MarinesThePsychoticReaper
Resistance Member
This man has been diagnosed with Gay and died.
How Did The Person Above You Die?
- Thread starter Needle
- Start date
Rachael of the Shire
The Witch Among The Shirelings
Was diagnosed as undead and incinerated with a blowtorch.
MarinesThePsychoticReaper
Resistance Member
Dogfood
LMG MOUNTED AND LOADED
Died to mysterious causes
KAmber
Reverse Grip Apologist
Suckerpunch in the googly eye
SmugViking
A Box of Cosmic Brownies
It was a bright cold day in April, the clocks were striking thirteen. He walked into his local bakery to pick up some bread, for which his town is renown for across the province. As he walked into the bakery and began picking out which loaf of bread he was taking home with him today, a woman walked in. She was wearing a green dress with a golden floral pattern resonating across it. Her feet were adorned by white sneakers. She had flowing black hair with beautiful sun-kissed skin. Her eyes were a stormy grey, and she had rosy red cheeks. She was perfect. She was his. In his mind, at least.
She began ordering a basket of bread when he offered to pay for her. The money didn't matter, he just wanted to gaze deep into those beautiful grey eyes and lose himself and forget about the world around him. She blushes as he hands the cashier the appropriate amount of Euros. "Mes remerciements," (My thanks). "Mon plaisir," (My pleasure). Their eyes lock. The world dances around them as he imagines the next thirty years in a split second. Two beautiful children, Omer and Renée. Their two little angels. She and he would grow old, overlooking the green hills from their hilltop estate. They'd grow old and meet their grandchildren.
Of course, the fantasy stops. The woman stares at him. He stares at her. "Dîner? Ce soir?" (Dinner? Tonight?) he says. "Oui, ce serait génial," (Yes, that'd be great). She chuckles, kisses him on the cheek, and then walks out of the store with her basket of bread. He just stares with his mouth ajar as she walks away. Then he realizes that he forgot to give her his address. He sprints outside and starts to yell for her- but then, he remembers... he didn't even know her name. In a panic, he sprints around the block several times in pursuit of his soulmate. After about three laps, he collapses against the wall of the bakery, just beneath the display window. He buries his head in his knees and begins to sob.
It's late now. The street lights have sparked to life, although, he is still sat outside the bakery. His tears are dry now. They've been dry for many hours. Now he just sits in silence. One of the bakers from the bakery on her way out looks at the man and asks what's wrong.
"Elle est ... elle est partie. La femme de ma vie, la femme avec laquelle je donnerais tout et pour ... poof, parti. Comme si elle n'existait jamais," (She's... she's gone. The woman of my life, the woman I'd give my everything to and for... poof, gone. As if she never even existed). "Oh. C'est une honte. Si elle est entrée dans la boulangerie aujourd'hui, peut-être qu'elle reviendra demain si! Aller à la maison et se reposer. Venez le matin," (Oh. That's a shame. If she came into the bakery today, maybe she'll come again tomorrow, though! Go home and rest. Come in the morning.)
And with that, the man retired to his home and lay in bed. He pulled the sheets over him and closed his eyes. He dreamt of her again. He dreamt of them sitting atop the hill eating a picnic under a mighty English oak tree. Pesto and egg baguette sandwiches, kouign amann, and roasted vegetables. They're drinking white wine and looking as the sun sets across the horizon, saturating the world with lucid and beautiful colours.
The man wakes up to the gentle melodies of birdsong. He prepares himself for the day, and sprays himself with his expensive cologne and makes sure his hair is extra-dapper for his hopeful encounter with his soulmate at the bakery. But when he comes down the block to the bakery, he doesn't see her. Too disheartened to even continue with the rest of the day's journey, he returns home and sinks back into bed. He wakes up the next day and showers. He eats a light breakfast and goes for a walk.
He walks by the bakery and the woman from the other night waves. He pauses and looks at her for a moment, and then continues walking. He heads to the flower shop and buys a bouquet of flowers. He walks back to the bakery and steps inside. He lays his head down on the table, flowers in hand, and falls asleep. He's awoken by light shaking. He sees a heavyset bald man in an apron with a black beard towering above him, "Nous fermons. Il est l'heure de partir," (We're closing. It's time to leave) a deep, rumbling voice escapes from the burly man. He [the person above] waves his hand as if to shoo the man off. The burly man grunts and picks the man up by the collar and tosses him outside of the bakery.
