Scary Stories

Then he woke up realising he was actually a she. Then she died with a wooden spoon in her hand. The spoon was real after all.

 

It was very bright in this room. Everything was very loud, too. All of The Last Woman's senses were on fire, without actually being on fire. She was being held. She could vaguely make out the shape of a spoon in her mother's hand.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Schmerz...it would appear your wife didn't survive the birth of your daughter."

 

There was a flash and he looked out the window. Mushroom clouds in the distance. Skynet was online. Everyone was dead.

 

It finally happened. John Connor's life as a douchebag teenager with really lame "cool dialogue" speaking to a socially inept killing machine with a heart of gold finally paid off. He knew that Skynet would make its move eventually, and so he was prepared. He had to find more survivors, if there were any, and take back what was left of earth.

 

"Fuck off, I'm drunk!" He yelled out.

 

That was a mistake. Three T-800 model terminators appeared, cycling through snappy one-liners to let him know they meant business. In a shattering monotone, one of them said, "You can get drunk when you die, fuckhunter."
There were no words. Not only was that the lamest thing John had ever heard, he actually felt sorry for the so-called AI that compiled the list of possible insults.

 

Then the authors of his story died, never to write again.

 

Typically, when a story outlives its author and happens to be so popular that it cannot be traditionally killed, the responsibility of writing the story is passed on to another, and typically, the writing suffers. This is such a story;
Jon waz totes pissed at da Termanaterz, and sed "I'm a firin' ma BLAAAAAAAGH!!"
THa rowboats dogged da lazar an fukked hiz mom ta hamilinate him.

 

Then the entire world was destroyed, scourging all life, including fan fiction authours.

 

A prophecy was written that if faggy fan fiction shit was written anywhere but the RP section it would herald the return of one redhead midget overflowing with angst.

 

I'm not the one who first mentioned skynet, I just ended up going with it. This started off as a thread for short stories, but only two people actually wanted that. Then, seeing people write single lines of a story helped in my decision to re-purpose the thread into a group effort leading to a (hopefully) interesting story that ended poorly or ambiguously for the protagonist. Eventually, through somewhat increasing participation and half-ass trolling, we end up here.
I wasn't deleting your posts, Zanza, because it was more fun to build off of them. It was honestly harder to build off of Arthgon's posts. Really, because of your post, I began writing about the dystopian future heralded in Terminator. If she comes back, it's all your fault. And there'll be nothing you can do to stop her.
She is the demon lurking under your stairs, the tingle going down your spine when you feel you're being watched, and that horrible sensation of not being alone when you lay down in a dark room to sleep. She is Xiao Caity, and she will never tone herself down, even when it makes her sound ridiculously histrionic.

 

(Why suddenly Terminator and/or Skynet?)

The Last Girl looked up and saw a redhead midget nurse. "Shall I tell her bedtime stories that I have written?" she said.

 

But nobody was around to respond.

 

The End.

 

Then Arthgon stopped posting.

 

(I was not sure if the proverb was translated right)

And then Zanza stopped trolling the story of Last Boy (or girl.)

 

/facepalm

 

Are we going further with this story or is it the really end of this one?

 

Fucking Arthgon.

 

Seconded.