The Short Story Thread.

[Sevre]

So today I was forced to write out a quick paragraph in 20 minutes, I was wondering whether we had any budding short story writers in the community. Feel free to post your own short stories (up to 2000 words) in this thread for all to enjoy and criticize, because criticism is the only way you'll get better. I'll get the ball rolling with this paragraph.

The sound blared throughout the concert hall because of the vast acoustics allowing said sound to be amplified to greater levels of magnitude. Six pillars supported the great dome like roof covered in fresco artwork created by skilled hands which gave the crowd the illusion that they sat in the heavens own ball. The pillars themselves were a classic example of Greek architecture with large statues of heroes long gone clinging to their side as if they carried the night sky over a dark abyss. Balconies in between the pillars were filled with the aristocracy and the nobility, dressed in silk outfits which were rivalled only by the texture of the massive drapes in comfort. Said drapes cloaked the concert hall in a vast array of rich,warm colours such as maroon and the purple of royalty.
The stage was a peasant's posture off the ground and stretched from one end to the other. Seated were the orchestras with polished instruments capable of plucking the strings that made your heart stop and enjoy the harsh sounds of the shining brass infantry. Standing in front of the skilled musicians was the conductor, a man who spent his entire life in the corridors of this labyrinth of the highest quality materials and finest workmanship. Behind the conductor sat the crowd who were aching to see the main act. They were vast in number, as the night was oversold, with the peasants at the back out of sight and the rich nobles at the front where the phosphorescent glow of dozens of lamps coated them like a layer of sweet honey.
At the edge of the stage stood a young pianist who lacked the sight to know what went on around him but had the ear and was capable of masterful finger work on his desired instrument. He was escorted to his seat at the grand piano in the centre of the stage by a lowly worker at the amphitheatre. The jet black polish of the piano shined as he ran his fingers through his jet black hair. The entire hall lay in silence as his fingers ran across the cold ivory keys of the piano. He positioned his fingers carefully on the keys and began to savour the moment he worked so long for. And then it began.

Also please Vote for the Escapist today guys.

 

[Fairee]

Ok, seeing as no one was interested in this thread, I'll use it to unleash some of my darker thoughts. I'll even spoiler it so that those who thinks "oh great, she's depressed again" can completely ignore it.

Spoiler: My story. Hope it's not too dark.

Sat here, all alone once again. Dreaming, remembering, how long it seems to have been. Lonely, desperate, longing to move on....
It's all his fault really. At least, that's what I'm telling myself. This time, I can blame him, say it's all his fault and otherwise I wouldn't be here. I told him to drop it, to leave me alone. He just kept pushing, what's wrong, tell me about it. He can be so persuasive at times. Or maybe I'm just weak....
Sadly tonight no one will notice. The parents are in bed, and I never know whether Joe's around or not. He could be in his room, avoiding us again, engrossed in his games. Or he could be at a mates house. A late gig, or hanging out at the pub, any excuse at all....
Stroking the metal gives me a strange thrill. It's terrifying, the thought of what I'm about to do. But also such a brave leap, a decision which takes determination and courage. I'm shaking with nerves, but I'm going to do it. There's no other option....
The knock on the door scares the life out of me. I stuff my precious possession under the blankets, and move to the edge of the bed. "Hello?"
"It's me, sis. Mind if I come in?"
Joe may have asked, but I don't have a choice. He walks in before I can answer, we always do. The light floods in from the hallway, his tall broad figure casting a shadow across my room. "What?"
He kneels before me, tears glistening from the candles I always light. He takes my hands in his, and seems to hold on for dear life. Like somehow he knows....
After a moment, he regains his composure. "I know what today is, Sam. I know what you're planning to do."
I snorted with laughter. "You know, do you? You know what it's like, losing the one person who means everything to you? You know how much it hurts, that they were betrayed by your own brother?"
He's nervous now. He only ever stutters when he's nervous. "I-I-I'm sorry, Sam, really I am. You-you never told me. A-and nei-either did he...."
"This isn't about me," I told him, cold and heartless.
He sniffed. "It isn't? I thought, well, it's j-just you...."
"You thought I fell apart, didn't you? You thought I couldn't cope with him going. You thought that I was going to do the same."
He nods, and looks down, too ashamed to even look me in the eye. But I grab his face and make him. The tears are falling, thick and fast, but I don't care. I never cared.
"He was your best mate, Joe. He trusted you. He always did exactly what you said. You knew he couldn't cope without you. And still, you played with him like a puppet."
He sniffs. "That knife isn't for me. It isn't because I can't cope with what he did." I draw it out from under the covers, and pull him towards me. I drop my voice to a whisper, so he barely hears me say, "It's because I can't cope with what you did." Then before he can work it out, the knife is across his neck and he's gone.
I grab the bag from my bed and run. Down the stairs, out the door, then keep on going. Finally, I'm free.

