The Short Story Challenge!

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All writers ahoy! I had a great idea, so I'm going to turn it into a topic.

Post up a short story here!

Rules are:

* The story must be only ONE MICROSOFT WORD PAGE long (but it can be as short as you like) in Times New Roman font, size 12, with or without double spacing between character dialogue.

* No block paragraphs here, and all stories must be edited to minimize spelling and grammar errors as much as possible.

* NO plagiarism of other peoples stories!

* The story can be about any topic you want, and in any style or form you wish.

Alright, that's it, everyone go wild! I'll start.

IN THE RAIN

A blurring crystal stream, broken only by the night sky. The rain pours from the roof, forever suspended above the ground. I laugh.

“It’s funny you know.”

“I don’t really see the comedy in this, but go on then.”

“You were the last person I ever thought I’d fall for.”

He’s tall, dark and handsome. Just like me. He’s currently clutching the side of the shop front for support. He looks like he’s having trouble breathing. I really shouldn’t find the situation funny, but for some reason I find it absolutely hilarious. Just the way he looks like someone had told him he had an illegitimate child, that same indescribable expression on his face. Mr oh so calm and collected, looking like the earth had swallowed him whole. If you knew him like I do, I’m sure you’d be clutching your sides by now.

“You’re ugly.”

“I know.”

“You’re fat.”

“I know.”

“I hate you!”

“Starting to get a little unconvincing here, Michael.”

“Why me?”

“Come on,” I said a little sharply, “you think you’re the only one in this situation? I exist too!”

He assumed a bored expression. “Whatever. You know, just, whatever. I don’t give a crap what you think.”

“And you’re telling me this now?”

“I’m going.”

“Where to? You live with me now, remember?”

“How could I forget.”

As he disappeared around the corner, shoulders slumped, I simply couldn’t help myself. I started laughing, and laughing, and choking, and crying, and I ended up sitting in a large muddy puddle on the pavement.

“I love you too, brother dear.”

The boy crouched beneath the leaves, his face covered in mud and sweat. His legs were beginning to ache from holding the position for so long. He tried to ignore the tiny creatures scurrying on the ground beneath him hoping that if he ignored them, they might ignore him.

His pursuer drew near, and he could hear calls over the noises of animals in the vicinity. He crouched lower, trying to curl himself into a ball, terrified that the frantic beating of his heart would somehow become audible.

He steadied his breathing, “just a little longer” he thought. He jumped almost imperceptibly as a twig snapped behind him. Close… very, very close. The sweat on his brow was beginning to run into his eyes. The stinging sensation was giving way to a maddening urge to rub his eyes.

He knew now that the slightest movement would give his position away. His eyes darted wildly trying to locate the intruder. He thought he could smell the coppery scent of blood but where? He panicked but daren’t turn his head.

After a moment, he realised that he’d forgotten to breathe. He feared that his first intake of air would be loud enough to alert his pursuer to his location. He tried to draw breath as quietly as he could but there was the tiniest wheeze and he heard his pursuer stop suddenly and then start in his direction.

He cowered, willing his tracker to leave but no, those footsteps came directly towards his hiding place. There was nothing else for it. He waited until the last possible moment and then sprang out throwing his arms in the air and yelling “surprise”.

His mother turned and shot him a sardonic glance, “very funny”, she said, “now come on in, your dinner is getting cold”.

Love it Gavin!

Here's another by me.

CONSEQUENCE

So she danced. Danced, and spun, and generally drunk herself into insensibility. And she left the club on the arm of a greasy haired man she didn’t know.
It was raining outside, she noted distantly, but she was burning hot. She could feel the man’s hand on her arm like a red handprint through her thin tattered sleeve.
“Come to my place,” he simpered, and her drunkenness made him seem warm.
“Ok.”
They stumbled out the door and past the security guards, one of which made a slight movement towards her, and landed on the footpath. Already, she couldn’t quite remember how she’d got there. The man leaned towards her, and whispered her name, before his mouth enveloped hers in warm sticky forgetfulness. Sarah. She didn’t see the distasteful glances of the people passing by.
“Move along!”
One of the security guards angrily hustled them further up the footpath, away from the club’s entrance. The man continued, and she submitted to his ministrations with a dreamy resignation. It was nice to be with someone and not alone.
He bundled her into a taxi, and she curled close to his warmth as they floated into the night. He helped her out of the taxi, and she stumbled, entering an unfamiliar house.
“This way,” he whispered to her, as he led her into a bedroom and they fell onto an unmade bed. All questions, doubts, and morals she confined to a remote corner of her brain. She slept with him.
And woke up alone.

