicately? In this perfectly-rendered and shaded cartoon he was using his own white-gloved hands to feed a rope of his own intestines into his mouth.
Detailed. Yes. It was very, very detailed, I observed.
But it was those eyes that got me. His expressive cartoon eyes pulsed with a terror about to boil over into madness. Tears streaked his face, sweat beaded his forehead. Those eyes pled with me, looked right into me and screamed for mercy. Begged to be put out of his misery. Those eyes told a story I didn't want to hear. It was a perfect cartoon rendering, not just of a man eating himself, but of a man being forced to eat himself.
And only I saw it. The messed-up logo was not an act of vandalism, the work of some artistic vegan defacing the hated burger factory. No manager rushed out to cover it. This image existed only to my eyes. This type of thing had been happening more and more.
I closed my eyes, looked again. Still there. And man, it was there. So totally and completely there, not shimmering like a mirage in the desert or some blur out the corner of your eye. It just clung to the window in it's brazen thereness, real right down to the little plastic corners peeling up from the glass.
Look at his face, man. The blood stained around his lips... and what's that caked around his cheeks? Gotta be bits of...
I turned away, tried to clear my head, to concentrate.
But you still see it, don't you? Everything rendered in cheerful comic book pinks and reds, clean, black ink outlines... the knots of guts sagging out of his abdomen...
I very quickly spun back at the image. There; just for a split second, I saw the normal logo, the way everybody else saw it. Happy corporate clown. Then it blurred back to the corrupted version again. Along the bottom, in cheerful red letters it said, "Who Owns You?"
Those words meant nothing to me, and I didn't expect them to. I stood there and craned my neck up up to the starless night sky, suddenly aware of how cold the night air was, its chilled fingers rustling my hair and sneaking up the back of my shirt like some old refrigerated pervert. Some would have stopped here to doubt their sanity, but by now the part of my mind that issued doubts about my sanity had burned out from overuse. Besides, if John were here, he would see the same clown I saw.
I had been walking toward the entrance of one of the six McDonald's franchises in Rockville when I glanced at the cartoon clown logo in the window, and screamed. I frightened one little girl on the sidewalk so badly that she screamed, too. One middle-aged man in a baseball cap who had been strolling toward the entrance behind me very discreetly turned on his heels and walked the other way. I felt like a jackass.
But I couldn't help it. I stood there on the sidewalk outside the restaurant for several minutes, gawking at the thing. It was one of those clear plastic static signs, pressed to the inside of the glass with the cartoon image filling most of that pane. The cloud of red hair, the size 60 red shoes, the yellow suit, and the...well...
I reached out and brushed my fingers over the glass.
The image is so perfectly drawn, so vivid, I thought.
Other late-night customers brushed past me and cast quick, stealthy glances my way, looking at the crazy man with the beard stubble and the ruffled dark hair, wearing the faded charcoal jacket over a black button-up shirt with a row of crimson chinese characters down the front (it's not as gay as it sounds). Look at the nut, staring into the four foot-tall corporate logo like it holds the meaning of life. Don't get too close to him, honey.
But they didn't see what I saw, I was sure of that. They weren't looking or screaming or puking. No, they saw the happy clown with his arms spread wide, one leg cocked at a 45-degree angle with one red floppy clown shoe tipped up into the air, big smile spread across his red and white face, welcoming paying customers into his burger factory. I remembered it from the last 100 times I had been here.
What I saw at the moment was a clown standing there with his gut split raggedly open, as if cut with a dull utility razor. He was... how can I put this delicately? In this perfectly-rendered and shaded cartoon he was using his own white-gloved hands to feed a rope of his own intestines into his mouth.
Detailed. Yes. It was very, very detailed, I observed.
But it was those eyes that got me. His expressive cartoon eyes pulsed with a terror about to boil over into madness. Tears streaked his face, sweat beaded his forehead. Those eyes pled with me, looked right into me and screamed for mercy. Begged to be put out of his misery. Those eyes told a story I didn't want to hear. It was a perfect cartoon rendering, not just of a man eating himself, but of a man being forced to eat himself.