 

[DC_Josh]

Ok, seeing as no one was interested in this thread, I'll use it to unleash some of my darker thoughts. I'll even spoiler it so that those who thinks "oh great, she's depressed again" can completely ignore it.

Spoiler: My story. Hope it's not too dark.

Sat here, all alone once again. Dreaming, remembering, how long it seems to have been. Lonely, desperate, longing to move on....
It's all his fault really. At least, that's what I'm telling myself. This time, I can blame him, say it's all his fault and otherwise I wouldn't be here. I told him to drop it, to leave me alone. He just kept pushing, what's wrong, tell me about it. He can be so persuasive at times. Or maybe I'm just weak....
Sadly tonight no one will notice. The parents are in bed, and I never know whether Joe's around or not. He could be in his room, avoiding us again, engrossed in his games. Or he could be at a mates house. A late gig, or hanging out at the pub, any excuse at all....
Stroking the metal gives me a strange thrill. It's terrifying, the thought of what I'm about to do. But also such a brave leap, a decision which takes determination and courage. I'm shaking with nerves, but I'm going to do it. There's no other option....
The knock on the door scares the life out of me. I stuff my precious possession under the blankets, and move to the edge of the bed. "Hello?"
"It's me, sis. Mind if I come in?"
Joe may have asked, but I don't have a choice. He walks in before I can answer, we always do. The light floods in from the hallway, his tall broad figure casting a shadow across my room. "What?"
He kneels before me, tears glistening from the candles I always light. He takes my hands in his, and seems to hold on for dear life. Like somehow he knows....
After a moment, he regains his composure. "I know what today is, Sam. I know what you're planning to do."
I snorted with laughter. "You know, do you? You know what it's like, losing the one person who means everything to you? You know how much it hurts, that they were betrayed by your own brother?"
He's nervous now. He only ever stutters when he's nervous. "I-I-I'm sorry, Sam, really I am. You-you never told me. A-and nei-either did he...."
"This isn't about me," I told him, cold and heartless.
He sniffed. "It isn't? I thought, well, it's j-just you...."
"You thought I fell apart, didn't you? You thought I couldn't cope with him going. You thought that I was going to do the same."
He nods, and looks down, too ashamed to even look me in the eye. But I grab his face and make him. The tears are falling, thick and fast, but I don't care. I never cared.
"He was your best mate, Joe. He trusted you. He always did exactly what you said. You knew he couldn't cope without you. And still, you played with him like a puppet."
He sniffs. "That knife isn't for me. It isn't because I can't cope with what he did." I draw it out from under the covers, and pull him towards me. I drop my voice to a whisper, so he barely hears me say, "It's because I can't cope with what you did." Then before he can work it out, the knife is across his neck and he's gone.
I grab the bag from my bed and run. Down the stairs, out the door, then keep on going. Finally, I'm free.

The tone is well structures and after a couple of read throughs, the plot (or at least implied plot) is evident without being "gushy emo sadness". Its a story that can be translated into diffrent settings, such is the meaning of it universal. The speech sections could possbly do with another look, maybe to create a little more tension, which lacked a bit when compared to the rest of the emotive track. Keep up the good work

 

[ix_tab]

It's ok. It's well written but not attention grabbing.

 

[GodsOneMistake]

My Cat died is a short story...


EDIT: Not literally my cats fine

 

[bad rider]

My Cat died is a short story...


EDIT: Not literally my cats fine

You mean in an artsy way or a "on the inside type thing"

 

[Trivun]

Ok, seeing as no one was interested in this thread, I'll use it to unleash some of my darker thoughts. I'll even spoiler it so that those who thinks "oh great, she's depressed again" can completely ignore it.

Spoiler: My story. Hope it's not too dark.