Brilliant sunshower,

That's not something I could write at all. I'm really impressed.

What I find really funny is that some of the main tenants of aspergers are to do with us not understanding phrases, feelings or expressions - and yet we're able to express ourselves so well in writing that it's pretty obvious that we do understand them.

"Jilted"

Chapter I

For Sale: Engagement ring. Slightly used.

~Fin~



(Based upon "The World's Shortest Story," by E. Hemingway, which read, "For Sale: Baby Shoes. Never Worn.")

Wow Fnord, that's really great. An entire story summed up in a sentence. I never expected such fantastic responses!

I'll probably write another tonight.

I actually just sent you thisone, sunshower, before I saw this thread. Here it goes:

Eric Dreyfus
10/15/2008
“The Bars of my Cell Window”

When silence is your only friend, one begins to think that ones mind has started to deteriorate. What’s worse is that silence, or anyone else, can’t assure you of your mental state. I go to the bars of my cell window and look out, where I see the people moving about, doing whatever it is that they do, living that so-called normal life that exists outside of my cell. Thinking on it, I can not remember when it was I last left my cell; it’s been so long, I think I have been locked in here since time began.

I am not upset about my circumstance, but it is agonizing to wonder how they live outside this cell, all those people talking, whispering, crying, and laughing out there. I can cry. I can laugh. I can whisper and talk too, but what baffles me, what enrages me, what fills me with endless rage and despair and envy is how they do it all: they do it all with others. I can neither comprehend why nor how one can approach others so casually, so easily, so readily. So I stand at the barred windows and take in the people in this city beyond my cell and I hate them and I love them and I want to have a better understanding of what they are doing out there.

A few times I tried to communicate with them. How does one converse with someone when ones cell is so separated from them, when they are so far away? It is hard, to say the least; even when I am able to start communication through the bars of my cell window, I don’t know what to say. My cell is so different from the outside world.

As I stand at the bars, something in my cell catches my eyes. The doorway of my cell, a solid block of black, impenetrable, opaque glass, lights up, as if imitating my window, and opens. I stare in shock. For as long as I can remember the doorway of my cell has been closed, and now I can go outside: how awesome a thought. I step through the doorway, full of suspicion, and I see that I am not completely free. I see that there are massive walls outside, keeping me in- or maybe keeping them out. Strangely, I don’t mind so much about that, though logic says I should.

Then I see the amazing thing: the suits. The orange suites of the people emerging from their other cells, all looking as stiff from the years of solitude as me, all wearing the same fluorescent orange suit that I wear, that the people in my window conspicuously lack. They are like me. I am not alone anymore. I am not completely free, but out here at least I am not alone. These people are like me: all they have ever known is the silence in the cell as a friend. I am alone no more.

This story is allegory. Kudos if you can figure out what it is in referance too.

