A Slow Slow Death (If you want it)
(WORDS: 1988. FANDOM: Creepypasta, Clockwork: Your time is up & Jane The Killer: Born of Science)
(CW: Alcohol Mentions)

The dim lights of the bar are purposeful and Natalie wondered, as she misreads the name on the tap again, if she should ask for earlier shifts so they could accommodate her without giving up on the aesthetic. It was quiet, just before the earlier clubs opened their doors so between herself and her co-worker, Luke, they had about an hour to get everything refilled, wiped down and cleaned before the pres rush started. It also meant everyone at the bar was sober and patient enough to notice if she pulled a ready-filled glass of ale from behind the counter. So she poured the beer, as expected, passed it to the patron then scanned the ale in with her staff ID card, rang it down to half-price by using her discount and drank half of it right there. It tasted bitter and fruity, not her favorite but not worth throwing away.

“Are you, allowed to do that?” The boy she just served asks, staring as she wiped off the foam that's stuck to her mouth.

She shrugged, “Wasn't worth throwing away and I had to pay for it regardless.”

“That sucks, man.”

“Don't tell me about it.”

Then he stumbled away with his beer and Natalie found herself with only menial tasks to do. Luke, her thirty something co-worker, was flirting with a girl on the other side of the bar. She only giggled and swirled her finger around the rim of her glass as he kept telling her something to woo her. Or maybe he used his staff discount and she was playing along for the free drinks. She rolled her eyes and pulled out the bleach from the supply closet and sprayed down her part of the bar. It seemed perpetually sticky, from the amount of spilled drinks and enough greasy chicken had been eaten on it, that it was never going to sparkle, like the manager wanted it too, again. The bleach burnt the splinters and paper cuts on the pads of her fingers. Despite this, her shoulders relaxed as she watched the stains vanish under her constant scrubbing and she could run her fingers smoothly across the counter.

She placed the rag back under the counter and then moved to the tip jar. Natalie flicked her eyes about the bar: a man with a shirt a few buttons to loose, a woman in sunglasses with skin almost green under the yelllow light, and a butch nursing her first beer of the night. None of them watched her, so she emptied out the notes and coins and slipped them into the larger pot of money at the back of the house. As she did so, she slipped a ten dollar bill into the pocket of her apron. They shared the tips out equally, a change made after too many of the men had complained about Natalie and Gem, who worked the early morning shift, getting twenties for the same quality of service. It was fair, she justified, because the men didn't have to deal with the leering nor did they ever seem to do the quick tasks necessary to keep the bar functional.

“You're stiffening us eh?”

Natalie turned around, her hand instinctively reaching for the knife she used to keep tucked under her pants and by her thigh. It wasn't there, she'd removed it after her second evening running away, when she'd fallen back into the habit of resorting to severe violence at the faintest sniff of suspicion. Luke stood in front of her, his hands curled into fists at his side. Natalie's heart pounded against her rib cage - a pathetic thing. She hadn't felt like this since handing in her letter of resignation to that thing, and before that, looking up at her brother, Lukus, as he manhandled her.

Natalie looked up at the clock, time was ticking away again, closer and closer to the end and she wished she still had the sense of power to control it. She shook her head, rejecting the thought. God she needed help.

Luke stepped forward, right into her personal space so she could taste the alcohol on his breath and laughed, “You are! I could get you fired for this. Unless…” His thumb reached up to stroke underneath Natalie's cheek. She pushed him away.

“Just take some money out of there yourself. I won't tell.”

Luke raised his eyebrow and pushed past Natalie. He reached into the jar and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. He folded it up and tucked it into his pocket, patting it twice in case the money had grown legs and climbed out. Natalie stared at him the entire time, waiting to see if he'd move towards her again. But he didn't, Luke wandered out of the backrooms and went to the bar to handle the small queue of customers that had formed. Natalie should have gone back to the front and helped Luke. That was what she was paid minimum wage for but the idea made bile grow in her throat. She swore under her breath as she marched to the staff bathrooms, she used to be so much stronger than this.

