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SW&D Challenge: Milkman with a Dark Past | 19th February - 4th of March

Rosenrot

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Everyday, you wake up before the crack of dawn, tasked with a noble duty to fulfill. Hundreds of people are counting on you so they can start their day with a fresh bottle of cold milk, and end their nights with a warm soothing cuppa. Without you, children would not grow to be the strong, healthy adults who go on to be productive members of society; upstanding citizens would be forced to eat their cereal dry; housewives would still be bored shitless when their fatigued husbands drag their feet to the office. You are the unsung hero, the pillar of the community. It is a thankless job, hardly worth the pennies you make. But you are not in it for the money. You were never in it for the money. All you want is repentance, the illusion that your contribution to society will one day make up for your grim past and the unspeakable sins you have committed that continue to haunt your dreams.



1000





1000


1000
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1000








1000


PS: Bonus points if you create your own back story. Go crazy
 

Rosenrot

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I'm expecting great contribution(s) from you Rais.
 

OccultaVexillum

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That last picture is basically @Rais anyway
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
I hope that comes across as a complement, because it is.
 

Rosenrot

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That last picture is basically @Rais anyway
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
I hope that comes across as a complement, because it is.
I picked it because of the sneakers and hair that complement the photo above it.
 

GoldenTribe

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PS: Bonus points if you create your own back story. Go crazy
I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears ... in ... rain. Time to die. (about 75% improvised by Rutger Hauer) Also:
2042724
From The Naked City (1948)
 
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Rais

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It was him. The same M.O.: a glass of milk, half empty, left at the scene of the crime. Lab reports have revealed nothing. Forensics have been another dead end. No prints, no DNA, just a lot of ******* blood.



This time the victim was a little girl. Little Shelly Jones, she was only nine years old. Shelly wanted to be a ballerina. Now she's just splattered all over the family rug. Real sick ****.
The press are calling him The Milkman. An apt name I suppose. He has been very consistent with his deliveries so far, but this is one milkman you wouldn’t want knocking on your door. Shelly will be the third victim this year and rest assured, it will happen again.


I’ll catch him though. I always get my man. I’ve got a plan you see. I’m going to figure out what makes this bastard tick and catch him right in the act. Right before his next kill. If my theory is right, that will be on March the 4th. Not much time left…

My plan? Well, they say to catch a killer, one must think like a killer. Have to get inside his head. And I think it’s time I took a sip…



Help detective Rais bring this psycho killer to justice. Any witnesses with clues to the Milkman’s identity, how he looks, what he wears, are urged to come forward with information. Every submission helps.



Lanvin
Lanvin
Lemaire x Uniqlo
Lanvin
Lanvin
 

PipersSon

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^^ I've been on a thread of this sort, as participant or witness, not interested, but I dropped in to say will say that heart/ teardrop shaped splash of red on the shoe is a memorable touch given what you wrote and also, visually, what you're wearing.
 

baltimoron

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The rainy weather today seemed appropriate for my submission.



*Edit. Hope this doesn't suck.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was raining. Damn, he really hated when it rained. Drops of water fell softly against the windshield, their bodies cascading across his field of view. Off to the side, homes came in and out of view, momentary pictures through a window before they were whisked off out of sight. Slowly though, the slideshow of homes ended as his truck’s momentum came to rest. He was here.

He sat for a moment, his hands still gripping the steering wheel as the pitter patter of rain continued. His right side ached. It always ached when it rained. Why was there so much damn rain here? The doctors here said that there was nothing they could do to fix his bones, he had gone too long without seeking help and the bones had set on their own. Just as well that he hadn’t seen one back then he supposed, doctors had an annoying habit of telling things to the police. It had already cost him his entire fortune to escape once…

Still raining. It didn’t look like it was going to let up anytime soon. With a groan he reluctantly swung the truck door open and gingerly steadied his left leg on the ground before following with his right. Not unexpectedly, shattered bones left one with a limp. He propped the collar of his coat up and made his way to the rear of the truck. He lifted up the heavy bolt and opened the doors.

Milk. This was his glorious charge. Where once he had sipped champagne that tickled the tongue and lit up the night, now he was dispensing the banal drink of the commoner. He stared disdainfully at the array of bottles, ordered neatly in grid-like arrays in crates. What a life. Snorting, he grabbed a basket that lay next to the crates and began filling it with bottles of milk, their necks cool to the touch. The basket full, he turned and started walking down the street to the first home. Around him the rain continued to come down.

***************************

Last one. The bottle made a soft clink as he set it down next to its pair. He straightened up and took a moment to catch his breath. As he stood there, the morning light lazily peeking its way above the horizon, he felt his eyes drawn upwards towards the rooftops. A small smile breached his face as he recalled happier times. Times when the roofs were his home and the dawn signified it was time to slumber, not arise. For a moment he was lost, the joy and rush of movement alight in his mind. Then came the memories of the accident. Gone was the rush, replaced instead with the fear and dread of falling, the sound of sirens, and the sight of that stranger on the ground next to him.

He shook his head but the last image stood firm. His side reminded him that it ached. He was wasting time daydreaming. He made to walk back to his truck but then paused, fiddling for something inside of his coat. He pulled out a small notebook, its cover and pages pristine, and a pen. He opened the notebook and began to tick small marks on the first line. Before he closed it again, he stared once more at the number scribbled at the top. A promise to fulfill. He slid both the pen and the notebook back into his pocket, gathered his coat around him and began walking again. All around him the rain fell.
 
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nahneun

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is this the end of an era? where are the submissions :(
 

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