It was a crisp, autumn night. Leaves were swirling and dancing on the wind, their vibrant colors visible for the small snatches of time that they were illuminated by my headlights. My kids were giggling with delight in the back seat, their stomachs dropping as I drove fast over the small hills on the country road. Our bodies swayed in time to the rhythm of the twisting road, and we laughed as the pumpkins we had picked earlier that day rolled around loudly in the bed of my truck. A toddler’s scream! The glow of eyes ahead in the road! Seatbelts cinching tightly across our chests as I slammed on the brakes! The pumpkins thumping loudly when they crashed into the back wall of the truck bed! It was a beautiful deer, stumbling across the road just ten feet in front of us. She stopped to stare back at us for a moment before resuming her painfully slow steps. She was badly hurt, that was obvious. Maybe she was hit by a car earlier that night, or fell down a steep hill, or maybe she was ill. We watched in silence as she tried to climb up the steep embankment on the right side of the road. She faltered, her front legs folding underneath of her. She stood up again, began another attempt to crest the embankment, but fell delicately once more. Her collapse was so graceful, it appeared as if she was a puppet, and the puppeteer had abruptly let go of the strings that controlled her. I looked into my rear view mirror, but there was no one behind me. No one ahead of me, either. I moved my gear shift to park and switched on my hazard lights. I wished I could have pulled off of the road for safety reasons, but it was too narrow and had no shoulder. I told my kids to stay inside as I opened the door. I quietly approached the fallen deer, and crooned softly to her as I moved closer. She weakly lifted her head on a slender neck, and dropped it back down heavily onto the bed of leaves she was lying upon. I crouched down beside her, making sure she could easily see me without having to turn her head. Soft, almost liquid brown eyes gazed deeply into mine. I gently moved my hand along her body, feeling her limbs for broken bones, but felt nothing amiss. She was afraid, wanted to run, but too hurt to do more than stare at me and blow rapid breaths of air out of her nose. I reached around her body, and helped her to stand. I wanted to get her off of the road where she might get hit by a passing motorist, and into the safety of the woods. She did manage to gain her footing, although she swayed almost drunkenly before leaning against my legs for support. Together we attempted the climb up the embankment, our legs burning, our breath condensing together into small clouds. She was quickly weakening, and I gently put my shoulder to her bottom and gave her a strong heave up. We made it! On top of the embankment, we both fell to our knees, and the smell of pine needles assailed my nostrils at the same time that they dug into my palms. I stood up, but she fell down. Her eyes were rolling in her head as she tried to get me into her line of sight again. I walked around and sat down beside her upon the bed of pine needles. I gently lifted her head onto my lap, and began softly stroking her. I knew she was dying. Her chest began to rise and fall in an erratic rhythm as she gazed up at me. I told her it was okay for her to let go. I thanked her for letting me give her some comfort in her final moments. I told her I would never forget her. I began to sing to her. It was my children’s favorite lullaby. Her gentle eyes never left my face for a single moment. The silence in the woods around us was profound. Not one whimper rose up from her throat. Not one sigh escaped her mouth. Her death was so graceful and dignified. I wouldn’t even have realized she died if my hand hadn’t stopped rising and falling in time with her chest. Our eyes were still locked on one another. Peace welled up in my soul as the tears spilled over my lashes. I finished the song for her. And I never have forgotten her.

Wow Snugglebee! I had tears in my eyes as I finished reading that. It was so vivid.

And Eric too, I'll say it again, love this story.

TOMORROW

“You’ve got time.”

“But what if I don’t? What I die tomorrow, what if you die tomorrow?”

“Doesn’t matter. Tomorrow is tomorrow. This is today.”

Today I am 21. But tomorrow I will be 22. It may sound irrational, but I am convinced today is all we’ve got. I know this.

“Listen to me – “

I grabbed her by the arm, shook her. She clawed me with her nails. Three long red scratches across my arm. They joined the others.

“Just stop it!” She screamed shrilly, “I can’t take this anymore.”

She wrapped her arms around me and held me close to her, shaking. My arms hang limply at my sides. She is sobbing in silence.

“You’re breaking my heart.”

I hold her, try to comfort her, stroke her dyed blonde hair, but she won’t listen.

“Listen to me. Please, you have to listen to me.”

I am bone weary, sagging, heavy. We sink onto a couch I’ve never seen before. I know that we have no time, but she won’t listen.

“Look at me.”

There is a mirror across the room. Slowly she turns her tear streaked head, her eye makeup is smudged. We both see today in that mirror.

“How can you look at me and tell me I’ve got time? When yesterday I was young and today I am old? There may not be a tomorrow this time.”

“There’s always tomorrow!” She protests, grasping my hands.

It’s what they all say to me, as though they are purposefully blind. And she loves me too much to allow herself to see what is happening to me.

“Look at me,” I say gently. “No, really look at me.” I hold her soft hands to my face, run them across the wrinkles of today. “There’s something wrong with me. I might die tomorrow. After all, for all we know, you might die tomorrow. There’s no time.”

“You’ve got time, and you’ve had time. You’ve had all the time in the world mum.”

Fascenating story, Cat, as usual. I am still contemplating it. It brings to mind the concept of human frailty.

Is the switch in tense in the 6th line of any significance?