He [the person above] falls asleep on the curb, his tears flowing into the nearby gutter. Days pass. Months pass. The man thins and his skin begins to cling to his bones. Just hours before his demise, the man grabs a slip of paper and a broken pen and writes his goodbye.
Pour ma chère amie, je m'excuse, je n'ai pas vous trouver pendant ces derneirs mois. Si vous êtes toujours en train de tomber sur les morts, pourri, la carcasse, je sais juste que je vous aimais et que je ne cessais de penser à toi.
(To my dearly beloved, I apologise I wasn't able to find you by these passing months. If you are ever to stumble upon my dead, rotting, carcass, just know, that I loved you and I never stopped thinking about you.)
Je croyais que je vivais si longtemps uniquement sur l'espirit de croire que je vous trouverais un jour et passer le reste de mon temps sur cette Terre avec vous.
(I believed I live so long solely in the spirit of believing that I'd one day find you and spend the rest of my time on this Earth with you.)
Au revoir, que le monde vous fasse bien.
(Goodbye, may the world fair you well.)
As the man draws his last breaths, he begins his eternal slumber. The note and the flowers, as fresh as they were the day he bought them, fall out of his hands. He is picked up by a group of EMTs and sent to the morgue. His flowers and note sit on that curb for years. Long since have the flowers withered. But a woman in white sneakers walks up to them. She bends down, picks up the note and reads it.
Porquoi ne voyez-vous pas que je vous aimais? (Why couldn't you see I loved you?) Says the girl from the bakery. She cries and sits on the curb for hours.
She began ordering a basket of bread when he offered to pay for her. The money didn't matter, he just wanted to gaze deep into those beautiful grey eyes and lose himself and forget about the world around him. She blushes as he hands the cashier the appropriate amount of Euros. "Mes remerciements," (My thanks). "Mon plaisir," (My pleasure). Their eyes lock. The world dances around them as he imagines the next thirty years in a split second. Two beautiful children, Omer and Renée. Their two little angels. She and he would grow old, overlooking the green hills from their hilltop estate. They'd grow old and meet their grandchildren.
Of course, the fantasy stops. The woman stares at him. He stares at her. "Dîner? Ce soir?" (Dinner? Tonight?) he says. "Oui, ce serait génial," (Yes, that'd be great). She chuckles, kisses him on the cheek, and then walks out of the store with her basket of bread. He just stares with his mouth ajar as she walks away. Then he realizes that he forgot to give her his address. He sprints outside and starts to yell for her- but then, he remembers... he didn't even know her name. In a panic, he sprints around the block several times in pursuit of his soulmate. After about three laps, he collapses against the wall of the bakery, just beneath the display window. He buries his head in his knees and begins to sob.
It's late now. The street lights have sparked to life, although, he is still sat outside the bakery. His tears are dry now. They've been dry for many hours. Now he just sits in silence. One of the bakers from the bakery on her way out looks at the man and asks what's wrong.
"Elle est ... elle est partie. La femme de ma vie, la femme avec laquelle je donnerais tout et pour ... poof, parti. Comme si elle n'existait jamais," (She's... she's gone. The woman of my life, the woman I'd give my everything to and for... poof, gone. As if she never even existed). "Oh. C'est une honte. Si elle est entrée dans la boulangerie aujourd'hui, peut-être qu'elle reviendra demain si! Aller à la maison et se reposer. Venez le matin," (Oh. That's a shame. If she came into the bakery today, maybe she'll come again tomorrow, though! Go home and rest. Come in the morning.)
And with that, the man retired to his home and lay in bed. He pulled the sheets over him and closed his eyes. He dreamt of her again. He dreamt of them sitting atop the hill eating a picnic under a mighty English oak tree. Pesto and egg baguette sandwiches, kouign amann, and roasted vegetables. They're drinking white wine and looking as the sun sets across the horizon, saturating the world with lucid and beautiful colours.
The man wakes up to the gentle melodies of birdsong. He prepares himself for the day, and sprays himself with his expensive cologne and makes sure his hair is extra-dapper for his hopeful encounter with his soulmate at the bakery. But when he comes down the block to the bakery, he doesn't see her. Too disheartened to even continue with the rest of the day's journey, he returns home and sinks back into bed. He wakes up the next day and showers. He eats a light breakfast and goes for a walk.