Sat here, all alone once again. Dreaming, remembering, how long it seems to have been. Lonely, desperate, longing to move on....
It's all his fault really. At least, that's what I'm telling myself. This time, I can blame him, say it's all his fault and otherwise I wouldn't be here. I told him to drop it, to leave me alone. He just kept pushing, what's wrong, tell me about it. He can be so persuasive at times. Or maybe I'm just weak....
Sadly tonight no one will notice. The parents are in bed, and I never know whether Joe's around or not. He could be in his room, avoiding us again, engrossed in his games. Or he could be at a mates house. A late gig, or hanging out at the pub, any excuse at all....
Stroking the metal gives me a strange thrill. It's terrifying, the thought of what I'm about to do. But also such a brave leap, a decision which takes determination and courage. I'm shaking with nerves, but I'm going to do it. There's no other option....
The knock on the door scares the life out of me. I stuff my precious possession under the blankets, and move to the edge of the bed. "Hello?"
"It's me, sis. Mind if I come in?"
Joe may have asked, but I don't have a choice. He walks in before I can answer, we always do. The light floods in from the hallway, his tall broad figure casting a shadow across my room. "What?"
He kneels before me, tears glistening from the candles I always light. He takes my hands in his, and seems to hold on for dear life. Like somehow he knows....
After a moment, he regains his composure. "I know what today is, Sam. I know what you're planning to do."
I snorted with laughter. "You know, do you? You know what it's like, losing the one person who means everything to you? You know how much it hurts, that they were betrayed by your own brother?"
He's nervous now. He only ever stutters when he's nervous. "I-I-I'm sorry, Sam, really I am. You-you never told me. A-and nei-either did he...."
"This isn't about me," I told him, cold and heartless.
He sniffed. "It isn't? I thought, well, it's j-just you...."
"You thought I fell apart, didn't you? You thought I couldn't cope with him going. You thought that I was going to do the same."
He nods, and looks down, too ashamed to even look me in the eye. But I grab his face and make him. The tears are falling, thick and fast, but I don't care. I never cared.
"He was your best mate, Joe. He trusted you. He always did exactly what you said. You knew he couldn't cope without you. And still, you played with him like a puppet."
He sniffs. "That knife isn't for me. It isn't because I can't cope with what he did." I draw it out from under the covers, and pull him towards me. I drop my voice to a whisper, so he barely hears me say, "It's because I can't cope with what you did." Then before he can work it out, the knife is across his neck and he's gone.
I grab the bag from my bed and run. Down the stairs, out the door, then keep on going. Finally, I'm free.

I have to say I really like this. It's interesting and draws you in, and I like that we never find out the true backstory, it gives a great hint of mystery and adds to the darkness surrounding the rest of the plot. Well written, realistic language and great characters. Given it's a short story, it's good that it focuses on one particular part of these events. It's like, I do film-making as a hobby and I've learned through the society at university that a short film needs to be like a single scene or cutaway part of events. It needs to get to the point straight away and not waste time making the characters or the backstory more evident, as this wastes time. It's OK in a proper feature length production, but not for a short movie. And the same goes for short stories. You definitely hit the nail on the head with this one and I was really impressed by the tone and the mood, as well as the writing in general. Very good work, keep it up .

EDIT: I'll probably come up with my own short story for this thread eventually, but I don't have time yet as I need to do my coursework now (Half past eleven and I still haven't done most of it, and it's due tomorrow afternoon - damn...).

 

[SamuelT]

The sound blared throughout the concert hall because of the vast acoustics allowing said sound to be amplified to greater levels of magnitude. Six pillars supported the great dome like roof covered in fresco artwork created by skilled hands which gave the crowd the illusion that they sat in the heavens own ball. The pillars themselves were a classic example of Greek architecture with large statues of heroes long gone clinging to their side as if they carried the night sky over a dark abyss. Balconies in between the pillars were filled with the aristocracy and the nobility, dressed in silk outfits which were rivalled only by the texture of the massive drapes in comfort. Said drapes cloaked the concert hall in a vast array of rich,warm colours such as maroon and the purple of royalty.

The stage was a peasant's posture off the ground and stretched from one end to the other. Seated were the orchestras with polished instruments capable of plucking the strings that made your heart stop and enjoy the harsh sounds of the shining brass infantry. Standing in front of the skilled musicians was the conductor, a man who spent his entire life in the corridors of this labyrinth of the highest quality materials and finest workmanship. Behind the conductor sat the crowd who were aching to see the main act. They were vast in number, as the night was oversold, with the peasants at the back out of sight and the rich nobles at the front where the phosphorescent glow of dozens of lamps coated them like a layer of sweet honey.

