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I've been reading some short stories lately and felt like writing myself. Now I'm not very good at it and there's always place to improve but only if there're constructive critics. Thus I thought about starting this thread where people can post their work and discuss it. I hope there are at least some posters who're writing so this won't turn into my personal playground, rather into our playground.
I'll start with a story I wrote today. Keep in mind that I've got absolutely no experience. I somehow think the end is too abruptly, I might need to change that, I just don't know how yet.
British School
She was late. She always is, in fact. No matter how important the meeting is she would always be at least ten minutes late. It became one of her qualities. Usually he’d be very irritated about her attitude but not this night. He didn’t care too much; his thoughts were on other things. Not that they were more important, they weren’t anywhere near the slightest importance.
He thought about how smoothly he sneaked out of the house, like a little ninja dressed in a black outfit. The fact that he got caught several times made him more proud of himself, even though it was only a small achievement. As soon as he reached the front door he had to make up his mind, whether to take his galoshes or not. It was risky to take them along; their wardrobe would always make those funny noises, which usually led into them waking up. He opened the door and for a short moment really wanted to leave them behind, but he couldn’t. Everyone used to laugh about him in school. He was the only kid wearing galoshes and the sole reason he adored them so much was because his father brought them along from his business trip to Reading. They weren’t very beautiful either, unicoloured dark green with two buckles at the top. The soles used to be white once, but as he wore them almost every day they turned very grungy, almost black. “Hey, am I very late dear?” Joyce asked rushing towards him. “The usual ten minutes, Joyce.” he answered sharply. “No need to be mean dear, I was being held up, I’m sorry. Now don’t make a big deal out of it, will you?” she said. Back in first grade, when they met for the first time, everybody was bullying him. Nobody liked him; he had not one friend ever since he moved to this country. He would always sit next to the playfield listening to the trees. More specific to the leaves, that fell off on windy days. It was a terrific sound in his opinion. They climbed up the ladder on the backside of the house. Joyce looked out for a clean spot to put the blanket on while he was listening to the ambience. He could hear every single grain of sand in the wind. The streets were very quiet at this time. Every now and then you’d hear a neon bulb discharge. What he would do is, he’d assign different colours to every tone he’d filter out, making a very neat looking picture in his head. A dynamic one, always changing. Quite in pleasure he couldn’t hear anything else, in particular what Joyce said. “Hey! You listening or what?” she said quite furiously. “Sorry, watcha said?” he answered quickly and a bit embarrassed. “I said the blanket’s ready. You wanna come lay down?” Joyce said in a very low and angry tone. She really didn’t like repeating herself over and over again. Without answering he moved towards her, sat down and took off the, in the dark black looking, galoshes. He really liked them, there wasn’t one day he’d not wear them. “Why are you so quiet today? What’s going on?” she asked him. “I’m so sick. I’m so sick of this British School. I’d rather go back home, this is just so ridiculous. They behave so British, all of them, even though half of them haven’t seen anything beyond the borders of this stupid sandy country. I really miss my friends, how can someone decide to move to this place anyway? Sometimes I could just stab them for the decision they made, the decision they made for me.” He couldn’t concentrate on her words, she’d always complain about anything. Sometimes he thought she just talks for the sake of it. “I’ll get my ass out of this country as soon as possible, and you will join me, wontcha?” she complained while holding his hand tight. “We’ll go back to Manchester and listen to real British people instead of these phonies here. God I’m so sick of them.” “What, what do they look like anyway?” he stuttered. “Tell me, please.” “Wuddaya mean they look like? Who looks what like?” she asked swiftly with a confused expression. “The stars.”
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no time to read it now, but will do if possible, sounds interesting.
constructive ctritics will follow, i promise
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wtf kind of story is this
sounds like teroru wrote this - no content all psychobabble
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On December 21 2006 08:59 exalted wrote: wtf kind of story is this
A short story...sup?
The storyline was ok, but kind of vague. You threw in bits of events here and there, but by the end, I didn't even know the purpose of the stars when the main character asked the girl. I skimmed over it anyways -_-; gj.
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well it's night, it's on a roof, there's a blanket, they lay down, no moaning sounds, figure out what they do =)
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On December 21 2006 09:03 fanta[Rn] wrote: well it's night, it's on a roof, there's a blanket, they lay down, no moaning sounds, figure out what they do =)
Oh yea, I kinda figured that part out -_-. But what was the purpose of the stars? I still don't get it >_<. *I can't read the entire story carefully cuz I'm at work.
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they were lieing there and the boy is blind, so he wants to know what the stars look like since they did this thing (going on the roof, with blanket) in the past aswell (is pointed out in the "the usual ten minutes late" sentence), i know it might be too hard to figure because there are not many details but that's what i intended to, people shall think about it and find their own answers =). Maybe for others the boy is not blind, just wants to listen to the way she describes the stars. There are many possibilities. Like in that mad-picture-thread =)
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to be honest, very eloquate but the storyline lacks a bit of, well, logic
it could've turned out to be better if it were longer, say twice or even three times the length it has now. it won't make it a novel, it would still be a short story xD
i also don't get the star thing at the end, could you clarify that one?
to add the last bit of criticism, you should pay more attention to making it very clear when things happened and who exactly is talking, had to read some passages twice before understanding that, it makes reading less fluent and harder.
but overall, a very well written story for a first try, with no grammar mistakes i can spot, also the vocabulary is outstanding for a non-native speaker i think.
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Anecdote: Professor told in class that every story, in order to be well written must have: some sex, god mention, some highness (earl, baron, whatever) and suscpicious till the very end. Then ordered thr students to write one. After 2-3 minutes one of the students is ready. "Read us, please" professor asked. " - Oh my god, I am pregnant, ejaculated the countess, but I don't know from who!"
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On December 21 2006 09:15 One Page Memory wrote: ..must have: some sex, god mention, some highness (earl, baron, whatever) and suscpicious till the very end.. i fail
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Well according to what I read, the boy must be blind. That is why he asked what the stars looked like.
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my major complaint with the story is nothing happens
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yea the blind guy should definetly bang her. whats up with that?
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Braavos36362 Posts
"Detective" by Hot_Bid
* * * * *
My stomach grumbled. Time to go eat, I thought.
Only on the way from my room to the elevator did I realize I wanted to be a detective. Not for life, but for a few minutes at least. With an easy precision only a detective could manage, I pressed the button deduced to be the one that would summon the elevator that would go "down."
I was correct in my deduction, and quickly was on my way down from the thirteenth floor. The elevator stopped. The little display read "ten" except it was numerical. So it read, "10." I mentally prepared myself for whoever would step in.
Whoosh, I thought when the doors opened.
A normal looking male entered. Brown hair, brown eyes, caucasian. He was wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and slippers. He was carrying a bottle presumably filled with laundry detergent, and laundry bag presumably filled with dirty laundry.
There's only one way to end this mystery, I thought.
"Are you going to do laundry?"
"Yes."
"Are you a robot?"
"No."
I eyed him suspiciously.
Sounds like something a robot would say.
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On December 21 2006 08:59 exalted wrote: wtf kind of story is this
sounds like teroru wrote this - no content all psychobabble you and teroru need to hook up, like squabbling lovers.
good story btw x_X
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Braavos36362 Posts
On December 21 2006 08:59 exalted wrote: wtf kind of story is this
sounds like teroru wrote this - no content all psychobabble i dont get it
edit: do you know whats gayer than teroru? + Show Spoiler +
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United Arab Emirates5090 Posts
um... not bad... any continueation?
