NEW! (sort of!) BBQ's Angsty Pre-Teen Death Vignettes!

[BBQ Platypus]

(Note: game has been edited to be a tad less arcane)

Do you like posting short, bizarre, and easy-to-write literary contributions to this site, but feel that the "Three Words at a Time" limit is too restrictive?  Do you hate whiny Emos and the stupid, simpering "poor-me" online whining that often results in shitty, melodramatic short story writing?

If you answered yes to either of those questions, then this thread may be a pretty good diversion for youse guys, because now you, too, can write disturbing short stories - just like I used to do before I got too "busy" to do it!  (If you answered no to BOTH of these questions, you can hardly be considered a human being).

Basically, the point of this is to write a one-shot (possibly even one paragraph) short story or vignette in which a pathetic, "innocent,"* whimpering child (preferably a boy, between 7 and 12 years of age - bonus points if he's an orphan) gets what he deserves (or doesn't deserve - it doesn't matter, as long as it's funny).  You can do whatever you wish to your pre-teen "hero," as long as it's cruel and unusual. (Death is a popular choice).


* A fallacious adjective of course, but included in the description due to its bizarrely frequent use in reference to children.  Even if we were to assume that innocence DID exist (which it doesn't - all children are whiny, sneaky little twits with no soul), it would be best to act as if it didn't.  "Innocence" is actually a sign of weakness that must be beaten out of you as soon as possible (preferably shortly after leaving the womb).  The best way to do this is to mail your child to me so that their brains can be used as central processing units for my ever-expanding army of killbots (who will serve alongside the penguins as shock troops).


This concept is inspired by the "Kevin Shapiro" stories from Daniel Pinkwater's book Young Adult Novel.

Here's a couple examples:

Kevin Shapiro, Boy Orphan

Kevin's new social worker was Mr. Justin Jarvis, and Kevin didn't like him one bit. He was constantly smiling, and he spoke in a smooth, soft voice that made Kevin nervous.

Most annoying was the knowledge that Kevin depended on Mr. Jarvis completely. Kevin's mother was in the madhouse. Mr. Jarvis called it a psychiatric facility- but it was a madhouse, nothing else - and Kevin's mother was mad. She had gone mad the day Kevin's father had been in the accident at the methane works - the day he had been deprived of speech, sight, and hearing, and the use of his legs. Dad was in the veteran's hospital now, little better than a vegetable. When Kevin was taken to visit his father, all he could do was sit and star at the broken form in the wheelchair. His father horrified him, and made him feel angry. How could you leave me like this? Kevin thought.

What was Scott Shapiro, Kevin's father thinking about in the wheelchair? Was he remembering the day he had been blown into darkness and silence forever by the exploding methane tank. Was he remembering that last morning, before the accident, before his wife, Cynthia, had gone mad? Was he remembering the news that had come that morning, that Kevin's sister, Isobel, had been arrested for prostitution?

As far as Kevin knew, Isobel was still downtown, working the bars across the street from the bus station. He wished he could talk to her. Isobel had always been the only one in the Shapiro family who understood Kevin.

Maybe some day Isobel would be brought to the alcoholism treatment center where Kevin was staying. There was always a chance of that. Kevin had done his earliest dinking with Isobel.

If the vice squad ever caught her, they might bring her to the alcoholism treatment center. She wouldn't be sent to regular jail- after all, she was only fifteen- just two years older than Kevin.

Kevin felt the wad of money in his sock. He had earned sixty-five dollars that morning, selling pills to the other kids in the treatment center. In addition, he had twenty dollars he had stolen from Mr. Jarvis.

So here was Kevin, a thirteen-year-old alcoholic, pusher, and thief. His mother would probably never get well, his father certainly wouldn't, and his sister was turning tricks on State Street. It seemed to Kevin that there wasn't a chance in the world that he would ever get his life straightened out.

And he was right. So we hit him over the head and fed him to the pigs.

Kevin Shapiro, Boy Orphan
Chapter Six Thousand Four Hundred and One

Kevin's head was swimming. Could it be? Was it possible, after only doing it once? Of course, he'd heard of it happening to other kids, but somehow he had never considered it was something that could happen to him. After all, Brenda knew what she was doing- she had told him so. She had said not to worry. Kevin had believed her. He had trusted her. He knew Brenda wouldn't lie, but now, here he was, looking at the doctor's fact, which loomed as large as a face on a movie screen. The doctor had a kindly expression, but it all seemed like some horrible nightmare. "Yes, there's no doubt about it," the doctor was saying to Kevin, "you are two months pregnant."

[BBQ Platypus]

Game edited to increase the likelihood that someone might actually participate.

[Cibernético II]

No.

[BBQ Platypus]

The Tragic Story of Cibernético II, Boy Leper

Cibernético II entered the world amid much fanfare and mandatory public celebration among the people of Circuitania (as per the order of his father, King Cibernético I).  He had only just been born, and yet he already occupied the top rung of the socio-political ladder.

The King's best scribes, nurses, and barbers looked him over to check for any deformities.

"Ah, a healthy one, this is," declared the Barber Grandmaster.  "No horrible disfigurements in this child.  He shall be a fine boy and a great king, Your Majesty."

Unfortunately, the King's wise men were all horribly nearsighted, and failed to notice a hideous black lump on his spine.  The boy became a hunchback by early childhood (at which point the wise men were swiftly executed and replaced by even dumber ones).

"How could this be!?" his father wailed.  "My son, a disfigured, monstrous hunchback?  O Lord, what have I done to be worthy of such a disgrace for a son!?"

Although the young prince was a very articulate, intelligent boy, the king was so ashamed of his physical appearance that he declared him unfit to rule (or be looked at by the public).  Cibernético II was restricted to a hidden, secluded room near the castle keep, while his younger brother Roboto took his place as the heir to the throne.  There it seemed that he would live at least a comfortable, well-fed life, until he contracted leprosy from an exceptionally ugly prostitute on his twelfth birthday.

"I will not have a LEPER befouling the royal quarters with his presence!" the king fumed.  "To the dungeon with him!  Wait, no - I can't have a leper in my castle; it would put my real son at risk.  Throw him in the debtor's prison!"

And so, after being forced to borrow some of the king's gold without paying it back, the former Crown Prince Cibernético II was placed under the lovingly psychotic care of the Circuitania Debtor's Prison of Bottomless Sorrow and Extreme Pain.  There, he was poked constantly by men with 20 foot-long poles, who were ordered to aim specifically at the nastiest leprous sores.  At least five times a day, a herald would arrive to verbally remind the prince of his father's deep hatred of him.  At night, the guard was changed, allowing the poking to continue uninterrupted until the inevitable loss of consciousness.

Months passed, perhaps even years - Cibernético couldn't tell.  Every day of his life was sheer, non-stop agony and humiliation.  He was but a 13 year-old boy, yet already he longed for death.  As he lay helplessly in the filthy, stale-smelling hay, it seemed as though his suffering would never end.  Then a plague rat bit him and he died.

THE END