#madness

Most people have never heard someone die. The moaning. The crying. The pleading. The last tortured breath before they go quiet. Most people will never hear those things. I do. Daily. No, I’m not a serial killer on a hellbent mission to cleanse the Earth. I’m a 911 operator. When I took the job ten years ago, I assumed I’d more or less be like an air traffic controller, but for emergency response teams. For a large portion of my job, that’s true. That’s the easy part. Death is harder.

My cousin told me it happened in a very small village in Mexico, the one our grandfather grew up in. Late one night, a young man was leaving a friend's home. Despite the late hour, he insisted that he could walk home. After all, his own abode was only a mile away. Stepping out into the quiet streets, he started his journey. Breathing in the humid summer air, listening to the buzz of the street lamps mixed with the crickets and his own footsteps on the gravel ground.

"Hello everyone" Rene greets after opening the door and putting the key in his pocket. "Hi Rene" Elina returns the greeting. Randy is playing at something on the computer. Erick is in the kitchen. "What are you cooking?" asks Rene. "Squid. They were on sale." "Smells good." Rene approves and continues toward his room. He runs into Freddy in the hallway. "How was everything today?" "The usual, Fred, the usual. Marcos?" "He's in his room, writing, don't bother him, you know how he gets."

Another bullshit Friday night. That was all it was. I was back home from the college dorms at Georgia Southwestern State University and back home in Albany, Georgia for the summer. The June heat was torture. My thirst further increased by the heat and the constant loneliness. At nineteen, I had no money, no girlfriend, no friends for comfort to go clubbing with, and needless to say, I didn’t have a fake I.D. to buy booze for these most lonely nights.

To start off, the name’s Jay, and honestly, I never really wanted to tell this story. For years, I buried it deep, locked it away like a nightmare too awful to face. But now as I sit down and write this, I realize I owe it to the children who didn’t survive and to ones like me who still carry the scars. Looking back, I wish I had just relied on E3 and other events or just never went to anything Nintendo-themed at all.

When I was a kid I used to play down by the creek that was behind my house. I'd throw rocks, play with plastic army men, make little houses out of mud and sticks having them sink into the creek. On a particular hot day in July when I was about nine I was sitting by the edge of the creek. I had my feet in the water trying to cool down as the day was unbearably humid. I had my eyes closed and didn't hear her walk up. "Hello" I heard an older voice say. I open my eyes and see a thin middle aged…

“Ladies and gentleman, members of the Board, I have two wonders to share with you tonight. First, allow me to present the next evolutionary milestone of our species – immortality.” Ever for theatrics, Dr. Monroe says this with arms outstretched, his burgundy dress coat flowing with every gesture.

It’s been three years since the day I fled from that abandoned building and discovered the truth about the hanging shadow glitch in Luigi’s Mansion, witnessing that disturbing cutscene. I haven’t been able to sleep at all recently. For those wondering, yes, it was me—the original person who wrote about the shadow.

I was awakened by the sound of screeching car tyres and muffled dance music playing in the distance, I climbed out of my warm, comfy bed and headed to my window, the glass had frosted over, as I wiped the frost away I was greeted by the blizzard just outside my window and the glare of the headlights as a car came speeding by my house and into the night, as the unmistakable sound of DFG's latest CD, faded away. As I looked out through the thick snow, I could see what looked like a person laying…

I want to start by saying that if you’re someone who thinks the beta of Luigi’s Mansion is better than the final game, you are wrong. This is a bold statement, but the beta is complete garbage. How do I know this? I worked as a game developer and assistant during the process.

Eva rummaged through her messenger bag frantically. Once again her notebook had disappeared into thin air. Cursing the missing piece of educational materials she opened a fresh one and began taking Russian notes on page one. Lucky for having scanned the pages into her desktop. Moving her long dark hair behind her ear she obediently repeated as she was asked to. And as the bell rang she moved to her next class. College was no different from High school, she was fortunate to have graduated in…

I live in South London in a third floor flat in a five story building, two floors above, two floors below. Being that I live in London I’m used to seeing people act drunk, crazy or violent; Especially at night when the nutters come out. But what I experienced two nights ago shook me to this very moment, so I feel I have to write it down in case my situation becomes more weird than it already is. Why did he choose my door!?

That damn rain again.

"I heard birds singing outside. I didn't know birds still came here." "It is a beautiful day to be alive." — Unknown ... I wake to warm light slanting through the curtains. The air smells of toasted bread and coffee, and in the distance, I hear my mother humming a familiar tune, soft, gentle, but off-key. It sounds like she's humming with her mouth closed.

“I was fourteen at the time. I and my friend Leo Carper went to the Grizzly Rocks,” the storyteller hesitated as he stumbled on a thought, then continued: “I should have put it a different way, so I correct the error. Leo should have come first: of the two of us, he was the major figure, as it were. Daredevil is about him. Ringleader and photographer par excellence,” the storyteller paused and could not go on for a few minutes as he rode out his overwhelming feelings. “I thought back to his…

Do you remember a show called Gilligan's Island? It was an American sitcom that aired in 1964 with three seasons and 99 episodes, one being in black and white and the latter in color, which started in 1965; Let me summarize what the show is about: There's a two-man crew on the charter boat SS Minnow and five passengers on a 3-hour tour from Honolulu who run into a typhoon and are shipwrecked on an uncharted island somewhere in the Pacific.

“Boy, you’re entirely too old to be pussyfooting with a grown hog like that. If you intend to do a job, then do it, don’t hesitate,” said the blood-soaked farmer. I looked down at the horror stricken pig with pity in my eyes. It seemed to know what would happen next. The poor creature was beginning to squeal. It was too similar to the cries of a human. I felt sickened, like I was witnessing a murder.

(Inspired by the The Zodiac Killer) The letter arrived on a quiet morning. Plain envelope. No return address. Inside, a message—neatly written, almost calm. “I like killing people because it is so much fun.” The newsroom fell silent. At first, they thought it was a prank. Until the police confirmed it. The details in the letter… only the killer could know. He didn’t stop there. More letters came. Each one colder than the last. Each one playing a game.

Ruby, crimson, scarlet. The colour of fire, of passion, of pain. Red. How I love it. It was beautiful. The boldness, the warmth of the colour stirred something deep inside me. It whispered to the very core of my being. Dark, seductive. Velvet promises of unrivalled pain and pleasure. It made me feel alive, but it was so rarely found pure and untouched. Red. Its essence, I could only behold it in fleeting glimpses. It always vanished before I could really appreciate that loveliness.

Now, when I think back to the excuses my parents used to make, I feel like an idiot. I remember being twelve years old, standing at the top of the staircase and watching all of the people filing into our basement. Some men wore white masks, some women wore bonnets. But they all had small suitcases, as though there was a bus stop beneath our house. And every one of them looked pale, frightened.