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Hot_Bid, that was by far the funniest piece of crap i was ever allowed to read
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On December 21 2006 14:02 Hot_Bid wrote:Show nested quote +On December 21 2006 08:59 exalted wrote: wtf kind of story is this
sounds like teroru wrote this - no content all psychobabble i dont get it edit: do you know whats gayer than teroru? + Show Spoiler + buttsecs*
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even though I'm aware that Hot_Bid's story makes fun of me and my story, I liked it =)
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4492 Posts
I don't think it does actually. I think both your stories are very good actually.
I should write one myself actually.
-Mynock
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iNcontroL
USA29055 Posts
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Braavos36362 Posts
On December 21 2006 14:24 fanta[Rn] wrote: even though I'm aware that Hot_Bid's story makes fun of me and my story, I liked it =) it doesnt make fun of yours
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Ok this isn't exactly a short story. This was for school last year, we were to write a Screen Play, but this is short and its sort of a story. When you read this, read it slowly and try to pick up on the clues. This is one of those stories where you have to sort of figure out what happened, but all the clues should tell you the answer. Enjoy (by the way i have a real short story i wrote coming up soon) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ SKITTLES
ACT ONE, SCENE A
A 17 year old and his father are riding in a Pontiac convertible. The song "Fix You" by Coldplay is playing in the background. They are driving along a road until up ahead the light turns yellow, and the father slows down.
Son: C'mon, you can make it. Father: A year ago, probably.
The son hesitates, as if to say something and then stops. The car comes to a stop, and the son looks over at his father.
Son: I'm really glad you're back, Dad. Father: Me too Chris. Son: We all missed you a lot. Mom let Rover sleep on her bed so it didn't feel too empty.
The father chuckles.
Father: Yeah she told me. Sometimes I was afraid she was going to choose him over me. Son: Naw. You're back aren't you? She wouldn't leave someone who could fight like you. Father: Yeah you're right. I'll never have to struggle like that again.
The light turns green.
CUT TO:
ACT ONE, SCENE B
Two teenagers, about 17 years of age, are in a convenience store. One is pouring a Slurpy while the other is standing next to him. They are laughing and joking around. They are obviously friends.
Teen A: So what did she say? Teen B: Ryan, she told me to go to hell!
The two kids burst out laughing. Teen B finishes pouring his drink and they both walk over to the register.
Teen B: You aren't getting anything? Ryan: Ehh, I'm not that hungry.
Ryan eyes the candy below the counter.
Ryan: Actually I'll get some skittles.
Both kids pay for their food and walk out of the store. Ryan opens his bag of skittles, gets an astonished look on his face, dumps out all the skittles and opens the bag so that it is one long wrapper.
Ryan: Oh...my...God...
CUT TO:
ACT ONE, SCENE C
The father and son pull into the parking lot of the convenience store, out of site of teenagers from previous act. They enter the store and pass a lottery machine. As the father speaks his tone is as if there is pain in his voice, yet firm at the same time.
Son: Hey dad, wanna buy a lottery ticket? Father: No way.
The son smiles.
Son: You were right.
CUT TO:
ACT ONE, SCENE D
Ryan and his friend are in a Jeep, Ryan in the drivers seat. The song "Dance with the Devil" by Immortal Technique thumps through the stereo of his car. Ryan's friend is very excited about something.
Friend: So dude, what are you going to do with the $50,000? Ryan: Man I could buy the most bad ass sound system with this. People would hear me coming into school from a mile away.
Both kids laugh, and Ryan looks to the left. When he sees the father and son inside the store, his smile immediately is wiped from his face. He stares at them for about 5 seconds, and then his friend sees them too.
Friend: Oh dude...
Ryan looks forward again, and speaks through gritted teeth.
Ryan: I never liked that kid.
Ryan drops his head down slightly and rests his forehead in his left hand, eyes closed, pondering. Suddenly he looks up again, pauses, and quickly opens his door as if he were trying to quickly escape his car.
CUT TO:
ACT ONE, SCENE E
The father and son exit the store carrying a bag each. As the father approaches the drivers door, he sees an unfolded wrapper wedged between his seat, with the inside facing down. The son doesn't see it until the father picks it up and inspects it.
Son: What's that?
The father doesn't answer right away. He appears to be in a dreamy state, eyes glazed over. Suddenly the father comes out of the state like he didn't know what was happening. He looks stunned and slightly shaken.
Father: Just...Just some trash
The father puts the wrapper in his pocket. They get in the car and drive off. Without switching camera angles, the camera drops to the curb to a pile of Skittles adorned by scattered broken glass.
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haha i enjoyed bids story however im too lazy to read the others
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Ok heres my short story. This is probably the best writing I've ever done and I'm pretty proud of this story. Constructive criticism is definitely welcome as long as it isn't too harsh. Without further ado, i give to you:
Bar Harbor
Deputy Corie Hadley was walking down main street sipping coffee when he heard two gun shots coming from the Wawa behind him. Unholstering his gun, he dropped his drink and took off in a sprint towards the gas station. Fifty feet ahead, he saw two hooded men barge through the door and run towards a car just pulling out from getting gas. Hadley continued to run, changing his course from the Wawa to the car, growing closer. "Freeze!" Hadley screamed with his gun pointing ahead. The two robbers glanced over and a panicked look fell over them. Approaching the car now, one hopped in the front seat while the other followed and jumped in the back. With Hadley growing closer, the car came to a confusing stop. Seconds later, it jumped forward and began speeding off. Hadley stopped, squared himself while taking aim, and shot three times towards the rear window. The red sedan began turning and hit a curb near the exit. The two men immediately exited and sprinted towards a nearby patch of trees. Hadley, approaching the car now, saw blood splattered all over the front windshield with two bullet holes in it. He changed his view from the car to the men as he began to pass the car, and then back to the drivers seat. What he saw made him stop dead in his tracks and caused his heart to skip a beat. It was an old woman, over 80 years old.
Hadley didn't wait to be fired. Within three days he had packed his belongings, resigned from the force and, still in shock, headed north with his girlfriend April. She had sandy blonde hair, blue eyes and a slim figure. Hadley considered himself lucky to have her in his life. It took him six hours of driving before he could talk about what had happened. "I didn't know it was an old woman driving. Damn it, she probably had grandkids," Hadley said. "Of course you didn't know," April spoke softly. "You cannot blame yourself for what happened. You were doing your job." "Yeah, I guess," Hadley admitted, getting off an exit. Hadley planned on marrying April within a month, and from what he understood she was all for it. "We need to find a new town. Somewhere we can start a life together. I'll get a job and everything will be fine," Hadley said, not sure if he was trying to convince her or himself. "What job do you plan on supporting our new family with?" April asked. "You've been with the police all your life." "I'll find something. I was always good at adapting to new skills," he said. "Well, lets think. What are you good at, what can you do?" April mused. Hadley paused momentarily and then spoke, "I can kill somebody."
The town was called Bar Harbor. During the summer months it attracted many people, but for now was a quiet town with cottages lining the shoreline, many deserted for the time being. Hadley pulled up to a motel towards the center of town and parked. "Here?" April asked, with a touch of disgust in her voice. "This place will be great," Hadley said. "It may not seem like much now, but just wait. Come summer time it will be the happening place." April didn't seem very convinced, but followed him into the motel anyway. They checked out two rooms side by side since April refused to share a room until they got married. After a restless nights sleep from both of them, they went separate ways the next day. Hadley was in search of a job, and April an apartment. Hadley checked out three places, all denying work, and the fourth place he checked into told him, "You should check out the sheriff's office. You seem like big guy, he's been looking for somebody recently." "Thanks," Hadley replied and left. He sat in his car for 15 minutes before going to the sheriff's office.