He walks by the bakery and the woman from the other night waves. He pauses and looks at her for a moment, and then continues walking. He heads to the flower shop and buys a bouquet of flowers. He walks back to the bakery and steps inside. He lays his head down on the table, flowers in hand, and falls asleep. He's awoken by light shaking. He sees a heavyset bald man in an apron with a black beard towering above him, "Nous fermons. Il est l'heure de partir," (We're closing. It's time to leave) a deep, rumbling voice escapes from the burly man. He [the person above] waves his hand as if to shoo the man off. The burly man grunts and picks the man up by the collar and tosses him outside of the bakery.
He [the person above] falls asleep on the curb, his tears flowing into the nearby gutter. Days pass. Months pass. The man thins and his skin begins to cling to his bones. Just hours before his demise, the man grabs a slip of paper and a broken pen and writes his goodbye.
Pour ma chère amie, je m'excuse, je n'ai pas vous trouver pendant ces derneirs mois. Si vous êtes toujours en train de tomber sur les morts, pourri, la carcasse, je sais juste que je vous aimais et que je ne cessais de penser à toi.
(To my dearly beloved, I apologise I wasn't able to find you by these passing months. If you are ever to stumble upon my dead, rotting, carcass, just know, that I loved you and I never stopped thinking about you.)
Je croyais que je vivais si longtemps uniquement sur l'espirit de croire que je vous trouverais un jour et passer le reste de mon temps sur cette Terre avec vous.
(I believed I live so long solely in the spirit of believing that I'd one day find you and spend the rest of my time on this Earth with you.)
Au revoir, que le monde vous fasse bien.
(Goodbye, may the world fair you well.)
As the man draws his last breaths, he begins his eternal slumber. The note and the flowers, as fresh as they were the day he bought them, fall out of his hands. He is picked up by a group of EMTs and sent to the morgue. His flowers and note sit on that curb for years. Long since have the flowers withered. But a woman in white sneakers walks up to them. She bends down, picks up the note and reads it.
Porquoi ne voyez-vous pas que je vous aimais? (Why couldn't you see I loved you?) Says the girl from the bakery. She cries and sits on the curb for hours.
FIN
MarinesThePsychoticReaper
Resistance Member
Replied in the wrong thread and got battered by gobniks
SmugViking
SmugViking
spookie
give 'em hell, kid.
cut self on own edginess
MarinesThePsychoticReaper
Resistance Member
Called the wrong guy Edgy in the wrong neighborhood and got shot.
Rachael of the Shire
The Witch Among The Shirelings
Was seen shooting an edgy kid; was revenge killed with a razor.
PortugalTM
The least emo emo
Was seen killing someone with a razor, was tased and hit head on concrete, killing them.
MarinesThePsychoticReaper
Resistance Member
Has been killed by a PD2 heister
"FUCKIN TAZER IS DOWN"
PortugalTM
The least emo emo
Has been killed by an arrow shot by a tribal warrior.
Rachael of the Shire
The Witch Among The Shirelings
Bitten by a lonely vampire that still carried the same razor.
MarinesThePsychoticReaper
Resistance Member
Shot out of the Cannon for science.
SadistPoet
Ippen, Shinde Miru?
Cannon misfired and killed everyone in a 10ft radius.
Rachael of the Shire
The Witch Among The Shirelings
Killed by a somewhat injured lonely vampire.
PortugalTM
The least emo emo
Had garlic thrown at them. By the way, did you know the vampire and garlic legend of true? Yeah, I didn't know until just now.
Kestrel
Angel with a Shotgun
Got killed by Ringwraiths because they left the Shire.
Johno
New Member
Became a Necromancer's Thrall, but couldn't handle the Necro.
PortugalTM
The least emo emo
Rachael of the Shire
The Witch Among The Shirelings
Was shot dead by poachers.
PortugalTM
The least emo emo
Was mistaken for a poacher and shot down by mercenaries hired by PETA.
Rachael of the Shire
The Witch Among The Shirelings
Cursed by a witch.
CastoffCaptain
Obsess. Hunt. Manipulate. Repeat.
Cardboard cut to the femoral artery.
