Original Short Stories

AddleBoy

AddleBoy

Invader from the Bottom of the Sea!
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I've decided to make a thread so I would have a place to post a few of my short stories. Just be warned that some of these stories may seem pretty random.

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Have you ever played a game of solo Russian Roulette? The idea may sound idiotic at first, but there's benefit if you're not exactly lookin' to win.

A bullet to the head. The fast way out. They say that a bullet straight to the head shouldn't hurt at all. A painless death, or so they say... It's not as if there's anyone left to tell the tale. Frankly, I don't give a damn if it's painless or not.

I load a single bullet into the chamber of my magnum revolver, spin it, and lock it in place. The muzzle goes to my head, the gun is cocked, and my finger pulls the trigger.

CLICK!

Nothing. I guess I lucked out, though it's not surprising. This gun being a six-shooter, I have a one out of six chance of blowing my brains out. No problem, though. All I have to do is keep going; keep pulling the trigger. It may take a while, but again no problem. I've got all the time in the world.

The steps are easy:
-Put the muzzle to your head.
-Cock the gun.
-Pull the trigger.
-Repeat.

A four step method for killing your self with guaranteed results.

CLICK!

Again, no bullet.

Those who know me would say that this way of death is pretty ironic. This isn't the first time I've played Russian Roulette, you know. Of course, I wasn't playing alone those times. And needless to say, I won each and every time.

Poor bastards. Their only fault was thinking that Russian Roulette was just a high stakes game of luck. If you don't pay enough attention, you'll lose your life, among other things. Some would call it cheating, but I'd call it not putting a bullet through my head.

I wouldn't have imagined putting the gun to my own head with the purpose of losing.

CLICK!

Empty.

I guess you could say that my whole life was just a big game of Russian Roulette. I've made many life or death gambles; cocking the gun and pulling the trigger repeatedly. I guess my luck just ran out today.

CLICK!

The process is taking a little longer than I thought it would. I repeat the algorithm, regardless.

CLICK!

For those of you who lost count or just didn't give enough of a damn to pay attention, that "CLICK" signified the fifth shot. This gun is a six shooter loaded with one bullet. Five of those six shots have already been fired. Are you keeping up with me? That could mean one of two things: Either the bullet I loaded was a dud and I've already fired that shot or the bullet is waiting for me in this last shot.

Either way, this will all come to an end in the next shot. I repeat my steps for the last time.

Muzzle to head.

Gun cocked.

Trigger pull--

"Wait!"

I hear an unfamiliar yet pleading voice from nearby, and my finger stops moving. That's when I realize that one of the maids working for the hotel I'm staying at is standing in the doorway to my room. She must be here to change the bed sheets, or something.

"Stop! Don't do it!" she orders.

"Why?" I ask in my dead-pan voice. "You're not going to tell me that I've got a lot to live for, or some crap like that are you?"

"No! Who the hell do you think is going to have to clean this room up after you make a bloody mess out of it?! Picking up little chunks of brain and skull were not apart of the job description." She answers firmly as she comes into my room, scoots me off of the bed, and begins to hurriedly change the sheets.

I do nothing but stand out of her way and watch her work. I think her hands are trembling. I'm still holding the cocked gun in my hand.

When she's done, she takes the dirty sheets and leaves one final warning before leaving the room. "This room better be clean when I get back or there'll be hell to pay!" Leaving her threat behind, she closes the door.

I'm sorry Miss Maid, but that's something I can't guarantee. I sit back on the bed and put the gun to my head once more....


CLICK!


God must either love me or hate me....
 
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Here's another short story I thought of while I was in the shout box a little while ago. It sounds more like a story meant for children.:

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Once upon a time, there was a young boy who decided to climb a very, very high wall. Once the boy reached the top, he sat on the ledge in triumph. It was then that he realized just how high he was, and, like a scared kitten, was afraid to get back down. All he could do was stare down at the ground that was several feet below him.

After sitting a while in thought, the boy noticed a little bird that had flown down to sit next to him on the ledge.

The bird asked, "Why are you sitting all the way up here by yourself?"

----

That's all I have for now. I'll finish the rest of it and edit this post later.
 
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I really like the first one Addle, It was rather suspense filled. I love that last line. Keep it up, looking forward to the rest of your new one ^^
 
The first one is very good indeed. My initial thought towards it wasn't that great, when the maid came in. I had thought it would be a far more powerful story without dialogue but you managed it well. It'd be a nice twist with a different ending though - where there is a bullet in the final chamber.

You've got a really good knack for gripping the audience.
 
those stories were great

but wait didn't you forgot a line from the second story
 
Thank you all for your comments!