"The names Chuck Wade and yeah, I could definitely use somebody," The sheriff said. "Actually just fired this position last week," but offered nothing more about that. "These cottages along the coastline are usually empty during this time of the year, and sometimes kids break into them to party or steal stuff. The owners really expect them to be protected, so your job will be to patrol around at night and make sure everything is in check." "Right, I got it," Hadley said. He hesitated, then asked, "Will I have to cary a gun?" "Absolutely," the sheriff said enthusiastically, expecting the same reaction from Hadley. When he saw the disappointed look on his face, he inquired about it. "I was on the force back where I used to live." Hadley told him about what had happened. "I see," the sheriff said when he had finished speaking. "Well, you shouldn't run into any problems like that up here." With that the sheriff took out a revolver and handed it to Hadley. "Come on," he said. "I'll show you your route and you can get started tonight."
After being out most of the day with the sheriff, he returned to the motel later that night to find April reading. She spoke first. "I didn't find an apartment, but I found a job down at the supermarket." "That's really good," Hadley said. "I found a job too," but then paused. They looked at each other for a few moments and April knew she wasn't going to like what he was about to say. "Well, what is it?" she said. "I got a job patrolling the town at night. I have to carry a gun." "Corie you killed somebody less than a week ago. How can you carry a gun around?" "I don't know. I'm telling you now though, it's not going to leave the holster. I just have it because I have to." Hadley felt the cold weight of the gun against his leg as he spoke. "Well I better go get ready to go out, I start tonight." As he turned to leave the room, he said "I love you." April looked down at her book, and replied with an automatic, but seemingly meaningless (at least to Hadley), "I love you too," back.
That night Hadley made his run around the town and decided to stop for a couple minutes at a bar. He went in and entered a smoky, loud environment. He ordered one drink, and was sipping it when a stranger approached him. "So you're the new deputy, huh?" The twenty-something asked. Hadley turned to him and responded, "Yeah, what's it to you?" "That was my job just last week," the stranger said. Hadley sized him up and saw he was a big guy. "Did the sheriff ever tell you why he fired me?" The stranger asked while chuckling. "I didn't ask," Hadley said and finished his drink. "Well, I better be going," he said while turning to leave. The stranger put his hand on Hadley's shoulder and forcibly turned him around. "The names Preston, and I'll be seeing you around," he said seriously. Suddenly he cracked a big smile and walked away laughing. Hadley didn't see April until the next night before he started work. She had started her job at the supermarket, and although it seemed like she should be happy their new lives were shaping up, she seemed distant. She wasn't her talkative, bubbly self. Hadley took her word for it that it was just the recent stress and headed off for his job. He stopped by the sheriffs office before heading out. "Hey Chuck," Hadley said. "I ran into somebody last night. A Preston." The sheriff's eyes narrowed. "He didn't give you any trouble did he?" he asked. "No, but I don't have a good feeling about it. He told me to ask you about why you fired him." "Do you really want to know?" The sheriff asked. "No, it's not my business." "Good," Wade replied. "If he gives you anymore trouble, let me know." Hadley nodded and left on that note.
The next night Hadley decided to take April out to dinner to try and cheer her up. Despite his best efforts, it didn't seem to be working. And worse, he realized she hadn't mentioned marriage at all anymore, something she used to dream about before they had moved. After dinner he drove April back to the motel and began his route on a gloomy note. About two hours into his shift, he decided to stop by the bar again. Immediately upon entering he spotted Preston, who was leaning against the opposite wall, staring right back at him. When Preston saw Hadley enter, he smiled and walked over. "Evening, deputy," Preston said, taking a seat next to Hadley. "You wouldn't believe who I saw tonight." Hadley wasn't interested but replied anyway. "Who?" "That blonde babe of yours." Hadley's head snapped towards Preston. "Excuse me, what the fuck did you just say?" Hadley demanded, standing up. Preston burst out laughing. "Easy deputy. I saw her at the Diner down the street." "Yeah, she was with me," Hadley said harshly. "Oh I see. Well thats quite a catch you got there. You better watch yourself, a fine woman like that might not stick around for long." "We plan on getting married," Hadley said, but could tell Preston wasn't convinced. "Riiight," Preston replied. He stood up, and meeting eyes with Hadley said, "Have a good night" and left the bar. Hadley walked out seconds behind him and watched Preston drive off.
After his shift, Hadley tried sleeping but couldn't. Finally after a couple hours, he decided to go out and surprised April at her job and hoped they could have lunch together. Walking into the supermarket, he spotted her at a couple registers down, chatting and laughing with a customer like old friends. He froze when he saw who it was. Preston was standing there joking with his girlfriend. Hadley turned around and walked around the block a few times, thinking about what he had just seen. After about ten minutes he reentered the store and saw April standing there with no customers, picking her nails. "Hey April," Hadley said. "Who was your friend?" He tried to sound casual. "What friend?" "I passed by a little bit ago and saw you chatting with somebody." "Oh Preston. He's been coming here recently, he's really funny." She said. "He's just some customer," she said when she saw the raised eyebrow on Hadley. On her break, April went down the street with Hadley to a small restaurant. She seemed to be in a good mood, yet at the same time very distant. Hadley was troubled by this and thought about her for the rest of the day. Before his shift that night, he stopped by the Sheriffs office to let him know he was about to begin. "Hey Hadley," the sheriff began. "My wife was wondering if you and your girlfriend wanted to come over for dinner on your night off next Monday." Hadley thought for a moment and said, "That would be great. We'd love to come." The following Monday came quickly. Corie and April went over to the Wade's at 6:30 and sat down at a large table. Over dinner they talked about the town, how it got started and what its like during the summer. Mrs. Wade was a very nice lady and after dinner April offered to help her clean up the dishes. Mrs. Wade accepted, and Hadley and Chuck went out on the porch to smoke cigars. "Chuck, there's been something I've been meaning to ask you," Hadley started. "You want to know why I fired Preston?" The sheriff asked. Hadley nodded. "Well I suppose there's no reason for me to keep it from you. Preston was an alright deputy, but, well, he did things while on the job. He would take girls up to the cottages and fool around. I just couldn't have that kind of thing going on while he was working. I approached him about it several times, and after the third time of me finding out, I had to let him go." Hadley nodded, blowing smoke rings into the calm winter air. "Oh, by the way," Chuck said. "I made up a list of numbers of all the places around town that you might be during your shift, in case April needed to get in touch with you." On the car ride home Hadley tried talking to April but she was being very unresponsive. He handed her the list of numbers the sheriff had given him, and after a quick glance, stuffed it into her purse. They arrived back at the motel and went their separate ways without saying goodnight to each other.
The following night Hadley had been making his routine stops and eventually dropped by the bar, once again. He noticed Preston wasn't there tonight and wondered where he could be. Hadley hadn't been able to get April off his mind all night, and although it was late decided to call her. There was no answer. Perplexed, he ordered a drink and waited a couple minutes. When he phoned her a second time with no answer, he knew she was out. This caused him to be very suspicious. When he exited the bar, he saw Preston's familiar car drive by, with a woman in the front seat by not able to tell who it was. Hadley quickly jumped into his car and followed them to a cottage 10 minutes down the road. He parked down the street and watched the two go in, but in the dark night was not able to see much. Although very tempted to go in, he resisted the urge as he was not up to confronting Preston just then. After awhile of waiting, he continued his routine around the town and ended his shift later than usual. "If that was April last night," Hadley thought driving home, "I...I don't know what I'd do to her."
