Hestix

Geoffrey had always had inverted psychological tendencies.  Lately, he had been dreaming of boxes.  Not just ordinary cardboard boxes, but boxes with wings and fangs and eerily distorted voices that called to him from the dark alleyways of his mind as he slept.  As soon as he closed his eyes they would torment him, fly screeching at him and batter his face with their blue-gray raven wings and scoop him up in pelican mouths down, down deep into the black emptiness of their emotionless innards. In the murky light before dawn he would awake and lie trembling, each willow branch that brushed across the window a blue-gray feather, each creak of th

THE EXPLANATORY FIC (CHARACTERS do something interesting. CAMERA fades to black in the middle of it.) CAMERA: Well, I'm done here. AUTHOR: Like hell you are. THE BACKSTORY FIC CHARACTER: Alas, I do not have much of a backstory. AUTHOR: Now you do! CHARACTER: ... hooray? THE BACKSTORY FIC, PART 2 EXTREMELY MINOR CHARACTER: I have no backstory, no personality, and perhaps three lines of dialogue. AUTHOR: Well, we can't have that. THE MARY SUE CHARACTER: I'm OOC. MARY SUE: I'm stereotypical. (Awkward moment.) CHARACTER: I love you. MARY SUE: I love you too, snookie-ookie-wookums. THE SELF-INSERT CHARACTER: Something is wrong.