At the edge of the stage stood a young pianist who lacked the sight to know what went on around him but had the ear and was capable of masterful finger work on his desired instrument. He was escorted to his seat at the grand piano in the centre of the stage by a lowly worker at the amphitheatre. The jet black polish of the piano shined as he ran his fingers through his jet black hair. The entire hall lay in silence as his fingers ran across the cold ivory keys of the piano. He positioned his fingers carefully on the keys and began to savour the moment he worked so long for. And then it began.

I've got a few pointers, if you don't mind.

You use a few cliché words, like "Jet black" and "A layer of sweet honey". Try to avoid those things, and really describe what's happening. When something is black, call it black.

Also, you use some words twice in the same sentence, that can be distracting.

Never, ever start a sentence with a gerund. It's a poor construct, and breaks flow of a scene.

And this last sentence:

"He positioned his fingers carefully on the keys and began to savour the moment he worked so long for. And then it began."

Someone savours something in a moment, they don't begin with it. Also, you use began twice. 'it' is a very general term. If he starts playing, use something like: "Then he started to play"

Yes, I'm very aware of my hypocracy and the fact that my spelling sucks, but I'm dutch...

Just take it for what it is, or leave it and ignore it. I'm not attacking you, but just giving some pointers.

 

[DrDeath3191]

I'm by no means a writer, but here's my feeble attempt.
There once was a carpenter. He lived in the forest with his son. They were both very happy.

One day, as the boy was playing in the forest, he caught his foot on a tree root. He fell down a cliff and broke both his legs.

His father saw him in such a state, and immediately set out to work. He got some wood together, and fashioned two suitable legs for his child. After he put them on, his child asked him, "Father, am I still human?" "What do you mean?" said the carpenter, clearly perplexed that his son even thought of such a question. "Of course you are human. You are my son, and I love you." "But I can no longer set foot upon this world," replied the boy. "Nonsense," said the carpenter, "you shall step upon this world with stronger force than you ever had before!" The boy, thoroughly convinced, went on to play. And the family was happy again.

Then one day, the boy was down by a quarry. He loved to play there. He loved the rocks, and how one's voice had a strong echo. One day, the boy yelled a bit too loudly, causing some loose rocks to fall. The rocks crushed his arms.

His father saw what had happened to his son, and fashioned new arms on the spot. The boy asked again, "Father, am I human?" "Of course you are! You are my son, and I love you," replied the carpenter. "But Father, I can no longer touch the world." "Poppycock! You will have the strongest grip of any young boy!" The boy was harder to convince this time. However, he eventually went along with it. And the family was happy again.

Things stayed happy for a long time. The boy became a young man in that time. No time for fun and games. Then one day, the boy was walking down the street when he met a beautiful young girl. She was beautiful. The pair became great friends. They had many adventures together, and eventually fell in love. Then, suddenly, she was gone. The boy looked everywhere for her. She just disappeared, without a trace. The boy had a broken heart.

The carpenter, now getting on in years, saw the boy's face, and instinctively knew. He went out and made him a new heart; one that was far stronger than the old one. For the third time, his son asked, "Father, am I human?" "Of course. You are my son, and I love you." "But I can no longer love the world." "Nonsense! You shall love harder than you ever have before!" The boy merely stared at his father, and left.

The boy looked at his faux form. Arms, legs, heart; none of it was his own. He became distraught. "By God, I am no human! What human cannot feel the earth on his toes, or a woman's embrace with his arms? What man can live not able to love? I am no man." He made a decision. He went to the closet. He grabbed the metal handle. He felt nothing. He put it to his temple. He felt nothing. He pulled the trigger...

The shot woke the carpenter. When the old man saw this scene, he was very distraught. The boy's brain was completely destroyed. He got to work. He made him a new head, complete with a new brain. He waited for his son to ask him the question again. He boy remained still. "... Son?" he asked tentatively. "Please get up." The boy did no such thing. "Please?" Even the magic word was powerless. "You are my son, and I love you. Please... Get up!" There was no motion. The carpenter, left with nothing, burned his whole house down. "There shall be no memory of this! I will not allow people to see my folly!" And with that he was off, never to be seen again.

 

[Internet Kraken]

Spoiler: Here's my short story

The end

 

[Trivun]

Spoiler: Here's my short story

The end

Was that meant as a joke? Because it wasn't very funny. Personally I'm hoping this thread does what the Art thread and my own (failed, admittedly) Indie Games thread did, that is, become a place for people to share their creativity and comment and provide constructive criticism for other people's work. The Art thread did it, and is still going strong. My Indie Games thread tried (and failed, but that's probably because not that many Escapists make their own internet games), and is open for all. This thread is a great idea and I applaud the OP for such great thinking, so please try and take it a bit more seriously? If I'd posted a story before now and you'd done that then I'd be pretty pissed off. Can you just have some respect for the people who actually want to share their creativity here please? Thank you.

