Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-24498356-20140914100245

Hello, I've tried to write a story, but I am unsure about it, so I decided to post it here.

I'm definetly trying, but please actaully critique this, in  as some might say a 'harsh' manner.

'''    The detective tapped his finger against the solid, oak desk he currently sat at, a small sigh running past his lips.

    For the past three months he had been hunting down a killer-- no, killer wasn't even the word to describe him.

    He was a monster.

    His victims always were mangled, most of their organs pulled out, some even stuffed down their throats, most likely when they had been alive. He shivered at the thought of having your own organs, all bloody, and slimy, shoved down your throat, being forced to eat it while still conscious and aware of your surroundings.

    On other occasions, guts were splattered around the kill site, the small intestines being hung like streamers around the area. Maybe the liver would be soaking in alcohol (which was quite ironic really seeing as how alcohol was bad for the liver), laying in the now bloody sink.

    Messages may have been written on the wall, simple phrases like:

        "They're all dead now."

        "No one's left."

        "Die."

    Other crime scenes would include rubbing alcohol poured into open wound on the victim, eyes gouged out, their tongues cut out, lips being sewn shut, eyelids being torn off, missing fingernails, nails run through the feet and hands securing them to the floor, limbs being torn off, and their skin being torn off in huge chunks and written on in blood.

    Monster wasn't even the word for him, it was to nice to give him that.

    He was a repulsive, vile, creature that should not even be labeled as human.

    Yet somehow, that didn't fit him either.

    It was late evening when detective Anderson walked out of the main office building, his light blonde hair messy from the intense tugging on it.

    Currently, he was heading over to another crime scene, where a small girl, about the age of twelve, was found.

    She was yet another victim.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;"> <span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">    The grey car pulled into the drive way, yellow police tape surrounding the area.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">    he stepped out of the car smoothly, though his heart was racing on the inside. From where he was standing he could see blood splattered onto the window, with hand marks scarping downwards towards the ground.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">    'Great,' he thought with joy, 'another messy one.'

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">    He lowered his black sunglasses, letting his deep green eyes show. Though he looked emotionless, on the inside he was afraid. Not of the killer, not of the parents reaction, not even of the thought that he was probably the next target.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">    He was afraid to see what this psychopathic killer hadn't done to this small innocent girl.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">    What would he see this time. Maybe rotting limbs shoved down her throat. Perhaps her eyes would be filled with little sewing needles, her mouth opened wide, and stuffed with knives. Why not go for skinless, or maybe it was all three.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">    Unlike everyone else who was grieving, or trying to stay away from the inside, he was giddy with excitement to see what lay beyond that door.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">    Anderson, was unlike many other detectives, he loved to see the mess that the killer had left behind, it was unlike any other crime scene he had, or would ever see.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">    That and each new crime scene brought him closer to finding out who the killer really was.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">    The door seemed to open, perhaps too suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts as he looked with an emotionless expression at the scene. On the inside though, much joy and happiness overwhelmed him.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">This scene was too precious.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">    Just like he had imagined, she was skinless, with sewing needles shoved in her eyes, knives showed in the back of her throat, some muscle tore off, guts laying astray in the room and probably the rest of the house, he even went so far as to start removing the brain from the nose.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">    He slid the sunglasses back up, and looked towards one of the two police officers on either side of him.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">    They got the signal and backed off letting him get to work.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;"> <span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">    The job took over an hour, from gathering blood samples, to reassembling the cold, blood, skinless corpse.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">    This was going to be the one. He was finally going to catch this mastermind who had been evading him for months now.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">    "Go home and get some rest, the lab results will be in tomorrow." Anderson grumbled a bit, but decided not to go against the boss' wishes and get some well deserved shut eye. The day had been a bit hectic after all. Why not rest and catch the killer tomorrow?

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">    On his way home, he noticed a small, but gorgeous flower garden, and decided to pull over and pick one, to put to rest with the girl's body.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">    The colors were vivid and stunning. A small blue rose that would be perfect for the girl lay right in hands reach, asking to be picked. Though there was only one problem. A sign lay smack dab in the middle reading; "DO NOT PICK FLOWERS!".

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">    "Hogwash, I'm only taking one for the girl's burial site, there is no harm in that."

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">    He plucked the flower from its spot and made his way back to his car, driving down the road once more.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">    He arrived home, and did as any 'normal' man would do. He ate, brushed his teeth, took a shower, and went to bed, to tired to watch the news. Besides he already knew what the main discussion was on.

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">     ''THUMP ''     Anderson raised his head up out of the security of his covers, looking around.

He has sworn he had herd a small thump coming from front door, but that was impossible, he had locked the door.

Giving a small groan of annoyance, he dismissed it as the wind, rolling over, and closing his eyes again.

It was hard to sleep when he door was creaking, the sound it made when it was being opene--

Wait. What?

Why was his door being opened in the middle of the night?

Unless...

His thoughts were interrupted by a gloved hand being forcefully put on his mouth.

He tried to scream, but to no avail, his throat was immediately slit, making it hard to breathe, much less talk.

A cool voice came to play into his ear, "You shouldn't have picked my flowers detective. I only kill people who have taken my flowers that I worked so hard to grow and maintain. Don't tell me you didn't notice that each crime scene had one of my flowers placed in a vase, directly across from the hallway. I thought you were smarter than that."

Now that he thought about it, it was true, the same flowers had been at each scene, and he had been to naive to notice it.

A sharp pain was found in his stomach as he looked down in horror, his stomach being slit open, his organs being revealed.

One by one they were removed, his gall bladder being shoved down his throat, others he used to tie Anderson's handsand feet together, while smearing blood all over his face.

Tears stung his eyes as he said his last goodbye to the world, his vision fading into the dark abyss he wanted so badly to embrace, to take him away from all of this pain and misery.

One last thing was said before he died.

"Don't take my flowers."'''<ac_metadata title="Creepypasta Story In Need Of Critiques"> </ac_metadata>