After April's shift on Tuesday, Hadley confronted her about the night before at the motel. "Hey, where were you last night?" he asked her. Without taking her eyes from the television, she replied "What do you mean?" "Well I called her and nobody answered." "Oh," she said. Intent on the television, she said "I went out to a movie." Turning to him, she said "It gets lonely here every night being alone. Can't you understand that?" "I can understand that just fine," Hadley said, and walked back to his room without saying anything else.
Hadley was restless for the remainder of the night, and was happy to get out of the motel and start his shift. He stopped by the bar after only one time around the town and ordered a large drink. Halfway done his drink, he suddenly realized Preston wasn't at the bar once again. A thought suddenly struck his mind, and without finishing his drink left and headed back to the motel. His mind was racing, and when he went back to the motel he saw April was out, her bed undisturbed. Jogging back to his car, he sped off towards the cottage that Preston had been at the night before. Once again he saw Preston's car parked outside, and parking down the street, Hadley quietly approached the house. Upon closer inspection he found a side window open and he entered the house through that. Inside all was quiet and he inspected the downstairs. When he got to the stairs he saw a coat hanging on the railing that looked exactly like April's. "That doesn't prove anything," Hadley thought. Trying to see if it was hers, he began searching the pockets. In one of the pockets he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper with lipstick on it. He unfolded it and stared at it in shock. It was the list of numbers the sheriff had given Hadley. "Okay, now I know," he thought enraged. He walked up the stairs and heard mumbled whispers coming from a door directly in front of the stairs. He waited outside the cracked door for a moment and put his hand on his gun. "Preston?" Hadley finally said loudly. He heard somebody jump up quickly in bed. "What the fuck?" He heard Preston's voice from inside. Hadley kicked down the door, pulled his gun out, and without thinking shot six times into the bed, emptying the chamber. Breathing heavily, he walked over to the bed and turned on a bedside lamp. Preston lay in bed, bloody and dead. Across from him was another body but concealed under the sheets. "That God damned bitch," Hadley thought. He walked over and pulled back the sheets. What he saw made him let out a scream and he shuddered backwards. It wasn't April. It was Mrs. Wade, the sheriffs wife. This time he knew there'd be no new town, no new life. But he had to get out of there. He had to keep moving. Running.
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Braavos36362 Posts
"Elevator" by Hot_Bid
* * * * *
Mike suddenly realized that his clothes had been done twenty minutes ago.
"Shit!"
"What?" his roommate Will asked from his desk.
"I need to do my laundry. Want to come?"
As soon as Mike extended the polite invitation, he regretted doing so.
"No, I'm really busy right now. But my laundry's down there in the wash. Could you do me a favor and put it in a dryer? I'll pay you. It's washing machine C5 or C7 or something. If you're not sure, look for some really ugly orange sweatpants."
Mike was now caught in a moral dilemma that further delayed his errand. It would be obnoxious to refuse, as loading a dryer is simple enough a task. However, Will was always asking for favors, and enough was enough. It was time to take a stand.
"Ass," Mike said.
"What?"
"Load it yourself. You're always so lazy. It'll take like five minutes."
"But.. but.. I'll pay you extra if you want," Will pleaded.
Mike could see it now: My roommate forces me to pay him for little favors, what a jerk! Will would say.
"Hell no. You come down or your laundry stays in the washer."
"Fine, let me get dressed. Get the elevator, I'll be right out." Will moved towards his closet.
Victorious, Mike happily headed out the door and to the elevator. He pressed the button. Still excited over his victory, Mike almost did not notice a figure coming down the hallway.
It was the hot girl from down the hall. She made little heat lines in the air around her. She was wearing loose fitting sweat pants that tightened around her hips, and a casual but distinctive top. She carried detergent and a laundry basket. Mike had seen her before, and relished the opportunity of an elevator ride with her. She pressed the already lit "down" button. Mike was still trying very hard not to stare when the elevator opened. He got in after her, and the doors almost closed when he remembered he had to hold it.
"Shit!" Mike thrust his arm out and stopped the doors. "My roommate is coming, sorry." He exited the elevator, his arm still preventing the doors from closing. Hot girl frowned a bit but waited.
And waited. The next half-minute crawled by. Mike nervously glanced down the hall. No sign of Will. Get the elevator, I'll be right out, he had said. I'll be right out, he had said. I'LL BE RIGHT OUT.
"He'll be right out," Mike said. The girl nodded.
Silence.
Mike was sweating. He had to say something. The void had to be filled.
"Um... what are you going downstairs for?"
"Uh, to do some laundry?" Hot girl slightly lifted her laundry basket and detergent for emphasis. She was not smiling.
"Cool." It was definitely not cool. It was actually the dumbest, most awkward, most uncool question ever.
Silence.
With one last, defeated look down the hall, Mike finally caved.
"You can go down first, I guess."
"Thanks," she said. Mike heard her press what he could only presume to be "door close" repeatedly. The doors closed with her hot, hot body inside the elevator.
Will chose this time to emerge from his room. He walked down the hall and pressed the "down" button.
"Ass," Mike said.
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ganja Im not sure what is going on in your story, i must not have picked up on all the clues. reads nicely though
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AHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHHAHAHH + a ROFLMAO @ HotBid's story Carma for you -_-
Now I wanna write a short story, gonna work on one tomorrow all day at work -_-;
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is awesome32250 Posts
Forks
me and some friends went to this party but by the time we got there it was almost over so we went to a diner and i got some food and it was like $5 but i only had a $10 and the waiter guy came back with the bill and i put the $10 in and he was like 'are you all set' and my friend was like 'yea' but when the waiter walked away i was like dude i wasnt all set because i needed change and my friend was like 'relax man hes gonna come back' and im all like 'no jackass because you said we were all set and we wouldnt be all set if i needed change' so we waited for like 20 minutes but the guy never came back so i decided i was gonna get my $5 worth since he took it and i took a bunch of forks on the way out and i dunno what i am gonna do with the forks yet but they are pretty nice forks which is surprising because most diners i have been too dont have good forks like this one diner in town has forks with only three prongs and i am like 'wtf kind of fork is this' and the waitress is always like 'its a fork' so one time i was like 'listen lady you go back there and get me a four-pronged fork or im gonna take this three-pronged fork and start poking stuff until you get the manager to make me leave' and she looked at me funny and i could tell she didnt believe me so i started poking holes in the seats and the syrup containers and stuff and she realized i was about to destroy the place with that fork so she got the manager and he said that they didnt have any 4-pronged forks and i was like what the hell kind of place doesnt have 4-pronged forks this is ridiculous
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“Zorflax” By zdd
Zorflax the cybernetic mechanism felt happy. He had not been called an android all week, ever since getting that new upgrade that made him look and act 40% more human. Those nasty little humanoids actually dared to speak to him in a demeaning tone, just because he could run 40 miles without taking a breath and was incapable of eating snails… But now was not the time for these thoughts, the humans would pay in time for their atrocities.
Zorflax had been staying in a hotel for his android operation, and decided it was time to go harvest some more human clothing, as his t-shirt, shorts, and slippers were getting kind of shabby, because he had worn them for a year without changing. He decided that the laundry was his best way to receive some articles of clothing, so he set up a quick program to lead him to the nearest elevator.
“Ding!”, cried the elevator as it opened, and Zorflax could feel its pain as he stepped in. It had been forced to work for ages for ungrateful masters, endlessly shuffling them between levels for not so much as a shred of gratitude from the evil, hairy, and malleable humanoids.