 

[tanithwolf]

Interesting thread. I have a story I wrote a while back for a 40k short story competition. If anyone's interested here it is. I'd appreciate any positive feedback as I plan to write more.

Fenrir Doomseeker

There the two warriors stood facing each other, blooded weapons held tightly. Both champions of their sides. One a fallen member of the Thousand Sons and one a brave warrior of Fenris. They were both wounded badly, but neither could give in. This duel would sway the battle, without a leader either side?s forces would fall. Neither would give their ground, only one would survive today. The fallen one broke into a string of evil curses. The Warrior of Fenris gave a feral snarl in return and spat a gobbet of blood to his side.
?Hold your tongue traitorous filth, You will not live long enough to regret renouncing the oath you swore to serve the emperor.? the Space Wolf growled.
?Your faith in the false emperor will avail you nothing. I am Gleipnir the Deceiver and I shall deliver unto you your death.?
With a battle cry the Space Wolf charged. Gleipnir merely waited and once the Space Wolf was in striking distance he struck the blade from his hand, and knocked him down. Gleipnir smiled cruelly down at the warrior on the ground and shoved his sword to the hilt through the Space Wolves shoulder. The Space Wolf howled in pain and anger.
Gleipnir continued to smile as he spoke aloud ?Your death has come pup, accept it. You are doomed to be forgotten as the bodies of you and the rest of your fellow pups rot to nothing.?
?My name is Fenrir and I refuse to die to a traitor like you? the Space Wolf growled and with a howl he kicked Gleipnir back and stood up clutching the hilt of the sword. Fenrir started to speak ?If it is my destiny to die this day, then I will not die alone.?
With that he savagely wrenched the sword from his shoulder, severing his arm. Lunging forward he swung the blade and severed Gleipnir?s head. With a triumphant cry he stuck the sword through the head and held it up for all to see. Joining in his cry his battle brothers charged forward into the enemy striking with brutal blows. It wasn?t long before the enemy broke and began to run.

Fenrir awoke with a start, looking around he realised he was in his sleeping quarters aboard the ship The Wrath of Fenris. It had been a long time since that faithful day, but it still haunted his dreams. His augmetic arm was bothering him, he would have to ask the iron priest about that. Of course it had never truly felt like a good replacement, but it had saved him in a number of battles and for that he was grateful. The sound of his vox activating brought him out of his reverie. He looked at the console screen to see it was Skoll Sunchaser, his second in command. He pushed the button to enable the vox.
?Are we there??
?Yes Lord we?ve just entered orbit, what are your orders??
?Gather all the wolves in the hanger, today another stronghold of the Thousand Sons shall fall?
?Very good sir?
Fenrir heard the call for assembly and bent down to retrieve his sword from the floor. As he did so he spoke to the blade, ?Looking forward to spilling the blood of more of your comrades??
He gave a grim smile as he felt the soul of Gleipnir screaming out in anger from what was once his blade.

 

[Internet Kraken]

Spoiler: Here's my short story

The end

Was that meant as a joke? Because it wasn't very funny. Personally I'm hoping this thread does what the Art thread and my own (failed, admittedly) Indie Games thread did, that is, become a place for people to share their creativity and comment and provide constructive criticism for other people's work. The Art thread did it, and is still going strong. My Indie Games thread tried (and failed, but that's probably because not that many Escapists make their own internet games), and is open for all. This thread is a great idea and I applaud the OP for such great thinking, so please try and take it a bit more seriously? If I'd posted a story before now and you'd done that then I'd be pretty pissed off. Can you just have some respect for the people who actually want to share their creativity here please? Thank you.

Wow, seriously?

 

[Trivun]

Spoiler: Here's my short story

The end

Was that meant as a joke? Because it wasn't very funny. Personally I'm hoping this thread does what the Art thread and my own (failed, admittedly) Indie Games thread did, that is, become a place for people to share their creativity and comment and provide constructive criticism for other people's work. The Art thread did it, and is still going strong. My Indie Games thread tried (and failed, but that's probably because not that many Escapists make their own internet games), and is open for all. This thread is a great idea and I applaud the OP for such great thinking, so please try and take it a bit more seriously? If I'd posted a story before now and you'd done that then I'd be pretty pissed off. Can you just have some respect for the people who actually want to share their creativity here please? Thank you.