She white-knuckled the bathroom sink, staring at the yellow porcelain. It was disgusting, the kind of thing that she found back in the mansion from watered down blood stains and pus from infections. Natalie looked up towards the mirror instead. The prosthetic in her left eye was a bright green, and glowed in the dark if she spent enough time outside. It was supposed to be a treat, a fun way to integrate back into the normal world without feeling so subhuman. It was wrong. Her body was a machine, made for others, and a ticking time bomb. She was starting to find her way around it and the one sign she wasn't human, the working clock in her eye, had been the one hole in the skin she was allowed. Natalie wanted it back. Because humans let Luke / Lukus mess around and she wasn't human, she was better, she was stronger than that and she was crying. Her growing, chopped hair and the human-esque prosthetic were making her human again.

Wretched sobs forced their way out of her mouth and her face turned red and blotchy. Natalie leaned into the mirror and squeezed the prosthetic out. It landed in the sink with a plop! She plucked it between her fingers and placed it in her jean pockets. She'd sterilize it when she got home. The hollow socket stared at her and Natalie smiled.

The bathroom door opened.

“So, the rumors are true about you, Clocky.”

Reflected in the mirror was a six foot tall woman in three inch heels. She wore a black raincoat over a skin tight black dress. Her curled hair and lips were pitch black, as were her sclera and iris, and her skin was a sickly pale baby blue. The corners of her lips upturned as Natalie's eyes widened in recognition. Natalie turned around to face the woman and blurted out, “This is the staff bathroom, you're not supposed to be here.”

“The security is dreadful.” Jane said, “Besides, we're friends, so it's alright.”

“I don't know if we are…”

Jane's smile dropped. She strode across the three steps between them and stood in front of Natalie. She grabbed her wrists and rolled up her long sleeves revealing several healed over scars. She pursed her lips and grabbed Natalie's chin, tilting her head so Jane could see it fully.

“Your eye will get an infection if you don't put a prosthetic in.”

“It fell in the sink.”

“It fell…”

“I took it out. But that sink's not clean. It's getting infected either way.”

Jane hummed and pulled out a small plastic bag with one of the spare prosthetics - a clockwork eye - Natalie had left behind at the mansion. “I sterilized it before I came.” Jane said. She stood silently as Natalie opened the bag and pressed the spare into her empty socket. Natalie blinked several times and watched as the clock rolled about before settling at the front of her face. Jane smiled again and took the empty bag from Natalie's fingers. “Now, should we talk?”

“Not here.”

“Why not?”

“This.” Natalie pointed toward her eye, “Makes me a lot more recognizable. Not everyone knows about Natalie Ouellette, the girl who killed 5 people from a state the other side of the country. But you can bet, they know the Clockwork killer, who’s recognizable from her clockwork eye.”

“Ah. Are there cameras in here?”

“I can avoid them. Tell Luke I took an early break later.”

Natalie took Jane's hand and led her out of the bathroom to the backdoor. The night was cold for Summer. Natalie folded her arms trying to preserve some of the little warmth she had. Jane wandered around the back alley, taking in the thick air of smoke and smog and the puddle of puke which wasn't technically Natalie's problem because it was outside.

“So…”

“So what?”

“Why are you hear Jane?”

“Am I not allowed to visit a friend?” Her voice was so soft, almost hurt and Natalie believed for a second, that someone would hunt her down for no reason other than missing her. Things were never that simple though, when the thing was involved.

"Why are you here Jane? Is this a government thing or a monster thing.“

”Government thing?“

”You're a vigilante killer, you’re never on the news and only ever came to the monster when it needed something or with weirdly specific questions. Even Jeff knows, it's impressive really, how bad you were at hiding it.“ Jane was silent so Natalie continued, ”It's why Toby never spoke to you. I don't know what you, Jeff, Nina, and Liu have going on but I'm pretty sure Liu avoids you for similar reasons. So I'll ask again, who sent their sniffer dog, the government or that thing?“

”Both,“

”Brill.“

”It says you have a debt to pay. As for the government, they just wanted to see if you'd gone solo or just quit.“

”I quit.“

Jane nodded, like she understood, despite the fact she was deeper in life than most. She handed her phone over to an open contact. ”I'll send you the details about that debt you owe… But also, don't be a stranger, Clocky.“

Natalie pushed her new phone number into the contacts and saved it under Natalie. Jane raised an eyebrow as she tucked it back into her pocket. When she didn't ask, Natalie answered for her, ”I'm trying to leave that life behind. That means the name as well.“

”All right then. I'll see you around… Nat.“ She reached into her pocket and handed her an eye patch, ”For, you know.“

”Thanks." Natalie said as she fastened it across her face. Jane watched for a second before she hurried down the alleyway, her heels clacking as she did so. Natalie sighed as she opened the door back to the bar.

