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Mary Dale has lived with her husband, Reginald, for 40 years. He has not allowed her out of the house, except under his rigid control, for 30 of them. He has allowed her a computer and books, and feels she should be able to get anything she needs, apart from him, from them. Mary has been plotting murder for 20 years. She came up with an idea to free herself of his obsessive, compulsive and overbearing imprisonment and has been carefully negotiating its arrival ever since.
First, introduce damp into the floorboards in the spare room above Reginald's chair in the lounge. The exact amount of damp, measured by a device ordered on the internet (which she ordered as soon as it was possible to do such purchases) conducive to the nurture and fast proliferation of woodworm. Secondly, the ordering of books... in every book parcel, one book to ostentatiously read in front of Reginald. And two more, cheap but extra heavy, to place in the spare room on the increasingly dodgy floorboards. Working from the far wall forwards, day by day, month by month, year by year, placing the books latterly with a special extending arm (bought on the internet and kept in the airing cupboard, ostensibly for getting towels off the top layer on the top shelf) and only when Reginald is sitting in his chair, asleep in front of the TV. Until one day...
Learn how to hypnotize people, but don't tell anyone you can do this. Sit the intended victim in front of you, then hypnotize him/ her into committing suicide, make him/her write a note as well telling the world they were going to kill themselves.
[quote=Baggy Books]LOL! LIz! you used to be the nicest TBer and now I'm scared for Mr Liz! [/quote]
[quote=Lou Treleaven]She did say in another thread she had a huge collection of heavy books...[/quote]
Don't worry. Mr Liz is surprisingly easy-going and the books he lets me order are all downstairs. It's true my unusual collection of lead fishing weights, bought in bulk from an obscure Chinese supplier, complete with tanks of water to show them off ARE above his seat in the living room. But I can assure you I am completely innocent of any feelings of murderous resentment. Really.
I've always wondered about the hypnosis thing. Would your innate instinct for self preservation kick in and prevent you from killing yourself?
If the person was already depressed or mentally unstable then I think the hypnosis would work as they may already be pre-disposed to self-harm, but a rational stable person would have to be drugged as well IMO.
Have you ever seen John Frankenheimer's, 'The Manchurian Candidate' Carol? Or to a lesser extent Joss Whedon's brilliant series, 'Dollhouse' ? These questions are explored within these works.
I'd hold a party for TBers, then switch off the lights and tell everyone not to panic because st force asked me to do it as he's got a surprise for somebody. I imagine a few people will die from sheers terror, whilst lots more will be crushed to death in an attempt to escape.
[quote=SilentTony]Have you ever seen John Frankenheimer's, 'The Manchurian Candidate' Carol? Or to a lesser extent Joss Whedon's brilliant series, 'Dollhouse' ? These questions are explored within these works. [/quote]
I loved both versions of The Manchurian Candidate, the idea was quite chilling and seemed feasibly sound. Dollhouse was good as well an up to date version of thought transfer. In both cases the person being primed had no control over their own actions. As for hypnotism would it depend on individuals and how strong their minds were, not only unstable minds would succumb to it I am sure. What about that Paul Mckenna man not sure if I have spelt his last name correctly, but he hypnotizes members of the public doesn't he?
Or just send emails to all our partners (well those of us who have them) telling them how much time we spend on here instead of doing things like housework, writing etc. Then they'd murder us for him.
Moira questioned everything. She'd made the Cottage Pie herself, yet the sweetness... the cloying taste lacing her tongue made her doubt. She looked up. Clive stood beside her; he sneered at her unmoving limbs.
"This is for every piece of crap you've ever served up in this stinking place."
Moira struggled to maintain her vision, lids closing and eyes rolling up and down, side to side. She caught the flash of Clive's vegetable grasped in his clumsy hand. His pride and joy, one of a family of pretty orange icicles prancing beneath the greenest of feather skirts. Grown in a butler's sink. All alone. Away from all the other kitchen crops.
Clive's hand pulsed at the carrot. It crushed and broke with a snap to release a bitter stink. Before Moira's eyes took their final blink she saw her son bite into her killer. Whatever demons he had, at least he'd be clean of them on the other side. She smiled a crooked smile. She had no concerns. She and Clive would soon be together forever, as it should be.
Oh Lily you come here with your base tales and leave us with a profundity we all knew we possessed without admitting. That is THE killer comment. Gets my vote.
Take your non swimmer victim out rowing/canoeing/small dinghy sailing on the sea and ooops! capsize. Naturally you are too far out for anyone to see and rescue you and your companion's lifejacket, (which you made sure he/she was wearing) fails. It is too far for you to swim back towing him/her. However, you can make it on your own and raise help. You tell them that's what you will do and swim back, leaving him/her your lifejacket to hang on to your fiendish plan has ensured that the place you swim back to is virtually inaccessible to anyone, so no-one will see your arrival. Landing on this beach you are so tired you are unable to raise the alarm/fetch help for several hours. By this time your victim will have succumbed to the cold water and fatigue. Shame, they have drowned and you are completely distraught.
Brew up some wine made with Hemlock and some parsnips (just for flavour)Take it along to the Party and when every one is sufficiently merry pop a glass full to the intended victim.