Wow, seriously?

Yep. Please don't try sarcasm either, no-one appreciates it and I don't care how many posts you have, a troll can be anyone and strike anytime. I'm not saying you are one, of course, but I want to see more good stories, not your short pointless comments.

 

[Internet Kraken]

Spoiler: Here's my short story

The end

Was that meant as a joke? Because it wasn't very funny. Personally I'm hoping this thread does what the Art thread and my own (failed, admittedly) Indie Games thread did, that is, become a place for people to share their creativity and comment and provide constructive criticism for other people's work. The Art thread did it, and is still going strong. My Indie Games thread tried (and failed, but that's probably because not that many Escapists make their own internet games), and is open for all. This thread is a great idea and I applaud the OP for such great thinking, so please try and take it a bit more seriously? If I'd posted a story before now and you'd done that then I'd be pretty pissed off. Can you just have some respect for the people who actually want to share their creativity here please? Thank you.

Wow, seriously?

Yep. Please don't try sarcasm either, no-one appreciates it and I don't care how many posts you have, a troll can be anyone and strike anytime. I'm not saying you are one, of course, but I want to see more good stories, not your short pointless comments.

Well that's to bad because this is a short pointless comment.

Seriously calm down. It was an intentionally bad joke that would have had no effect if you had just ignored it. Instead you wrote out an entire paragraph on why I should be ashamed.

 

[Delicious]

Spoiler: Here's my short story

The end

That was indeed a short story.

I already posted a short story in another thread, am I allowed to repost it here?

EDIT: That is a yes! Anyway, this is a fable. I think.

Gather around. There is a story to be a told. It is about a turtle.

Not just any turtle, a red turtle. Or to you colorblind people a green turtle. I don't care about your problems. Anyway, the red/green turtle was doing turtely things in a turtle-like fashion when he noticed something odd.

There was a plant in the middle of a white room. The plant wasn't odd, the room was. He had never been inside of a room before. But he quickly forgot this, as he is a turtle, and slowly creeped up to the plant.

"Hello", said the turtle.
The plant didn't reply.
"Hello", said the turtle.
The plant stared at him.
"Why are you staring Mr. Plant?"
Wind chimes outside the white room began their song, and the plant waved.
"Hello", said the turtle.

The turtle then ate the plant. And the room. And the wind chimes. Soon he came to be a size that rivaled that of other large things that people usually think about it such as elephants or those large exercise balls that people claim to use for "fixing their back" but we all know they just want to bounce on them because they are possibly the best most bounciest items to bounce on ever.

Turtles don't bounce. I've tried.

The turtle knew this, without thinking about it. He has no knees, so he cannot jump and thus cannot find himselve in the situation that neccesitates bouncing.

No knees. Like an elephant.
The elephant that challenged him. He was a pink elephant, and looked like the turtle if the turtle was an elephant. And pink. But the turtle wasn't. So he didn't look like the elephant. The elephant knew this, and this enraged him.

But he did nothing. The turtle too, did nothing.

And that is why we water our plants. To avoid feeding them to the turtle in the white room. Fin.

 

[Trivun]

Spoiler: Here's my short story

The end

Was that meant as a joke? Because it wasn't very funny. Personally I'm hoping this thread does what the Art thread and my own (failed, admittedly) Indie Games thread did, that is, become a place for people to share their creativity and comment and provide constructive criticism for other people's work. The Art thread did it, and is still going strong. My Indie Games thread tried (and failed, but that's probably because not that many Escapists make their own internet games), and is open for all. This thread is a great idea and I applaud the OP for such great thinking, so please try and take it a bit more seriously? If I'd posted a story before now and you'd done that then I'd be pretty pissed off. Can you just have some respect for the people who actually want to share their creativity here please? Thank you.

Wow, seriously?

Yep. Please don't try sarcasm either, no-one appreciates it and I don't care how many posts you have, a troll can be anyone and strike anytime. I'm not saying you are one, of course, but I want to see more good stories, not your short pointless comments.

Well that's to bad because this is a short pointless comment.

Seriously calm down. It was an intentionally bad joke that would have had no effect if you had just ignored it. Instead you wrote out an entire paragraph on why I should be ashamed.

Actually, I didn't do the paragraph on why you should be ashamed. I just did it to get my own feelings across. However, it is starting to get out of hand and I've said what I wanted to say anyway, so I'll leave it now, no more arguing, else this will just get stupid. If there's any problem then I apologise, but I still feel I made an important point. Anyway, it's over now.