Inside, the first groups of party-goers had arrived and ordered their rounds. Luke stared at her eye-patch for several seconds before refraining from yelling about her ten minute break and returning to serve customers. A man ordered a lager shandy, and Natalie poured in the wrong type of lager but didn't mention it. There were three hours left of her shift, three hours of her life that would be wasted serving the types of men she'd used to enact justice upon. Her heart jumped in her mouth but she swallowed it down.

She was in control. She was in control. She had chosen this life. Natalie Ouellette had signed up for an eight hour long shift till one am. But when she had run away, Natalie hadn’t imagined herself in a nowhere town, with a time bomb ticking over her head until her past caught up.

Authors Note, (Not part of Word Count)

Natalie ‘Clockwork’ Ouellette has to be one of the worst written characters I've ever met while simultaneously capturing my soul, gripping it very tight and making me think about her every day. I wish I could like, fully explain it here but brevity is the heart of wit. So, let's have a quick chat about decisions RE: Girl With One Eye.

Initially the title was ‘A Clockwork Orange.’ I think if I'd been able to pick at the less scratch appropriate parts of the initial story and my continuation of it in my AU ‘Man Eater.’ I would have kept that name. Characters who feel sub-human are very special to me and I couldn't quite unpack that in 2k on scratch. Of course, it would also contain a reference to the initial title (and also Burgess' book). Then there was, Girl With One Eye is a lot more, on the nose, but I think the song is relevant to Natalie at large so, I wanted to use it. I finally settled on ‘A Slow Slow Death (If you want it)’ because all my Natalie fics must be based off a Los Campesinos song I'm afraid. But also, this is how canon 16 year old Natalie would find the life I envision her. My Natalie is older, a bit less ax-crazy but still as fearful of time as a controlling force and in need of anti-depressants.

Jane's appearance was planned - I needed to bring reference to Natalie's life beyond just a spiraling doubt somehow. But the subtle reference that this preludes 'Knee Deep ATP' was not. It makes sense in retrospect, if Toby showed up like “Boss wants you back,” he probably would have been decked in the face then offered as a sacrifice to the pay for her rent. I don't know if Natalie in this piece comes across as mean enough to do that. Maybe Jane, as a government agent obviously not on Slender Man's side, gets special sympathy. Maybe she's softened in her time away from serial killers.

The Thing, is Slenderman / The Operator. All my creepypasta characters call him different things and to Natalie that is the Thing. On the subject of names, I don't care if the more iconic name is Clockwork, she's Natalie to me, especially post-Slender Mansion. But also, she's Clocky to the other creeps. It's confusing and wonderful.

Yeah, I hope you enjoyed. I love this silly aaa horror web story.

Critique for Sage. Original

Okay! Hi Sage! Let's get started!

1:
I was once told that every scene needs a point of tension, and I don't really see any tension in the first paragraph at all. It mostly exists to me, to give exposition who Zoe is. (She's 15, she can't drive but cares about college already etc…) and a lot of this is either unnecessary or can integrated better into the narrative at a later point. The story doesn't really start until the letter from Theo appears so I think that would be better to actually start the piece there. Let the piece start there to create intrigue etc…

Also be careful, since this is first person perspective, the reader shouldn't know anything the reader doesn't. This happens frequently in this piece where you describe another characters thoughts or what their doing, when Zoe isn't looking. Remember Zoe doesn't know this!

2:
You tell the reader a lot of information that can quite easily be shown. For example, Theo and Zoe being childhood friends should show through their interactions. A simple way of showing this would be Zoe being “Typical Theo,” at his hieroglyphic handwriting. (You do this well later by having Theo know Zoe is going to ask why they're their and talking about childhood memories.) The way she notices Totus Tuus being weird is nearly there except well, anyone signing off that way is weird. You don't need to tell the reader that. It would be noteworthy if it was how he signed off.