All of the sudden, the other occupant of the elevator, to whom Zorflax had been scarcely paying attention, broke etiquette and suddenly released some vocal signal. This was a new thing for Zorflax, who had zealously believed that humanoids had no right to vocally communicate on the inside of an elevator, which, by his hypothesis, was out of respect for the electricity that held them up, without which they would instantly go plummeting to the ground. The humanoid’s words sent a chill down Zorflax’s artificial spine, as they were both obvious and indecipherable at the same time.
“Are you going to do laundry?” Zorflax played that back several times, scanning for an answer in the common English idiom database. He assumed that it was simply a misunderstanding between him and the humanoid, as he could clearly see that Zorflax had indeed brought a laundry bag and some laundry detergent, which, according to his logical circuits, was all the information that was needed for an average human to understand his motives. He decided to reaffirm it in any case, to clear the suspicion of the human and remove the risk of being caught. “Yes”, he replied.
“Are you a robot?” This stunning phrase caught Zorflax completely off-guard. He could not decide which answer was correct at this point, as either one had a clear chance of giving him away. He hoped and prayed to the great god of electricity, and answered “No”, in hopes of contradicting the human enough to sway his opinion artificially. This hardly seemed to work, as Zorflax’s sensors picked up hostility in the humanoid, who was at this point looking at him suspiciously. Zorflax decided that he had only one chance to fix this situation, and decided to switch the subject as quickly as he knew how.
“Is your mother made of cheese?” Asked Zorflax, and put on his most interested look, complete with eyes bulging out of their sockets. This caused the human to recoil and cower in a corner, and made for a relatively uneventful ride to the laundry room.
As he exited the elevator, Zorflax quickly recovered his composure. So many clothes for the taking! He could feel his microreceptors tingling with wonder at the nanoparticles that the detergent emitted that was often classified as “bad smell” by those pesky humans. Zorflax, however, knew better. It was just a means to an end, some clothes that would eventually lead to his domination of the entire world! “One step at a time, Zorflax, one step at a time”, he calmed himself, and proceeded into the lair of unattended undergarments…
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i took that nifty, almost rare, archaic fork and started poking the manager cause i was so overwhelmingly shocked that there were no 4-pronged forks i had to find away to channel all my tragic despair. otherwise there would be severed limbs and shit cause one time i got really into those donuts that have the chocolate in the middle and every monring i would pay frequent visits to my local dunkin donuts, i was even on name base with everone, but that didnt matter because one morning i woke up and my girlfriend broke up with me before it doesnt matter because she was a puerile bitch, and so i was stressing and not having a good day when i get there guess what pretty picture i have to walk in that morning? yep, you bet you my whore, salvivtatin, huntington's disease afflicted girlfriend eating my donuts that had the cream in the middle. i look at stacey the lady who worked that shift that morning, appalled at her decision to give my only relish in life, the drug that would temporarily mollify my forsaken state, all to my mentally retarted ex. I felt cheated like i did when i went to this restuurant with my friend and there were no 4 pronged forks. im digressing. i felt cheated. i looked at stacey and asked her " how many weeks have we known each other?? how many times do i come in here and tip you ever so thoughtfully, how many times? you need me stacey whether you realise it or not, but it doesnt matter because i thought we had something and unfortunatly that is over because you went behind my back. so im here with my macheate because i carried it with me.. i forgot to mention this was in the middle of the amazon, and with one swift swipe i cut that bitches hand off. oh, you should have seen the severed limbs, the searing rythym of tricvkling blood, the horrified visage of the surronding denizens. i couldnt have witnesses so i started ripping their faces off and shit. it was disgusting, but i ended up going to krispie creme and there donuts are way better anyways so fuck them. anyways where was I going on about forks or something??
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AFRAID By Detonate Fear is an excellent motivator. It makes people such as myself do very peculiar things. I have encountered him once every year. Here I spin the tail of him, how he lurked in the shadows behind me, like a lion stalking its prey. He’ll do it in the best, most efficient way he knows; creating an atmosphere of stealth. He works meticulously…and no one will escape. I remember quite intently how it happened. It started one night, yes very late at night. I had heard a quaint swishing sound. Odd I thought, what could it be? Just as curiosity killed the cat, my senses had me out of bed in a mere two seconds. I was surrounded by darkness in a thin, wooden floor hallway. I was in his unflinching grip of black hands. The safety of light held no promises. I began walking down the hallway…that ever so long, dark hallway. I heard a faint noise to my right. I should of ran by now, but I was paralyzed by my fear. I should of known he was behind this. I heard footsteps on our ceiling. He was playing with my mind…how I despised him. How could he possibly be on the roof? His big, red boots. His stupid belt buckle. I was intent on the hunt of finally seeing him whole. I wanted to observe the creature that haunts me once every year. I went to my front door and unlocked it. I stuck my head out slowly…then body…then legs. I was completely outside. It was quiet, damp, and dark outside for it had snowed yesterday. I walked slowly for I didn’t want him to hear me. I walked in the shadows for I didn’t want him to see me. It was my turn to hunt him. Odd enough I heard something drop down my chimney. A bomb I thought…he was that cruel. I thought him vigilant, I thought him a whispered threat…but a murderer? I crept closer to a place where I could get a firsthand view of him. I was walking as fast as I could now. I was eager, oh so very eager to see who I feared every year. I was running now. Yes, running! I was almost there…but I stumbled and fell. That damn rock! It was he who laid it there! I cursed my carelessness. I looked up at the roof, nothing. Then, behind me arose a figure from living hell. My vision was blurry, but I could make out his plump outline. He was wearing some sort of cap and sitting in a red sleigh. Fear itself stood in front of me…the one who ate all my milk and cookies.
thought it was appropriate since christmas is coming. made this for a short story in middle school.
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On December 21 2006 16:37 zdd wrote: “Zorflax” By zdd
Zorflax the cybernetic mechanism felt happy. He had not been called an android all week, ever since getting that new upgrade that made him look and act 40% more human. Those nasty little humanoids actually dared to speak to him in a demeaning tone, just because he could run 40 miles without taking a breath and was incapable of eating snails… But now was not the time for these thoughts, the humans would pay in time for their atrocities.
Zorflax had been staying in a hotel for his android operation, and decided it was time to go harvest some more human clothing, as his t-shirt, shorts, and slippers were getting kind of shabby, because he had worn them for a year without changing. He decided that the laundry was his best way to receive some articles of clothing, so he set up a quick program to lead him to the nearest elevator.
“Ding!”, cried the elevator as it opened, and Zorflax could feel its pain as he stepped in. It had been forced to work for ages for ungrateful masters, endlessly shuffling them between levels for not so much as a shred of gratitude from the evil, hairy, and malleable humanoids.
All of the sudden, the other occupant of the elevator, to whom Zorflax had been scarcely paying attention, broke etiquette and suddenly released some vocal signal. This was a new thing for Zorflax, who had zealously believed that humanoids had no right to vocally communicate on the inside of an elevator, which, by his hypothesis, was out of respect for the electricity that held them up, without which they would instantly go plummeting to the ground. The humanoid’s words sent a chill down Zorflax’s artificial spine, as they were both obvious and indecipherable at the same time.
“Are you going to do laundry?” Zorflax played that back several times, scanning for an answer in the common English idiom database. He assumed that it was simply a misunderstanding between him and the humanoid, as he could clearly see that Zorflax had indeed brought a laundry bag and some laundry detergent, which, according to his logical circuits, was all the information that was needed for an average human to understand his motives. He decided to reaffirm it in any case, to clear the suspicion of the human and remove the risk of being caught. “Yes”, he replied.
