Thread: The Story game

was a tranny

who I'd bash

with nothing but your own hands.

The tranny - who called himself Sam; no-one knew his real name - was out of his luck and stranded - like a seal on an isolated ice floe - on the streets of New York. He did what he could to get money. Sure, he was passed around like currency, but currency is worth, yeah? That's what he told himself, to stop himself from crying at night. He slept in a dumpster; not too shabby but still, nevertheless, a dumpster. He was the whore of the East Side, but he didn't mind. He was saving. For a house, a car, maybe even a little self-respect.

But now he's dead. Dead at the hands of some fucked up guy with a twisted mind and a tiny dick. 'Dead men can't cry,' the man had said. 'Really I'm doing you a fucking favour.'

He punched, and there was a spurt of blood. And he smiled all through it. Always smiling, that was his thing. He punched accurately, exquisitely, in spots designed to hurt but not kill. Soon Sam was a bloody mess of bruises and cuts and blood.

Sam spewed, and blood and bile came out.

But really, he was glad. It was an ending, finally. Maybe not a good one. But an ending nonetheless. He should have done this himself years ago.

Dead men can't cry.

Originally Posted by Kiza

with nothing but

Fix'd.

Oh, there was supposed to be THREE words?

Whoops.

Originally Posted by Kiza

Oh, there was

Fix'd.

Originally Posted by Jeff777

I fixed it.

now that's better

Because this is

serious business, therefore

Originally Posted by metcalfracing

now that's better

Well played sir.

Originally Posted by metcalfracing

serious business, therefore

Eating an apple

is like being shot in the face.

Originally Posted by Black_Eagle

is like being.

Fixed

in heaven and

in the face

it smells tunalike

with four hyphens

and there only

chance for survival

Holy fuck face

is the name

of that asshole

who perversely enjoys

other peoples' assholes