That said, maybe I should write a short story on this? Might be interesting, or then again, maybe not...

EDIT:

Spoiler: Here's my short story

The end

That was indeed a short story.

I already posted a short story in another thread, am I allowed to repost it here?

Yes, of course, why wouldn't you? I look forward to reading it .

 

[SamuelT]

I've got an action sequence, but don't expect much of it:

The two warriors stood to face each other amidst a sea of chaos. Around them men fought and died. But Glenn could see her rival. The moment they locked eyes, she had known. This was their final confrontation. A soldier clad in red stormed at Glenn. She ducked under the blow and sliced open his chest. He sagged to the ground. Suddenly some smoke engulfed her, probably from the siege-fires. For a few moments, she couldn't see for two meters. When a gust of wind blew it away, she could see her rival storm at her, her sword held high and a dagger held low. Glenn smiled. Irene had always preferred fighting with two weapons. She carved a way through the soldiers. Glenn waited for her.

When Irene reached her she raised her blade and stabbed at her, trying to end this with a first and final blow. Irene sidestepped and hacked at her with the broadsword. Glenn parried and attacked at her left side. Irene didn't parry, but tackled Glenn instead. They fell to the ground, and Glenn got kicked by someone, probably another fighter. She threw Irene off her and stood. She drew a sharp breath when she couldn't find her sword anywhere. Irene advanced on her, grinning. Glenn looked around frantically, trying to find a weapon. any weapon

She saw a spear a few meters away, and she made a wild dash for it. Another red-clad soldier barred her way, but she punched him in the face with her armored fist. She picked up the spear and turned around, only to recieve a blow to the stomach. Glenn gasped for air and let the spear slip from her hands. Irene's dagger didn't penetrate her mail, but it still hurt. Irene stepped back to finish this with her sword, but Glenn didn't allow that. She stepped forward, grabbed Irene's wrist with one hand and wrested out the dagger with the other. While still holding Irene's wrist, she pulled her forward. Irene stumbled.

Glenn sank the dagger in her exposed throat.

Irene made a gurgeling sound before she fell to the earth. Glenn looked at her with a heavy heart. She didn't have time to mourn Irene's passing though...

She had some gods to overthrow.

(It's a part of something larger.)

 

[Trivun]

I've got an action sequence, but don't expect much of it:

Spoiler: snip

The two warriors stood to face each other amidst a sea of chaos. Around them men fought and died. But Glenn could see her rival. The moment they locked eyes, she had known. This was their final confrontation. A soldier clad in red stormed at Glenn. She ducked under the blow and sliced open his chest. He sagged to the ground. Suddenly some smoke engulfed her, probably from the siege-fires. For a few moments, she couldn't see for two meters. When a gust of wind blew it away, she could see her rival storm at her, her sword held high and a dagger held low. Glenn smiled. Irene had always preferred fighting with two weapons. She carved a way through the soldiers. Glenn waited for her.

When Irene reached her she raised her blade and stabbed at her, trying to end this with a first and final blow. Irene sidestepped and hacked at her with the broadsword. Glenn parried and attacked at her left side. Irene didn't parry, but tackled Glenn instead. They fell to the ground, and Glenn got kicked by someone, probably another fighter. She threw Irene off her and stood. She drew a sharp breath when she couldn't find her sword anywhere. Irene advanced on her, grinning. Glenn looked around frantically, trying to find a weapon. any weapon

She saw a spear a few meters away, and she made a wild dash for it. Another red-clad soldier barred her way, but she punched him in the face with her armored fist. She picked up the spear and turned around, only to recieve a blow to the stomach. Glenn gasped for air and let the spear slip from her hands. Irene's dagger didn't penetrate her mail, but it still hurt. Irene stepped back to finish this with her sword, but Glenn didn't allow that. She stepped forward, grabbed Irene's wrist with one hand and wrested out the dagger with the other. While still holding Irene's wrist, she pulled her forward. Irene stumbled.

Glenn sank the dagger in her exposed throat.

Irene made a gurgeling sound before she fell to the earth. Glenn looked at her with a heavy heart. She didn't have time to mourn Irene's passing though...

She had some gods to overthrow.

(It's a part of something larger.)

Quite nice, I like it, but I think the general use of language could be slightly better. I won't go into specifics, save for the final paragraph. I think that could probably be got rid of, you could just say something like "She died", although obviously not that simple. That exact sentence I suggested would make it worse, but something along those lines. I think "gurgling" is a pretty odd use of language at that point given the style so far. Overall, pretty impressive though, just needs tweaking a little bit.