The stories that I will post here are mainly things that I came up with on a whim while I was in the shoutbox. And they were written there first. For instance, when I wrote the first story, I didn't really give an kind of warning, and Fusionist thought I was going to kill myself. O_O

I might write a slightly longer version of the first story later.

Juliet said:
The first one is very good indeed. My initial thought towards it wasn't that great, when the maid came in. I had thought it would be a far more powerful story without dialogue but you managed it well. It'd be a nice twist with a different ending though - where there is a bullet in the final chamber.

You've got a really good knack for gripping the audience.
Click to expand...

Actually, I should probably delete that last CLICK from the story because it makes it sound like there wasn't a bullet in there. I wanted the story to end with the reader not actually knowing whether or not there was a bullet left, and ending with the same line.

old snake said:
those stories were great

but wait didn't you forgot a line from the second story
Click to expand...

Am I? I don't really remember....
 
Your first story was very interesting. It makes the reader wonder what kind of person the narrator is to have played Russian Roulette on more than one occasion ^^

I also liked the technical terms you used, like "algorithm", and stating an actual type of gun instead of just blandly saying "gun".

The entrance of the maid was kind of the relief from the tension, but I'm can't say if I liked or disliked it.

Very good writing...Makes me want to actually post something in the thread I made a month ago o_O
 
An update!

I was in a really weird mood when I wrote this.... It doesn't make any sense, even to me... -_-

I'm not sure what else to say....

------

This cold and lonely place has become my prison for the past five years. Spending five years alone can take its toll on a person.

Well, I'm not completely alone. There's also Harry, but he doesn't say much of anything. All he does is huddle in the corner, not moving a single inch. Sometimes I question whether or not he's still alive. But he is still living.

If you were to ask him why he stays in the corner, unmoving, he would answer, "I am an orange. If I move I will burst and my juices will leak."

Actually, that's the ONLY thing he says. He repeats the statement as if to make it true. Whether he's saying it to me, himself, or no one at all, I don't know. Well, I don't remember seeing him eat a single thing since we've been in here. Maybe he's living off photosynthesis from the minimal sunlight we actually get in here?

I, on the other hand, have been without food for several days, and it is agonizing. Our food stores have run dry almost half a weak ago, and I fear death from starvation.

Times like these can make a man do horrendous things....

I approach Harry, who is still curled up in his corner. It's either you or me, Harry...

I take a satisfyingly large bite, and I fearfully think to myself how delicious it is. I continue to bite, and bite, and bite, and bite....

Still, Harry moves not an inch of himself. Instead, he continues to repeat his mantra as if it's the only thing keeping him in this world.

"I am an orange. If I move, I will burst and my juices will leak. I am an orange. If I move, I will burst and my juices will leak. I am an orange...."

Eventually, I even steal his voice away from him, and all that came forth were harsh gargles and spurts.

Harry was right about a few things, though. He moved, and he did burst and the juices did leak....everywhere. Scattered about the room were the remains of the being who was known as Harry.

But if there's one thing I'll remember about Harry, it's that he didn't taste anything like an orange.
 
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BalambFish said:
That was really weird but very interesting. I like the way how you express a complete story in so little words.

So what is Harry exactly???
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The only thing you would know about Harry is that he's definitely not an orange. :P

J/K

Harry's just a man. I was imagining L from Death Note when I wrote the story for some reason.
 
You're one of the rare few who can captivate really well when writing in first person. The short sentences that give a basic feel for the setting, but without actually revealing anything are great. Reminiscent of Stephen King.
 
Wow, thanks for your comment! I've never read any of Stephen King's book before, but I've seen some of the movies based off of his works.
 
Great stories, Master Cookie!

I loved the first one (is that really where it ends?)

and the third one about Harry. :)
(although I didn't understand the hidden message. I've been re-reading.)

You've got talent. I mean that.
 
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I like your writing. The first one was excellent. It actually surprised me how quickly you caught my interest; a real talent. I like the second one because most people think it's necessary for a story to have more depth, but I really like the simplicity. The third one was alright. I like that it was clear Harry had gone insane but there was too much logical thinking on the main character for him to suddenly decide to eat his cellmate. if it were longer I'm sure you would've elaborated on his train of thought more, though.
 
This one's not finished yet, but it's almost done.

-----------

I sit there on the church bench, fumbling with the book in my hands. As I stroke the leathery cover with my thumb, I can feel the embossed words "Holy Bible". I've never been a very religious person, but I always find myself flipping through its pages whenever I happen to find one. I skim through Genesis as I wait for time to pass.


The only reason I'm in a church right now is that there is a visitation today. That time a day or two before someone's funeral, in which relatives and friends of that person can come in, see the body, and talk among each other.