I think you should also be weary of contradicting what character show vs what they tell. How have the characters been here so often but Theo doesn't know the story of Orpheus or Lyra? Which was the sense I got through his reactions. Also I'm confused why we're introduced to the constellation of Lyra first but then the story of Orpheus is given?

3:
I really like your description of the hill! I think besides using “avoiding the blooms,” (just use flowers, it won't take away from the description but it does risk comprehension) it's good and captures an ethereal sense of beauty. I think to further this, you could get more specific in the description! And also a bit more sensory, how does it smell, sound and feel? I think if you fulfilled all this, you wouldn't need to describe it as beautiful etc… because the view would be there already for the reader

I'd have loved a grander description of the stars and the constellations they're seeing! I think this would further enhance the beauty but also give the characters a better sense of depth. Can Theo actually spot these collections? Is Zoe showing the constellations she's telling the story too? I think in the constellation daily, I'd have wanted to see more about the actual sight of the constellations. It felt much more about the story of Orpheus than anything else. And I enjoy the story of Orpheus but I know it so I found myself skimming a lot of these sections.

So! Moving forward for the next session what would I recommend?
- Work on showing not telling. A good way to spot when you're doing this is through the question: Am I telling a fact here or am I furthering the story? (and furthering the story can look like characters making stupid jokes at each other etc… it isn't exclusive to plot. The main thing is, are you stopping the story to establish something?)
- Consider POV and how that might influence the story. Is Zoe aware that Theo loves her? What is going on in this piece that she doesn't know about?
- I'd love to see more description from you! Crossing across more senses and being more specific to give a better sense of place!
- I'd prefer to see more character interaction and more focus on the actual constellations than on the story of Orpheus. I understand it's relevant to the ending but if the reader doesn't know, they can google it. While it was well written, I just found myself skimming it and the plot loosing any tension it had as it continued.
- Kind of picking up on the POV point, I think a stronger point of tension to better highlight, beginning, middle and end would be good. It doesn't have to be a large issue, just something the reader is curious about and has to reach the ending to get an answer too. Since this is first person POV, Zoe should also be interested in this mystery.

I read your constellation daily from March 2025 and here are some places I think you've improved!
- I think your sense of description is better! There's not much at all in the March piece so you're already making leaps and bounds there! Keep it up!
- Likewise, I think while in the November 2025 daily lacks a conflict, the March 2025 one lacks a clear sense of pace that's far more present in the November. The one I critiqued feels slow, like a moment captured in time which suits the vibe I imagine you were going for with the love these characters feel. I didn't mention it earlier but i really like how slow it gets once actually on the hill
- In both I think your characters are strong but I think in the November 2025 daily, they shine far more! I think this is because Zoe and Theo have much more distinct voices in their dialogue. I am especially fond of how Theo speaks in the letter and his sudden blurting of Latin. It makes hum feel more unique. Zoe is far more grounded in reality it feels like just because I'm comparing the two far more than originally.

Conclusion! You've improved for sure and the amount you have is nothing to scoff at! I really enjoy your sense of character and setting and wish I'd been able to spend more time with these elements. You've got a good sense of pace from what I read as well, which can be difficult to develop. I think the main thing to remember moving forward is to trust your reader and to that a story resolves around a point of tension, even a small one.

Thank you so much for letting me read this!

Procastiantion weekly (862 words)

My reasons for procastianting writing:

- It's probably my homework. Turns out making something you love a job is not the way to inspire anything good to come out. This is made worse by the fact that I always feel bad when I get my marks, even though their good for a first year and I can assume I will only get better, not being the best hurts. I should probably work on my ego. But I won't.
- There is a good fic somewhere on the internet for me to find and find it I will. Now, This fic could feasibly wait but in my dopamine chasing brain, reading fic makes brain happier more than writing fic. This is of course a problem but not one dopamine cares enough about. At least its not short form content (most of the time)
- I'm tired and really really need to get back on my B12 vitamins. We're not going to talk about that one because guess who literally went shopping today and didn't grab his vitamins. That's right! me!
- My partner wants to discuss Hazbin Hotel with me. This is actually very important to me and I will priorities talking to my partner and I won't regret it! Sorry! #Not!
- I have other homework which is probably more important in my mind although y'know. Its not. OR I will have allocated myself a resting weekend and now I have work due and I can choose to rest and procastinate or I can change my scheduele and let me tell you right now. One of those things won't be happening
- I really, really just don't want to do it. Not even boring, just I don't have the passion (Like I did for this weekly until I either had to do this or work on the Ticci Toby rewrite)