And only I saw it. The messed-up logo was not an act of vandalism, the work of some artistic vegan defacing the hated burger factory. No manager rushed out to cover it. This image existed only to my eyes. This type of thing had been happening more and more.
I closed my eyes, looked again. Still there. And man, it was there. So totally and completely there, not shimmering like a mirage in the desert or some blur out the corner of your eye. It just clung to the window in it's brazen thereness, real right down to the little plastic corners peeling up from the glass.
Look at his face, man. The blood stained around his lips... and what's that caked around his cheeks? Gotta be bits of...
I turned away, tried to clear my head, to concentrate.
But you still see it, don't you? Everything rendered in cheerful comic book pinks and reds, clean, black ink outlines... the knots of guts sagging out of his abdomen...
I very quickly spun back at the image. There; just for a split second, I saw the normal logo, the way everybody else saw it. Happy corporate clown. Then it blurred back to the corrupted version again. Along the bottom, in cheerful red letters it said, "Who Owns You?"
Those words meant nothing to me, and I didn't expect them to. I stood there and craned my neck up up to the starless night sky, suddenly aware of how cold the night air was, its chilled fingers rustling my hair and sneaking up the back of my shirt like some old refrigerated pervert. Some would have stopped here to doubt their sanity, but by now the part of my mind that issued doubts about my sanity had burned out from overuse. Besides, if John were here, he would see the same clown I saw.
John claims that here he told the guards that he could not speak English and when this failed to persuade them, he faked a violent seizure.
I am unclear as to the purpose of this part of his plan.
John flung himself down and began rolling around in the snow, thrashing his limbs about and screaming, "EL SEIZURE!!! NO ES BUENO!!!" in a Mexican accent.
I am unclear as to the purpose of this part of his plan.
John flung himself down and began rolling around in the snow, thrashing his limbs about and screaming, "EL SEIZURE!!! NO ES BUENO!!!" in a Mexican accent.
"PUT IT DOWN!!"
John and I spun to see a man in one of the "clean" suits, maybe thirty feet away, pointing an enormous rifle at us that seemed to have too many barrels. His voice was filtered through a small speaker on the side of the hood and he was shouldering his way past the white-suited workers.
John did not put the flamethrower down. What he did instead was point the flaming end of the thing at the man and say, "You put yours down, *******."
I said, "I'd do it, sir. We're pissed."
"YOU HAVE ONE SECOND TO DROP THAT BLADE AND THAT... THING."
At this point, John flung himself to the ground and screamed, "YOU SHOT ME!! AAARRRRGHHH!"
Not a shot had been fired. I threw the sword to the ground with a clink and rushed to John's side. "Mother****er! You shot him! He has four kids! Or should I say, four orphans."
John and I spun to see a man in one of the "clean" suits, maybe thirty feet away, pointing an enormous rifle at us that seemed to have too many barrels. His voice was filtered through a small speaker on the side of the hood and he was shouldering his way past the white-suited workers.
John did not put the flamethrower down. What he did instead was point the flaming end of the thing at the man and say, "You put yours down, *******."
I said, "I'd do it, sir. We're pissed."
"YOU HAVE ONE SECOND TO DROP THAT BLADE AND THAT... THING."
At this point, John flung himself to the ground and screamed, "YOU SHOT ME!! AAARRRRGHHH!"
Not a shot had been fired. I threw the sword to the ground with a clink and rushed to John's side. "Mother****er! You shot him! He has four kids! Or should I say, four orphans."
"What am I even asking you for?" Jim said to my back. "Guys, why are we acting like he's in charge?"
Jennifer put up her hands, said, "Let's not, uh, make this a dick measuring contest, guys."
There was silence for a moment, then John said, "That's good, because it wouldn't be no contest at all."
Silence.
"That is, I'm referring to my cock being bigger than either of yours." John explained
Big Jim hesitated, then said, "****. My cock's cock is bigger than your cock."
John retorted, "You don't even exist. We're all just a figment of my cock's imagination."
Jennifer put up her hands, said, "Let's not, uh, make this a dick measuring contest, guys."
There was silence for a moment, then John said, "That's good, because it wouldn't be no contest at all."
Silence.