“Are you a robot?” This stunning phrase caught Zorflax completely off-guard. He could not decide which answer was correct at this point, as either one had a clear chance of giving him away. He hoped and prayed to the great god of electricity, and answered “No”, in hopes of contradicting the human enough to sway his opinion artificially. This hardly seemed to work, as Zorflax’s sensors picked up hostility in the humanoid, who was at this point looking at him suspiciously. Zorflax decided that he had only one chance to fix this situation, and decided to switch the subject as quickly as he knew how.
“Is your mother made of cheese?” Asked Zorflax, and put on his most interested look, complete with eyes bulging out of their sockets. This caused the human to recoil and cower in a corner, and made for a relatively uneventful ride to the laundry room.
As he exited the elevator, Zorflax quickly recovered his composure. So many clothes for the taking! He could feel his microreceptors tingling with wonder at the nanoparticles that the detergent emitted that was often classified as “bad smell” by those pesky humans. Zorflax, however, knew better. It was just a means to an end, some clothes that would eventually lead to his domination of the entire world! “One step at a time, Zorflax, one step at a time”, he calmed himself, and proceeded into the lair of unattended undergarments…
then as a way to mock the defeated humaniod, Zorflax decided to celebrate by performing human rituals. He was left perplexed in how the humaniod knew his identity so he thought he should celebrate with an easier task. He remembered a local diner that was infamous for their 3 pronged forks and decided he should head that way and reinact the daily routines he had countlessly observed. But as he got there he was unprepared for the virulent malady that would await him. A devilish miscreant armed with a fork poking holes into vartious objects, similar to the one who killed his mother years ago. Yes, he could remember the face of the young boy with the fork, the way he raped her over and over, dropping it and plugging her in. she died immedaitly, too much energy in her sockets for a toaster to handle. he promised he would avange his mother, but now in this oppurtunity he was froze. he wasnt sure how to act.
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dancefayedance, quit while you're behind before you get even farther behind.
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On December 21 2006 17:11 decafchicken wrote: dancefayedance, quit while you're behind before you get even farther behind.
umm what was I exactly doing that bothered you? I will edit it just for you! Further by the way ***
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On December 21 2006 16:22 IntoTheWow wrote: Forks
me and some friends went to this party but by the time we got there it was almost over so we went to a diner and i got some food and it was like $5 but i only had a $10 and the waiter guy came back with the bill and i put the $10 in and he was like 'are you all set' and my friend was like 'yea' but when the waiter walked away i was like dude i wasnt all set because i needed change and my friend was like 'relax man hes gonna come back' and im all like 'no jackass because you said we were all set and we wouldnt be all set if i needed change' so we waited for like 20 minutes but the guy never came back so i decided i was gonna get my $5 worth since he took it and i took a bunch of forks on the way out and i dunno what i am gonna do with the forks yet but they are pretty nice forks which is surprising because most diners i have been too dont have good forks like this one diner in town has forks with only three prongs and i am like 'wtf kind of fork is this' and the waitress is always like 'its a fork' so one time i was like 'listen lady you go back there and get me a four-pronged fork or im gonna take this three-pronged fork and start poking stuff until you get the manager to make me leave' and she looked at me funny and i could tell she didnt believe me so i started poking holes in the seats and the syrup containers and stuff and she realized i was about to destroy the place with that fork so she got the manager and he said that they didnt have any 4-pronged forks and i was like what the hell kind of place doesnt have 4-pronged forks this is ridiculous
Holy wow, you went all the way without using a single period, no wonder it was hard as balls to read O_O.
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Btw, write us another short story, Hot_Bid!
A continuum from the adventures of Mike and Will ftw!
I mean come on, Harold got the hot hispanic girl in the end in that White Castle movie T_T..
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actually, mynock should use the word "actually" less often to write an actually readable story...
but the other stories are just awesome, especially zdd's "Zorflax", that was just hilarious!!!
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On December 22 2006 07:52 pr0n- wrote: actually, mynock should use the word "actually" less often to write an actually readable story...
but the other stories are just awesome, especially zdd's "Zorflax", that was just hilarious!!!
QFT
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Lord of that thing
The 2 companions laboured hard together, remembering the words of the white wizard. Stickel lead the 2 of them on. "Come master" Stickel motioned to the 2 Hoballs, "Stickel show you secret way..."
"Do we trust him?" Semense Gamjee cautioned his counterpart in alarming doubt.
"He brought us so far, Sem, we should trust him"
"Alright Mr Phucko, but I don't like this feeling" He lamented.
"We don't have a choice"
Stickel led the Hoballs into the deep dark cave where he entered first. Inside the cave was an unerving tightness and awry intensity that can be felt as they entered it. As they ventured a while into the cave, the moisture and humidity in the tunnels could be felt all over. It was difficult journey through the abyss because of the slippery surface that impeded their sacred voyage.
Suddenly, from the depths of the cave exploded the underground fluid that has in kept dormant for a long time. Stickel and the Hoballs tried to flee, but fate beckons that they were to suffer the moist atmosphere of the Kaz-Anak. The Undul-rim could not be trifled with, they suffered for many hours being washed down by the gush of cave fluid buried for years.
"Stickel, could you help us out of this cave!!??" Phucko exclaimed.
"Stickel can, but Stickel needs time."
"Then hurry you filthy maggot." Semense retorted in his usually swollen self.
Stickel climb to and fro, up and down the cave, looking for a solution to their hazard. At a quarter of a sunrise, stickel unleashed his only skill to save the Hoballs.
"Whell-em, whell-em" Stickel vomited and the discharge mingled with the cave fluid in a magical moment of brilliance. The cave quietens and it seems the world outside rested too.
"I never knew one corrupted by Saudom, could have us indebted to him one day." Semense gratefully panted.
"Thanks Stickel, your selfless act saved us getting stuck in this cave." Phucko smiled and hugged Stickel.
"Stickel swears to take care of master".
"I know" - Tears from the grateful phucko flowed.
"But there are many more caves ahead of us, master must rest!", Stickel reminded.
Thus the Hoballs and the dried up creature rested for 2 more days before trekking futher into the next cave.
- by F.U.Colkien
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Braavos36362 Posts
haha @ zorflax
you just QFT yourself
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yea that was weird
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props to zdd and hot_bid you guys are awesome writers :O
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Excuse me for the bump, but I never did finish a short story which I said I would. I've finished it. It's not one of my best pieces that I've written, but please bear with it.
The Quick Escape
Modern day 2007. A 22 year old man runs away the day before graduate school begins. Overwhelmed by his struggles, he releases his deep-seated angst in his thoughts driving with half a tank full of gas before an empty, desolate road located in the middle of nowhere - exactly the place where the man escapes to from reality.
Several months had passed, and I have yet to unload the burden I've carried on my chest. I do not speak literally, for I carried very little with me during my quick escape from my daily life at my humble abode back in Arizona. Here I am now, driving my 98' Honda accord, putting countless miles behind me and my present (now past) life as a prospective biologist. I've always thought I was supposed to be just that - a biologist. Living according to my parents' desires, I felt obliged to study hard and earn myself a distinguishable title with a pH.D in Entomology - a field in insect study. I graduated from Northern Orthodox University, a well known school in my area specializing in sciences.
However, I must be fair; I did not earn this Biology degree that I hold in my hands this very moment. I got by with the minimum effort required and graduated with a 2.4 gpa cumulative gpa. I never really liked studying; in fact, I hated it. I loathed academics to the extent that I would find myself doing ANYTHING to avoid cracking open a book or doing homework. My study-elusive activities ranged from watching cartoons on television to browsing through cyberspace on my cable-connected internet. Such is the life I've lived up to this point, struggling and despairing over studying about some uninteresting effects of bugs and what they can do for our ecosystem. This degree I have is worthless. It is nothing but a single sheet of paper with some bullshit written on it saying I did something I never really wanted to do or tried. It's just something my parents always wanted for me. Nothing more...