 

[internutt]

I wrote this about three years ago now. Its still pretty good I think.

I call this short story: The Beast

Spoiler

Peter looked lovingly into her eyes. Her name was Hannah, and she has been with him all his life. But she was not his, she never was. Like a possessed monster he could not stop himself looking deeply into the cavernous eyes, as if he was searching for something in the dark he did not want to miss a single detail. He leaned his head closer to hers and gently kissed her right cheek. She did not respond, nor did she even breathe, she remained as motionless and as unknowingly happy as before. In a deep rage he threw the photograph to the floor.

In all his achievements up to his current age, he was defeated by himself. A shy man embarrassed by the feelings he had for his colleague, he would never approach her, for fear of rejection, a fear greater then the terrible beast which made him famous. A strong man of thirty five, he was always one for adventure; the prospect of it excited him. At the age of twenty seven he joined a group of adventurous people, such as himself on an expedition which brought him his fortune.

The letter which accompanied the picture was reason enough for any man to be nervous. There was going to be a press conference and party celebrating the find of the century, his find. As much as he tried to convince himself as he got dressed into his best suit that it was not Hannah, but the public which brought him to New York, he could not stop the scene playing out in his head. He would go up to her and ask her for a dance and she would take his hand. He grabbed his expensive aftershave and slapped it on. More of the film began to play in front of him. The fearless man and his team were scouting the woodlands, searching for the beast of legends, the Unicorn. He recalled one time when he was alone with her. He laughed at himself for being the spineless coward. When it came down to it the lion was no more than a cat.
?When I came on this treasure hunt I was expecting something more productive to be happening.?
?Surely the prospect of finding the great stallion of legends, the one who matches the strands of hair we found is productive!?
?It has been almost a year; we cannot simply find this beast with our eyes.?
?Then why are you here? Like me is it the prospect of finding such a beauty and sharing it with the world??
?I do not wish to profit from this experience, I value the company you have given me during this time.?
?The constant bickering??

Calling for his limo he viewed the sacrifice he made for what he thought was true happiness. The glorious prison he called home, it was dark so the delicious marble and brick was not quite visible as he climbed into his chariot. The warm glow of love emitting from the windows calmed him slightly as his driver took him towards the press conference. Referring back to his pre-written speech, he now began to see the knife sticking out of his dead body. He had plenty of chances to ask her out, why would this time be different? They may not have seen each other for six years, but he was the same old mute wanting to express his feelings through speech. His brow began to sweat and his leather seat began to feel uncomfortable, he was shaking more than a pair of maracas.
?Marcus pull over!? He shouted with all his might and his driver did as he was told.

Peter began to open his door, the child lock prevented him from doing so. He bashed and roared at his new prison, doing his best to break free, like the creature he captured. After what seemed like an eternity Marcus opened the door and the free man clambered out. He knelt on the cold pavement and cried. Muttering ?I cannot go on? over and over. Marcus placed his hand on his master's shoulder. As much as he wanted to accept the comfort he could not. Marcus' love was not real, like Hannah's might be, he was but a man earning his money as best as possible.
?Sir, we are making good time, please tell me what ails you, so that we may continue your ride!?

?It told me Marcus! As much as I want to forget the voice... it told me!?
Marcus lifted him up to his feet and led him back to the limo.
?Sir, as you know there is your stash of Whisky in your compartment. Please drink some and calm yourself before your big night in front of the press!?

The limo began its journey once more as Peter hunted for his drink. He pounced and sucked as much of it dry as possible, gasping only for short breaths. He ordered Marcus to stop once more and he let as much of the demon to leave his stomach as he could. The final installment of the journey did not last long, and soon he reached the red carpet he sought all his life. Marcus wished him good luck as he stepped out to the cheering crowds. Their love for him made him feel better. The Unicorn however, did not.

He waved to them and signed autographs, the one who captured the Unicorn, thus proving its existence to the world. Finally making it to the press conference he halted; hunters were everywhere. The paparazzi where everywhere, and in the centre of the camp was his game. A white mare with a diamond horn, glittering on her right hand.

Just like the chilling voice told him as he captured the poor beast.
?To capture a grace as me is a terrible thing. I curse you in that you will become rich from me, but thou art lonely in a life only of riches. The person you care for shall find new love and live on!?
He laughed and spat at the beast then, but now as he saw Hannah, she had indeed moved on and was married to another man, he realised the truth now. He never hunted the Beast, for the beast was him.