The poison from hemlock was used for judicial executions in ancient Greece.
[quote=Lolli]'Accidentally' push them off Beachy head.[/quote]
Lolli, in my story Carpaccio (about a psychotic lad obsessed with goldfish) he crumbles Morning Glory seeds and other things into his parents' cereal then takes them up on the Downs for a picnic...
"I pretended I didnt want to be there, embarrassed by them running about the gorse bushes playing Catch like love-struck teenagers when Bill, my father, apparently spotted something fascinating hovering in the sky above the English Channel. So they tried to catch it. By flying over the cliff.
It was so easy, and I was barely involved."
To counter this, I actually live within a few miles walk of Beachy Head and the number of suicides and accidents is awful. Whenever we hear a helicopter, it's nearly always because someone's gone over. Tragic.
Comments
yikes.
First, introduce damp into the floorboards in the spare room above Reginald's chair in the lounge. The exact amount of damp, measured by a device ordered on the internet (which she ordered as soon as it was possible to do such purchases) conducive to the nurture and fast proliferation of woodworm. Secondly, the ordering of books... in every book parcel, one book to ostentatiously read in front of Reginald. And two more, cheap but extra heavy, to place in the spare room on the increasingly dodgy floorboards. Working from the far wall forwards, day by day, month by month, year by year, placing the books latterly with a special extending arm (bought on the internet and kept in the airing cupboard, ostensibly for getting towels off the top layer on the top shelf) and only when Reginald is sitting in his chair, asleep in front of the TV. Until one day...
[quote=Lou Treleaven]She did say in another thread she had a huge collection of heavy books...[/quote]
Don't worry. Mr Liz is surprisingly easy-going and the books he lets me order are all downstairs. It's true my unusual collection of lead fishing weights, bought in bulk from an obscure Chinese supplier, complete with tanks of water to show them off ARE above his seat in the living room. But I can assure you I am completely innocent of any feelings of murderous resentment. Really.
"Lola! Kill!"
If the person was already depressed or mentally unstable then I think the hypnosis would work as they may already be pre-disposed to self-harm, but a rational stable person would have to be drugged as well IMO.
No I haven't ST. I will look them up. Thanks. :)
Surely st force would just have to turn the power off to our PCs? We'd all die of boredom.
thank you for the reply the web -talkback.writers-online/comments that was the one for new to writting any help and info would be great.ta.
http://talkback.writers-online.co.uk/comments.php?DiscussionID=162542&page=1#Item_1
The sticky threads at the top of the list board are the ones to read through.
Peanut allergy - already been tried.
I'm confused - who put that message there? The ex-wife?
Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2003925/Ex-wife-tried-kill-husbands-new-wife-sending-letter-smeared-peanut-butter.html#ixzz1PQbNQ1KH
Could you live without yours? I couldn't.
"This is for every piece of crap you've ever served up in this stinking place."
Moira struggled to maintain her vision, lids closing and eyes rolling up and down, side to side. She caught the flash of Clive's vegetable grasped in his clumsy hand. His pride and joy, one of a family of pretty orange icicles prancing beneath the greenest of feather skirts. Grown in a butler's sink. All alone. Away from all the other kitchen crops.
Clive's hand pulsed at the carrot. It crushed and broke with a snap to release a bitter stink. Before Moira's eyes took their final blink she saw her son bite into her killer. Whatever demons he had, at least he'd be clean of them on the other side. She smiled a crooked smile. She had no concerns. She and Clive would soon be together forever, as it should be.
When is the deadline for this minicomp?
Thanks for all these entries. I'll declare a winner shortly (think I might wait until daylight though!)
Take your non swimmer victim out rowing/canoeing/small dinghy sailing on the sea and ooops! capsize. Naturally you are too far out for anyone to see and rescue you and your companion's lifejacket, (which you made sure he/she was wearing) fails. It is too far for you to swim back towing him/her. However, you can make it on your own and raise help. You tell them that's what you will do and swim back, leaving him/her your lifejacket to hang on to your fiendish plan has ensured that the place you swim back to is virtually inaccessible to anyone, so no-one will see your arrival. Landing on this beach you are so tired you are unable to raise the alarm/fetch help for several hours. By this time your victim will have succumbed to the cold water and fatigue. Shame, they have drowned and you are completely distraught.
The poison from hemlock was used for judicial executions in ancient Greece.
Lolli, in my story Carpaccio (about a psychotic lad obsessed with goldfish) he crumbles Morning Glory seeds and other things into his parents' cereal then takes them up on the Downs for a picnic...
"I pretended I didnt want to be there, embarrassed by them running about the gorse bushes playing Catch like love-struck teenagers when Bill, my father, apparently spotted something fascinating hovering in the sky above the English Channel. So they tried to catch it. By flying over the cliff.
It was so easy, and I was barely involved."
To counter this, I actually live within a few miles walk of Beachy Head and the number of suicides and accidents is awful. Whenever we hear a helicopter, it's nearly always because someone's gone over. Tragic.
Edit: posted same time as Carol.
I still think a sharp knife in the chest as you walk past them in a crowded place is the best option...
Sorry for the delay in announcing the winner of this... we've had to go to a vote in the office!
Has that got anything to do with trapped wind?
Ooooo exciting...