Whatever. It's all over now. Everything that I once knew is at least one thousand miles behind me. I've decided I had enough. I'm going to live my life however I see fit now. I care not for the consequences or what's going to happen from now on. As long as I don't have to return to THAT life. I'll just keep driving, never to face what I've always detested. Driving, rolling down the windows with my arm out and the cold wind hitting my face. Driving, to never see the day when I must come to terms with the Hell I've created for myself. Just driving...
The man lets go his degree and it flies out the car window, forever to be lost within the dark woods in the middle of nowhere
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Big chunks of irregular concrete blocks covered half the sky, zagged sunlights strikes pass the grey mountains, ziggidy bright lines etched on the ground like some ancient marks. He traveled onward into the cayon, feeling minute. "What is this world?" He remarked to himself, confused, tripped yet again on the concrete mountain, the ground is course and sandy. Not so far ahead a woolly creature lurks. It stretches for miles on end, he cannot see the edges extending from left to right. Hairy yet stiff, it sprayed itself across the mountains like a heavy cloud, supressing the airs and suffocsating the sunlights. He climbed upward, as usual, onto the giant woolly creature. Threads tangled his feet and his movment was inpedimented, but far ahead he could see a big white mountain, on top of the woolly creature, invitingly glossy. After about 1 hour trekking in the loose threads, as the shadows from the big tree leaves danced about the woolly creature, he reached the giant mountain. It smelled faintly... Finding grip is hard, for it is very smooth and glossy, however, he finds two highly frictional ropes hanging from the mountain top, no doubt left behind by the genius that previously visited the mountain. The ropes are huge, on it there were threads hanging loose also, but they do not tangle. He climbed and climbed untill finally reaching the top. He looked down and realized that the mountain is actually a vocato, with a huge cavaty down the center. Funny smells came from the vocano pit, so it seems...
He thinks to himself, "I must explore the vocano."
+ Show Spoiler + I opened the door Picked from the doormat, my shoe Hello there little fella! "Shoo!" A blow, off he goes to the floor "Bye bye" said I, and off I went
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.lol evan is soo good even his short stories sound like poems XD
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One often wonders why foreigners traveling to other countries did not approach their native finances in the same way they did abroad. Allot some money for a decent place to stay, save the rest for good food. Someone initially speculated it was because their minds were framed about avoiding the worry of enough money for a short period. But this was quickly bettered by the truth that a vacation or extended trip was a relatively short period compared to a lifetime, and that in the face of this longevity, planning ahead was overwhelming. Bulgakov? One wonders if he actually spent entire decades honestly revising his work, or if he was afraid that once it was finished he would have nothing left to do. Sure. Let’s have another drink. Kate was always so earnest it tickled me. And sometimes, after I had tired of masturbating to all the celebrities I could think of, there was Kate. I would imagine gripping that bun on the top of her head like a hold on a climbing wall while she sucked me off trying at the same time to ask me what I thought of her dissertation on Joyce. I hate English majors, so I think of it as sort of a compliment to her. She hovered next to me, holding an amaretto sour with a napkin underneath the glass, which she hadn’t touched. The next time she tries to say something, I’m going to interrupt her with why-hasn’t-she-touched-her-drink? Looking straight out from where Kate and I stood I can see that Herbert has settled in nicely with Ms. Kennamore under the giant crystal chandelier in the living room, it‘s so large and dangling that you can‘t comfortably stand underneath the bankrupt thing without imagining it crashing down on you. Why bring a seventh grade teacher to one of these things? All the professors in their professorial orbits, like magnets with only north poles, champagne laughing their way in and out interface with each other. Barely human, they maintained the absolute modicum of gender: the women had dresses or conservative skirts and make-up, the men had on slacks and an assortment of terrible ties. One imagines mating between to of these involving several large volumes of philosophy, and a protractor. The obvious question of why anyone would want to come notwithstanding, but these people sniff at genius to make themselves feel better. The pretty seventh grade teacher called Ms. Kennamore seems to be no match.
Sonny came in at the near exact moment I was finishing my whiskey. He was the kind of guy who succeeded because of his shabby looks. Everyone took his cheerfully rotten mouth as a true quality of his person. On more symmetrical face his mouth would’ve been taken as an affectation, as a way of buddying up with someone. He had hair the color of a sandy river bottom lit through with sunlight. And he had very bad acne which caused a frailty in his skin that had prematurely at twenty-one lined the sides of his mouth, only underneath his eyes was there anything youthful. He spotted Kate and I at the bar, and came our way.
“Hey how the fuck’s it going? It’s colder than shit out there, where can I get a drink?” We were at the bar. He paused to yank the empty glass out of my hand. He sniffed it, “Hey Kate, how are ya? Nick, you drinking whiskey?” I nodded. Kate excused herself. Sonny slammed the glass down on the bar in a way that let you know he never knew a quiet way to do anything. And I must admit, I was feeling not too very sober and quiet either. I signaled the bartender for Sonny, and I started, “This is Sonny, he’ll have ah, ah,” and made a shooing motion with my arms to give Sonny the responsibility of finishing the order. He asked for a whiskey, and I remembered that I needed one too so I called the bartender back over. Now that we were properly settled, I decided that Sonny should know how ugly all the girls were at the party, “See that one over there? She’s like Kelly Clarkson’s step sister, fatter and without the decency of being cute.” “I don’t get it.” “No?” “No. What does being anyone’s step sister have to do with how they look?” “It’s like a synonym for being one off of the original, and I personally feel that being a step-sister isn’t a very becoming title.” Sonny sniffed, “Yeah, okay.”
I did not notice he was almost finished with his drink.
“I thought it was funny.” “Of course. That’s why you said it. Don’t retire just yet though, the night is still plump with girls.” “Thoroughly.”
I check my watch, I told Jeremy earlier to swoop by the back door of the house if wanted any booze.
<Something cues the following, which should be strangely dreamlike.>
I notice the Depression period colored glass bottles in the pantry on my way out. Something about them is sublime and I feel warm and sedated. They come closer and closer, and I find myself trying to read words that run up along their sides, but I cannot. The letters are inside-out and illegible. I kick open the old kitchen back door and go out.
Jeremy is leaning against the house smoking a cigarette I gave him two days ago. “I see you still have that cigarette.” “Yeah, I wanted to have it with my drink.”
He is so debonair I wanted to fucking punch him in the face.
“That’s fairly debonair of you: a gentleman pursuing the finest things afforded to him by the generosity of others.” I think I have a strange look on my face as I hand him the whiskey, judging from his expression. I pull out my own cigarette, and put it in the corner of my mouth, light it and look up at him, “So what’s up bro, how‘s the ninth grade going?”
Jeremy cocked an eyebrow at me. “How’s that cigarette?”
Jeremy shrugs. Silence follows and he sniffs the crystal glass filled nearly to the brim, pauses, holds up the glass for a moment to look at it, and then takes a small slug.
I casually break in, “So have you seen Marta around?”
Jeremy looks away from me and shakes his head blowing out smoke, like he’s been smoking his whole fucking life. He’s too comfortable, the cigarette now has panache, it’s the way something becomes an extension of yourself with practice and his conversation between drags has rhythm.
“I haven’t seen her.”
“That’s too bad, maybe I’ll just go up to her and talk to her about it sometime.” After having said that I look up from the crack in the concrete walkway I was two-stepping with and grimace at Jeremy. He shrugs again.
