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Critique Please - "The Story Of Legend"

Hateful Bitch

Hang up your coat
Chapter 1
Our creators haven't given up on us yet, good friends

They've yet to introduce the antidote. The antidote that will be the death of us all. Here is the story. The story of how it has come to that you will all die (my good friends).

The warm sunny air smothered the birds. They didn't last the day. The pressure was immense. But that's just birds. We are creatures of greater strength than those pussy birds. We're made of tougher shit, we are.
And it was such that we survived the solar storm. The solars stormed in the sky and the sky got pissed and took it out on us by throwing lightning and water and also dead birds on us. It was annoying and we were all equally as pissed as the sky was. Good thing it was a Sunday, the Saturday before rocked and the weather of Sunday would have royally fucked things up. I hope your Saturday was good, too.

But that is besides the point. I was the hero. That's the point. I sprung into life, into the sky, into the future. And I became the hero of legend, the hero we have all been waiting for. And those who hadn't been waiting for me were fucking faggots.

I fought the demon and he fought me, because well I guess I'd feel mean if I was fighting the demon and he didn't fight back. We could have had tea. But alas he was uncooperative. And he just tried to kill me and make speeches about the destruction of man and some bullshit about how he was right. What an asshole, has he never watched movies? Where the bad guy who hates humanity is always wrong? Surely he should have watched at least one and taken from that the fact that he was the same as they, they who failed to beat the world.
But fuck Hollywood.
This man was a genius.
And that is something I had failed to realise until I picked the eyes from his face and laid them down on the ground. The swiveled and cursed, glowing all the colours except red. Red is the colour of evil. And he was anything but.

And then I was him.

Chapter 2
The continuation of a great and less than well documented tale

I was the destructor. The deconstructor. The great demon of disarray and missing bricks. With no bricks to hold the world it would crumble.

And I was the hero of legend. The one they loved they looked up to. The lesser known is what became of me. I became a simple demon. The one I defeated. Cursed by air of his death I became a demon, fated to wander for eternity. Or until I found a reason to earn my welcoming into the realm of the devils. For a devil is but a demon, worthy of recognition. And it is what all demons strive for of course, that they too may take their sear amongst the legends, myths and nightmares of their age, and of those from ages passed. Though nightmares once they were.

It was upon finding the body of a creature deep in the ocean that I found my rite of passage. A tool with which to bring myself glory amongst the undead. And so I became the body, and I left, the pressure of the ocean could not stop me. For I was Osama Bin Laden. And I was back in business.

I was welcomed with shock and ews at my rotting flesh. The crowd knew not of what to think of it. They welcomed be as the messiah. The hero they'd all been waiting for. The fame of my far distant youth returned to me through the wells of time.

And wisened by my travels, I knew what to do. I rallied the people, creating a fierce uproar, a rebellion against the richer worlds. We tortured their messengers for answers. Any we could find, wandering wastelands and battle zones with cameras and microphones, for the country-wide evening news of the same tired story. The wartorn countries abroad, out of reach and out of mind. We were to make sure that we would bring it all closer to home.

But the how of the matter was yet to be discussed.
We left it for another day, for today we rejoiced, in the return of their messiah and the dawn of a new age.

Chapter 3
The battle had only begun but was to end abruptly

Piss milk flows in the sewer scarred streets and not a care is given to the way we deal with the rats. But it isn't that. It isn't this.

We attack on the 11th of September every year since my return, as a fun homage to says long passed. For we are the modern terrorists. We're hip and on the scene, and the police can't catch us because we move at the speed of explosions. We've made out presence so much more apparent. The arrogant claim it's worse than the wartorn countries now, but they just stopped watching the news. We have giant fire-breathing ants now. Man America, you got it easy. We're just leveling the playing field (with 20 bombs a day).

Let's create a scene of carbon and flesh that rains in every direction. The sky is impossible. The rain clouds are impossible. Nothing but smoke in every direction. Smoke is cool though. If we had dragons they would be jealous of how great we were at making smoke. I'd ride a red dragon because red is so cool man, you can't even understand how cool red is. It's fire, blood and so many cool things. Also the colour of my dragon, who is equally if not more cool than the colour red. Too bad he's not real.

But eventually they got used to it. They made bomb umbrellas. They can make some pretty neat stuff when they want to, I've got to hand it to those Americans.

My dancing milk carton is hypnotising.


I mean fourth wall breaking here for a moment, I'm so glad I don't have to look at the keyboard to type anymore, because hahaha this is just so great to watch.

Here's the deal
We needed a new strategy
We unleashed the virus

Which brings me back to the original story of the antidote
I'm sorry it doesn't work

But let's just try and put this behind us


Because we shouldn't have to fight
So throw your arms in the air
And embrace the new dawn

For we are all human after all
Except you
You foul creature

~~The End~~

M. LeRenard

Is not French
Fascinating. I don't think anyone can really critique this one, except maybe your close friends or colleagues.
What I can say, though, is that you should read the rules for this forum, and not post the text directly into the thread next time.


It's like written performance art but, especially with your dancing milk carton and music, would be better served on a web page where you can incorporate everything much more creatively.