Who is this visitation for? Is it a relative of mine? Is it a close friend of mine? Or maybe just an acquaintance?


The answer to these questions is no. In all honesty, I do not recall ever meeting this person face-to-face. All I know is that she is the mother of a girl that used visit my aunt's house when I was a kid, and I only knew that because my mother told me so. Even the face of the girl I used to play with is forgotten. I know that she's here somewhere in this room, but I wouldn't be able to point her out. It's been quite a few years since the last time I've seen her. She must have changed a lot.


I'm sitting there on the long church bench. My niece is sitting there next to me silently. The coffin and the body are sitting at the front of the room.


My niece tugs at my shoulder and asks me quietly, "Do you want to go see her?" Of course she's referring to the body in the coffin. I know my niece well enough to understand that she really means "Can you go with me to see her?" since she's too afraid to go by herself.


I dryly reply, "Sure," and we both walk down the isle towards the coffin. A group of adults are standing at the foot of the coffin. Their conversation is interrupted only momentarily by our presence. We are standing silently at the side of the half-open coffin, looking at what was inside.


It was a body. The body of a woman dressed in the last clothes she would ever wear. Looking at her face didn't strike up any particular emotions. I still couldn't remember that face no matter how hard I tried, but there was something else, something unnatural about the body.


Just by looking, I could tell that those arms would never uncross themselves and hug her daughter again, that those eyes would look upon anyone else ever again. She was dead.


I take a moment to look around the large room. The adults are scattered about the room in random groups, talking and laughing amongst themselves. Times like these used to confuse me.


I think back a few years ago to my uncle's visitation. I sat alone at the back of the room. It was the same situation then as it is now: Adults scattered about the room engaged in light conversation, the body in the coffin up front.


Back then, I asked my mother, "How could people talk and laugh so casually when my uncle's dead body is just sitting there?"


My mother told me that visitation was a time for people to come together and remember the happy memories. My mother told me that the funeral was the proper place to mourn.


Sure enough, all the adults who were laughing and talking so cheerfully the day before were crying hysterically at the funeral the next day. Unfortunately, I won't be able to see the result of this visitation and attend tomorrow's funeral.


It made me wonder: Were people so cold as to cry their salt-less tears only when convenient, or do they hide their natural tears behind faux smiles?


As I stand there looking down into the coffin, I can feel moist drops land on the back of my hands. For some reason, I'm crying.
 
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Okay... *crackles knuckles* Here we go!

First off, I want to begin with the good. Your stories are very simple, down to the point and that is something I really like. Sentences aren't too wordy; your grammar is just foine; description is satisfactory and helps to "show" not "tell" (back to the basics!) But along with that, they're also quite interesting. Some more than others; however, they managed to capture my attention, which is a very good thing because that's the job of an author, right? To hook and reel.

Onto the not so good (though not so bad); it's more of an issue of style than anything else. There are some sentences I would either add a bit more to or rephrase in order to fix the repetitiveness. Like I said, nothing major, just a matter of personal style.

Other than that, these look pretty good. You should definitely post more.
 
First of all, thank you both for your reviews! ^^

Doaj said:
I like your writing. The first one was excellent. It actually surprised me how quickly you caught my interest; a real talent. I like the second one because most people think it's necessary for a story to have more depth, but I really like the simplicity. The third one was alright. I like that it was clear Harry had gone insane but there was too much logical thinking on the main character for him to suddenly decide to eat his cellmate. if it were longer I'm sure you would've elaborated on his train of thought more, though.
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That actually gave me an idea: What if instead of Harry thinking that he was an orange, it was the narrator who thought Harry was an orange, only to come to a realization at the end. I might rewrite the story like that.

Also, I'm not sure I'll finish the second story I posted. I forgot what I was writing about.... ^^;

Bun said:
Okay... *crackles knuckles* Here we go!

First off, I want to begin with the good. Your stories are very simple, down to the point and that is something I really like. Sentences aren't too wordy; your grammar is just foine; description is satisfactory and helps to "show" not "tell" (back to the basics!) But along with that, they're also quite interesting. Some more than others; however, they managed to capture my attention, which is a very good thing because that's the job of an author, right? To hook and reel.

Onto the not so good (though not so bad); it's more of an issue of style than anything else. There are some sentences I would either add a bit more to or rephrase in order to fix the repetitiveness. Like I said, nothing major, just a matter of personal style.

Other than that, these look pretty good. You should definitely post more.
Click to expand...
I know what you mean when you say repetitiveness. I feel that I should really try to increase my vocabulary. Do you know good ways to do so?
 
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