[Fiction Practice] Not Gonna Play? [Maturity: +18]

“Your choices are going to affect how this game progresses.” Zombies clamored at the open gate, innocence splattered the white picket fence, and the almost-digital narrator impatiently continued. “This is the tutorial level so you have room to practice.” The angry farmer threw down the odd weapon. “This isn’t a game! This is real life! I’m going to bed.” Zombies charged mercilessly. They were overtaken. “That’s fine. You won’t make it for long. I’ll help.”

Maturity Warning: Read With Caution
WANNA FIND OUT IF KILLIAM WAS ABLE TO HELP? KEEP ON READING!

[Fiction Practice] Make Your Choice [Maturity: +18]

The home guarded by white picket fence would never be the same after that evening. They were just settling down for the evening. The daughter was sound asleep and the wife was reading in bed. The husband walked the torn, fleshy remains of that evening’s chicken dinner to the compost. As he turned to lock up the front gate and put the dogs to bed, he heard fierce barks, followed by whimpers, then unworldly moans.

Maturity Warning: Read With Caution
WANNA READ SOME GORY STUFF? KEEP ON READING!

[Fiction Practice] I Must Type…

When the blindfolds were removed, the first things we saw were: “I must type for my life.” We were shackled and wore oppressive green collars. An imposing figure dominated a large screen, with matching red-suited guards holding odd guns on either side, and an equally large keyboard table in front of us. Kiki was scared, but held her composure. The looming figure’s voice boomed out: “Welcome! Step forward. You must type these words to survive!”

WANNA READ THESE WORDS TO SURVIVE? KEEP ON READING!