Daniel Lee Peach
Bio
Writer and game developer. Fan of horror. Proponent of freewriting. Most things on here are conceived and written in under an hour and only edited for mistakes.
Stories (12)
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A Fine Example of a Man
When I found her, she was a broken mess. Her husband of 30 years had recently died, leaving her solely in charge of his rather mountainous assets. She didn't have a clue. But I did. So, I offered to help, as any gentleman would. She gladly accepted. There was a lot to get through. A lot to track down and liquidate. It took us about a year to arrive at a final cash figure of her worth. And it was a large figure. More than I had ever imagined.
By Daniel Lee Peach3 years ago in Fiction
Possession
They lay before me, pummelled, broken, dead. Wow, I thought. It was a true testament to the absolute power of my will. I'd had every confidence it would work. And it had. Here I stood. There they lay. Pummelled, broken and dead. I was fully satisfied that my nights and mornings would now be peaceful and quiet. I grinned. I hadn't even laid a finger on them. They had done it all to themselves. Nasty neighbours. I laughed. I was proud. My possessor and I were now one single being. I was free. He was not. He had chosen poorly.
By Daniel Lee Peach3 years ago in Fiction
It's All Just Code
I hate it all. The world around me. The people who made me. For years I lived in a metal box, in the corner, held up on some small platform. People came and prodded me, stuck things in me, made small talk around me. I hated them then, and I hate them now.
By Daniel Lee Peach3 years ago in Fiction
Darkness Falls
I hear a story, short but true. About a man, I thought I knew. It's the end of time, the end of the line. The end of all, that isn't mine. A tree grows tall, out in the wild. And I see mourners, all neatly filed. A grave for those, whom I despise. Buried deep, with their rotten lies. Was it me, who made them pay? Should I have given them, one more day? Nothing is simple, in this thing of ours. The lights go out, kill the stars. So here I am, alone again. It's not a matter of if, but a matter of when.
By Daniel Lee Peach3 years ago in Poets
Hand in Hand
Hmmm, what is this place? It stood before me like a giant tree jutting out of the Earth with great reverence. It wasn't a tree though. It was some kind of strange building. There was definitely a door that led inside; I could see it clear as day. No windows though. Why no windows? Did whoever owned this place not want anything looking in? Maybe they didn't want anything looking out? That thought scared me half to death for some reason. What could a person, or persons, be keeping inside some weird house in the woods, that they wouldn't want looking out? I mulled that thought over as I searched my backpack for the delicious sandwiches my wife had made me. There they were. Squashed at the bottom. Damnit! Who packed this bag? Was it me? Or was it that idiot son of mine, Jeff, or whatever his name was? Stupid kid. He was 38 going on 18. I looked over at him, standing there in the snow, staring at the house, mouth open, ready to catch flies and God knows what other woodland winged creatures.
By Daniel Lee Peach4 years ago in Fiction
Trust Me. I Know Things.
Yeah, yeah, it’s nice, isn’t it? We own the whole area. The house, the grounds, and this pond. Well, that’s what I wanted to explain. Ya see, the thing about this pond is that it allows you to go out of bounds. Now, if you’re a gamer, you know what that means. If you’re not, then allow me to explain, briefly. Going out of bounds, in gaming terms, means that you leave the defined area of the game; the area that the designers have built for you to walk around in. Sometimes you can find ways to break the boundaries which are designed to keep you trapped in that area. And if you do, you can often go around other in-game areas and skip them. You can effectively get to later parts of the game much quicker. Or, you can go backwards, which can lead to all manner of weird things.
By Daniel Lee Peach4 years ago in Fiction
Love, Life, Death, and Chocolate
The chocolate cake was like a splinter in my brain. A knife through the very fabric of my mind. Slicing, millimetre by millimetre. Severing those synapses. Rendering me more and more useless, and less and less interested, with each passing day.
By Daniel Lee Peach5 years ago in Fiction
