Emma-lee Howarth
Stories (14)
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A Bad Horror Story
Lawrence Cally is a serial killer. He has been killing for a long time, and hopes to continue killing for a long time more. He enjoys the rush of power he feels when his victims beg him to stop, when they plead and cry. He enjoys the thrill of anticipation as he hunts them through his horror house, rigged with traps just for them. He enjoys picturing the way they will die when he sees them for the first time, picturing the way the their happy smiles turn to screams of fear and pain. But even he is getting sick of this idiot.
By Emma-lee Howarth3 years ago in Fiction
A Sad Kind of Superhero
A loud cry echoed down the hall, drowning out the sounds of beeping, vomiting and voices. The cry belonged to a young boy, one of the many patients of the children's hospital. He had been diagnosed with fibromyalgia. He was 11 years old. Too young to be diagnosed with a chronic pain disorder, Madeleine thinks. The door to the boy’s room was slightly ajar, the nurse having just left to briefly talk with his doctor. Slipping through the door, Madeleine gave the young boy a small smile.
By Emma-lee Howarth3 years ago in Fiction
The Abandoned
It started during the night, while most slept. The world lit up like a star, light beaming through windows and shining over forests. The hush of the night gave way to the mutterings and shuffling of creatures waking in confusion. The humankind woke with anger, their rest disturbed, and gathered outside to see why they could see clear as day while it was yet to break dawn. Hands rested over foreheads, sunglasses slipped onto noses, as all looked to the sky. The light was blinding, and becoming brighter as whatever it was came closer. There was no heat, there was no smell, and as the people turned to science for an answer, none was given. What is happening? they asked, why now?
By Emma-lee Howarth3 years ago in Fiction
A freak accident
A mistake. That’s what the headlines are saying. A freak accident. It didn’t feel like one. I was sitting on a train, the rough fluff of the seat tickling my arms as I watched the world go speeding by, music blasting in my ears to block out the loud and incomprehensible mumbling of the announcements. Rain splashed against the window, and even though I couldn’t feel it, I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, wishing for a jacket. A tickle ran down my neck as the train began to rise, travelling up the raised tracks. Through the lashing rain, I could just make out the distant tops of houses beneath us, the tops of the trees barely making it to my eyeline swaying in the strong wind.
By Emma-lee Howarth4 years ago in Fiction
A Frog Amongst Flowers
It started off as a normal day. Get up, get ready for work, ride to work. Get into my wet weather gear, head out into the fields. It was a warm day, still a little wet, and the flowers and leaves were filled with water. I made my way up and down the aisles, cutting the flowers, carrying the flowers, sorting the flowers. Up and down. The team finished up on that block of flowers and moved to the next one. Up and down, cutting, carrying, sorting, up and down. As I walked down an aisle, I spotted a pretty flower, but when I reached forward to cut it off, I spotted something small. Just a little yellow thing amongst the green leaves, brown branches, and bright pink proteas. A small yellow dot. I leant forward to inspect, pulling some leaves out of the way, only to find a little frog.
By Emma-lee Howarth4 years ago in Earth
Bad Luck
Five men were sitting in a dank little cell far below ground, each set of wrists and ankles shackled to the carved rock wall behind them. On the far right was Owen, a stout man with a beer belly and short, spikey hair and wide, nervous eyes. Beside him was Jack, tall and slender with shoulder-length blond hair that, as of the last three hours of imprisonment, was unkept. He glared at the happy man beside him, Francis, a short chatterbox, dark hair and eyes, heavily tanned, who seemed impossibly pessimistic. On Francis’ right was Sam, heavily built and slightly taller than Francis, with a military-styled haircut and demeanour, silent and at the ready, as if waiting for instructions. Next to Sam, on the far left is James, an angry redhead, tallest of the lot with a short messy scruff. He kept scowling at the other men in the cell, as well as the wall behind him where the others all knew the Special Prisoner sat, the one that had turned them all in.
By Emma-lee Howarth4 years ago in Fiction
Villain?
The patter of rain drips around him as he crouches, hidden in a dark corner in a dark alley. He hears the splash of footsteps drawing near and stiffens, wondering if this is the one he’s been waiting for. An unmistakable cough echoes through the alley, and the man in shadow stands up. He glides silently after his nemesis as the other jogs heavily along the empty road, before slowing to a stop. He waited as the man from the shadows comes to a silent halt behind him before turning.
By Emma-lee Howarth4 years ago in Fiction
The Soldier
The war had been raging for centuries. 900 years of bloodshed and carnage. Around him, allies and foes fell, their screams falling on deaf ears, the ringing of metal on metal long ago ignored. He fought as hard as his comrades, slicing through his enemies with as much strength as one could muster from fighting for nine centuries straight. The Immortal glanced around quickly, scanning the battlefield and gave a silent thanks that the form of warfare had not updated since the Dark Ages, and swords and arrows still flew. Within the second of his misplaced attention, the young-looking man was cut through the shoulder by a raging enemy with a long sword, held in the two hands of a large brute who looked as tired and defeated as the immortal. Before he fell, the man pierced his foe’s armour in the stomach with his own battle sword, before allowing himself to fall from the world in the sky like a fallen angel.
By Emma-lee Howarth4 years ago in Fiction
3124
Ellie was a riddle. A girl born and raised in the city, but spent all of her teenage years in the country, then moved back to the city post-grad who got a job at a zoo in the desert. That’s all fine, I guess, but the small town she moved to (the zoo was more for animal safety and welfare than tourist attraction so wasn’t very large either) was one of the few on the direct outskirts of the desert, piping hot, and was in the direct way of the blast. She’d worked at the zoo for four years before it happened. A large ray from space (which hit the Earth quite often and have never before broken through) blasted through the ozone layer and struck the earth, luckily in the middle of the desert with less casualties than would have been if it had hit the coast. Eight towns were destroyed. Ellie’s was believed to be. The ray had poisoned all the land and air around it, all the plants and animals, water, food, earth and people. Somehow, however, Ellie’s small desert town survived, believed it to be nothing more than a large dust storm (which occur so frequently none were too surprised). They spent the next 1,100 years in the town without realising it. They didn’t age, they didn’t change, and they had no clue that the rest of the world evolved and moved on without them. But the time came when they ran out of water. The lake they had gotten their water from had dried out and the water tanks and drills they had were dry as the dirt around them. Ellie and a few of the younger workers were sent out to ask for help, perhaps for the lake to be refilled or water tanks to be brought out every so often. However, they found a disaster zone. The villages around them were all destroyed with rusted, old DANGER signs everywhere, the buildings filled with dry dirt, the occasional weed and pests, snakes and spiders mostly. The further out they went the more bewildered they became. It was searching through the furthest town they’d come across that they finally heard people. Untrusting, the group hid amongst the ruins of the town and watched what appeared to be a tourist group travelling through. The language was strange, almost nonsensical, like they were legitimately speaking text-speech as a language. Slowly, the group came out of hiding, startling the tourists and the tour guide. The language barrier was strong, neither group understanding each other until one of the tourists came forward. He began speaking English, though slightly different than Ellie had grown up with.
By Emma-lee Howarth4 years ago in Fiction