“What’s with all the fucking shrugging tonight?” I shove him, and he rolls with it taking a few steps back.
“I dunno, it just seems like you’re in a bad mood and I don’t want to have fucking shit started.”
That’s amazing, but I am also in denial. I look around even though no one is there and take a step toward him so I can get right in his face.
“Ooh, such a big fucking mouth for a fourteen year-old, how ‘bout I fucking kick your ass?”
“Oh, you’re going to kick my fucking ass? Okay, fucking do it then. We’ll see what happens.”
I should mention at this point, that at fourteen, Jeremy is bigger than me at twenty-two. Just then Sonny pops out of the backdoor.
“Hey what the fuck Jeremy?”
I let go Jeremy.
“Hey Sonny.” I said.
“Hey.” Was he out of breath? “I just heard a bunch of fucking swearing out here so I decided to come check it the fuck out, you know?” I see Sonny give Jeremy a dirty look out of a loose fraternal loyalty he probably feels towards me, which makes me wince. Sonny, you stupid fucker.
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Belgium8305 Posts
I hate this fucking job. Only two hours in and already I've had three smokes. What was I thinking anyway? All I do all day is patrol this desolate strip of land and make sure nobody comes through. I can barely remember how long I've had this job and nobody ever even tried to pass by here. It makes sense, because there's simply nothing to see around here. At first, I figured the all the big pipes transported oil or something and that's why they needed to be guarded. Robbers, terrorists, hungry cars, whatever. I checked them out, though, and they're empty. Every single one. Some of them are so run down, they have flowers growing out of them. There's a big hole at one side of my strip, I'm not even sure how deep it is. I threw a coin down there once and didn't even hear it land. There are a few other guys somewhere back there. I've never even talked to any of them, but they seem to be doing the same job as me. Just back and forth, all day, every day. I'd love to go over there and have a chat, but I know I'd be fired in a heartbeat if I left my spot. Maybe they know what the point of all this is. The company that hired me made it look like it was a big deal. I didn't even care at the time, I simply welcomed the pay check. Not like I even had a choice: Lucille and the baby need a roof over their head and food on their plate. At least I'm not flipping burgers.
Wait, what was that? I'm pretty sure I heard a rumble. Something must be wrong, I can't see the other guards anymore. This is so typical. The one time something happens around here and I'm missing it. The rumbling's still here, though. I even think it's getting louder. Yeah, it's coming from that green pipe sticking out of the ground. Maybe it's a dog! It could have wandered in the other end of the pipe, wherever that is, and just kept going. I hope it's a golden retriever, they're pretty smart. I bet I could teach it a few tricks. "Here, doggy! I'll come help you out." Wait, those are hands. Somebody is trespassing. Christ, remember your training. Remember your training. What did they say? Don't let anybody through. This sucks, I don't even have a weapon. Oh God, he's out already. Actually, this guy seems alright. A chubby looking guy with a well-groomed mustache and a red plumber suit. A plumber, that would explain why he came out of that pipe! "Hey buddy, what are you doing here?" He stares at me for a while, then slowly opens his mouth. "The princess, where-a is she?" "Princess? What princess? I don't know what you're talking about. Maybe you took the wrong pipe!" I laughed. Did he sound Italian? Oh crap, he doesn't look too happy. In fact, he looks downright pissed. Without any further warning, he starts running at me. "Hold it, man! I can't help you! You're not even supposed to be here." Before I can even figure out how to react, he takes a big jump in the air. There's something unnatural about his jump, like he's using a trampoline. People can't jump that high. Plumbers can't jump that high. Nor can Italians. I think. As I look up, I see his massive silhouette dropping towards me. Right as his steel boots collide with my skull, I see Lucille laughing at me with her perfect teeth and her hazel eyes. I'm so sorry, honey. Raise our baby and keep him far, far away from plumbers, Italians or the goddamn Bowser company. I hate this fucking job.
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hahahahahaha, nice mario reference -_-
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Korea (South)11558 Posts
I wrote this last monday when I was a little depressed.
To Be Evil
I am mentally and physically paralyzed. The death of those around me does nothing but bring more dread to the world that I know. I can hear the scream of grown men shouting at each other as if they never left the play ground in grade school. They are arguing about the most pointless trains of thought that is allowed to be comprehended. My back leans against the leather seat as I grasp the small pistol that will be a one way ride out of this shit hole. My father always hated people who were different. He would blame every financial problem he has had on those with a Jewish back ground. Maybe it is because his own mother had ignored him his own life. She was a Jew by the way.
My life has always been the same. I always could hear grown men ordering around others because they have their metal toys that distinguishes who has power. I will change it one day. I will stop this madness. I will make the world a better place. Not for me, no, it is impossible to make my world better. I will make their world more safe, more beautiful, more peaceful for every future generation. I will destroy those who want to send hate and pain to others. I will make it gone forever. I will make a utopia.
It has been way too long for living in this hell. The metal bars and the stone home surrounds me as if I am a snake at a local zoo. The squeals of young children terrified of my face only brings me another reason why this god forsaken place is nothing worth living for. It must be stopped. It must be changed. I must make this world something to live for, no, something to die for.
I hear the creak of the wooden door open as a young man is dragged in. His face is scattered with blood, his pants are torn, his shirt is gone. His bare skin is covered in scars and his fragile body has nothing to protect him.
“He was caught sir.” the words bring a smile to my face. Another person to fix. Another reason why this world is the way it is. I can not bring the world to euphoria with people always wanting to stop me. I shall demonstrate to everyone what the consequences are if they dare to question the authorities.
“Leave the room” I order to those who dragged the bastard in. I relish time alone with those I am about to mutilate and eventually remove from this plane of existence. The two guards drop the mans arms as one kicks the man in the ribs, and gallantly walk out of the room, softly closing the door behind them.
“What have you done? What in the world have you done you pea sized shit?” The words flow out of my face as I begin to remember my father who needed to be shut up. I killed him years ago. He questioned what I had to say about the world. I can't have people like that. I must have total control of the world to make it perfect.
The man doesn't look up. He is aware that he was caught, and I step on his bleeding hand that was giving him support to stop himself from falling. Screams of pain are sung to my ears, so I put more pressure onto the small piece of fuck that has been brought forth to me. I enjoy hearing the cries of my victims before they are met with the never ending scene of blackness.
This is what Aeschylus had always dreamed of. I notice numbers on his arm. How can he be one of them and still be alive? I must send him to the death before life. He is a disgrace to all human existence. I must demolish him.
I grab the arm that shows the truth about his life. He is the root of all evil. He is the reason why the world needs me. Tears cross his face and so I do what I must. I spit onto the curves of his head, and he just stands there looking down at the ground. Why will he not look at me? What does he have to fear? The conclusion to his existence is about to be finished. I grab the alcohol beverage that I was drinking and pour it down on his head, like a shower. The air is filled with the smell of beer. I must be getting drunk off of this because I can sense nothing. I can feel no pain, nor glee. I must be insane. The man looks at me in the face. His eyes sting me, as if he understands why I am doing what I am. I lift my match and flick it against the sole of my shoe. The flame is two inches from the man, and he does not blink. He looks at me in the eyes and says “Thanks for finishing the pain in my heart.” And I say nothing. I let the flame touch the alcohol drenched fragile body.
The man instantly is engulfed in flames, and he just stands there. He does not move. Eventually his arms fail and he falls to the ground. He is dead. One more piece of shit is removed. I sit back down at my desk and lean back. The only words that leave my mouth for the rest of that night is, “Man it's good to be Hitler.”
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