"That is, I'm referring to my cock being bigger than either of yours." John explained
Big Jim hesitated, then said, "****. My cock's cock is bigger than your cock."
John retorted, "You don't even exist. We're all just a figment of my cock's imagination."
I picked up the phone and dialed up John on his cell. One ring, and then-
"I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE ME THE **** ALONE, VINNY!"
"John?"
"Oh, Dave. Sorry. I had been having a heated argument here on my phone, and then I hung up in disgust and when the phone rang I just assumed, without checking, that it was the person I was having an argument with so I just blindly shouted insults into the phone. How embarrassing."
"I'm getting sick of that one, John."
"I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE ME THE **** ALONE, VINNY!"
"John?"
"Oh, Dave. Sorry. I had been having a heated argument here on my phone, and then I hung up in disgust and when the phone rang I just assumed, without checking, that it was the person I was having an argument with so I just blindly shouted insults into the phone. How embarrassing."
"I'm getting sick of that one, John."
My cell phone rang. I pulled it from my pants pocket. John's name on the display. I answered, "hello?"
"I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE ME THE **** ALONE, VINNY!"
"You called me, John."
"I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE ME THE **** ALONE, VINNY!"
"You called me, John."
The boy disengaged and looked at us with excited eyes. "Dude, you guys won't believe what just happened to us!"
John turned to him.
"You bored a stranger with your stupid-ass story, and he pulled out his cock and whipped you with it like a stage coach driver?"
The kid shut up, baffled. John picked up the ball and bounced a pass to me.
"Your ball."
John turned to him.
"You bored a stranger with your stupid-ass story, and he pulled out his cock and whipped you with it like a stage coach driver?"
The kid shut up, baffled. John picked up the ball and bounced a pass to me.
"Your ball."
I raised the shotgun and blew another in half, worked the pump and realized I had no more shots. I flung the gun at one of the monsters, missed, hit an elderly man in a wheelchair instead, toppling him over.
John said, "Yeah, it's not a big deal for me to lift heavy objects. If you know what I mean."
I held up a hand to silence him. "John-"
"-of course I'm talking about my penis."
I said to Amy, "Ignore him. His penis is just like everybody else's."
Amy said, "I was just gonna ask you if-"
"YOU'VE NEVER SEEN MY PENIS!" bellowed John. "I'd show it right now, to everybody here. If we had time."
I turned on him. "If we had time? What?"
"Because, well, if you want to look at my penis, you'd better have a whole afternoon, buddy! You best have five or six hours to take it all in, lest its majesty escape you!"
Before I could stop her, Amy said, "That doesn't make any sense."
"IT WOULD MAKE SENSE IF YOU COULD SEE IT," shouted John, plainly agitated. "IT WOULD BE MAKING LOOOOOONG SENSE, HONEY!"
"John, just calm down, okay." I gestured down the hall. "Go wait by the elevator."
He didn't move.
I held up a hand to silence him. "John-"
"-of course I'm talking about my penis."
I said to Amy, "Ignore him. His penis is just like everybody else's."
Amy said, "I was just gonna ask you if-"
"YOU'VE NEVER SEEN MY PENIS!" bellowed John. "I'd show it right now, to everybody here. If we had time."
I turned on him. "If we had time? What?"
"Because, well, if you want to look at my penis, you'd better have a whole afternoon, buddy! You best have five or six hours to take it all in, lest its majesty escape you!"
Before I could stop her, Amy said, "That doesn't make any sense."
"IT WOULD MAKE SENSE IF YOU COULD SEE IT," shouted John, plainly agitated. "IT WOULD BE MAKING LOOOOOONG SENSE, HONEY!"
"John, just calm down, okay." I gestured down the hall. "Go wait by the elevator."
He didn't move.
A group of men carrying what had to be rifles stood around the vehicle, and John immediately reached out and punched the switch to kill his headlights. Then it occurred to him that the lights suddenly going off might have been more noticable than simply leaving them on, the sudden absence of light out of the corner of an eye being just as distracting as the light itself. So then he punched the lights back on, thought he saw two of the men turn toward him, and then quickly turned the lights back off again. Now he felt the strobing of his headlights was almost impossible not to notice and in fact all of the men seemed to be looking up the hill at him.