Excercises:

Cooking without music: I like having something to focus on without it necessarily requiring a lot of brain power. Chopping vegstables etc… gets me out of whatever I was initially doing (such as reading fanfiction) and away from it that I don't immediately go back when back in my room. Also I get some cool nutrients out of it which is a bonus which helps sometimes with the brainfog tm and helps me focus.

Changing enviroments: Considering its been proven bad to work in the same enviroment you rest (although this has been mainly influential on your sleep. So, maybe this wasn't how the study was intended to be used) Also I like not having my laptop charger when I go to coffee shops to work because it means theres only a limited amount of time I can study anyways, which prevents me from getting burnt out. Also by the time you're on your third coffee and brownie, you do start to worry you are doing something wrong r.e money spending habits. So it's like time pressure but not real

Napping: Helpful when I have brainfog but not helpful if I wake up and immediately start playing blockblast, which is a very real liklihood to be wary of.

Time Management:
I decided to do Eisenhower's Matrix. So I organised all my tasks into my urgent pile, things I need to get done but can theoretically wait, things I want to do but can do whenever and things I don't have to do and therefore shall not be doing point blank, no arguements about it thank you very much.

Of course, I put my summative work for Creative Writing in the first since that was actively due on Thursday. I ended up doing this on the Tuesday I made my table by using one of the excercise techniques I learned earlier! Going to a coffee shop! I also had to order The Spanish Tragedy since I couldn't start to work on my essay about the Spanish Tragedy until that was done. (The essay was placed on things that can theoretically wait but as I write this on Sunday, that has been moved up to instant priority and will be how I spend most of my Monday & Tuesday loosing obscene amounts of money in a coffee shop. It's okay though because this is for my grades.)

In the things that could theoretically wait, there was all my reading for my classes. I had a whole week to work on it and I have gotten away with not doing it before, although i wouldn't reccomend. I was able to get all this done on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, since I knew I was going to be relatively busy running chores and hanging out with friends this weekend. In this column I had my chores e.g shopping and laundry as well. Although I do these tasks on a scheduele and do have Sunday blocked out to complete these. So whether or not I was also utilizing time blocking is up to debate.

Everything else could either not be done or could just be discarded. Most of them I decided to do for later (such as this weekly, the writing competition entry and the Ticci Toby rewrite.) because if I was going to discard something, I don't need a time management tool to do it. Sorry.

Theodore Mordain locked the door of his Father's old medical study and pulled on a pair of dusty medical gloves from the mahogany table. He dug out scalpels and needles and threw them on the bedside table he'd pulled from his Mother's second bedroom. Theodore examined the sizes of the needles and reached towards the young boy, heavily sedated with chloroform, he wasn't a monster, and wrapped his hand around the boys wrist. The boy, who couldn't have been older than fourteen, had no meat on his bones and was incredibly dehydrated. Theodore sighed as he pushed down at a potential vein. He let go and grabbed the largest needle available, it would be necessary if he wanted to draw a significant amount of blood, and attached it to a syringe.

Theodore tried to aim for where he spotted the vein but if he wasn't entirely accurate… well, who could blame him, working all alone in this old mansion haunted by grief. “It won't hurt.” he said, brushing the kids hair from their face. The kid was eerily still as he did so. The chloroform was working. Great. He stabbed the needle into the kids arm and tried to extract blood several times. Theodore was only successful once. He tapped his finger against the glass casing which held the blood and sighed wistfully. He unscrewed the needle from the tip of the syringe and plugged the small hole it had been inserted in.

On the wall, where a rack of vials of blood. Theodore had been collecting them, paying families small allowances if he could draw the bloods. Usually, he did on the street but the kid had been scared of what was going to happen, while the parents needed the money. So chloroform had been agreed. But when Theodore reached forward to release boy from the restraints, he found he was frigid and cold to touch.