Creative Outlet – a blog full of stories and personal musings

20Dec/090

Robert – Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Awakening of a Sound Mind

The wind hit him like a brick wall, as he opened the door. He sniffed in, filling his lungs with the luke-warm desert air and ventured on outside. The loudness of the party became a muttered noise behind him, when the door was closed with a considerable force. Before it banged shut, Robert heard a faint ”Close the door, jackass!”. He stopped a few meters away, just by the outline of the light emitting from the house. The boom from inside still hung in his head, as he tried to lit a cigarette, but gave up after a few tries with his trusty sidekick, zippo. Even it could not defy the might of the whining wind, the element of some forgotten God or Goddess. The booming slowly disappeared from his head and was replaced by the high pitched wind rustling in the trees.

Robert pocketed the zippo, put the cigarette behind his ear and looked around him. He had no idea how he came to this place, where it was located, what time of year it was or just about any other normal thing most people should know. The sand suggested somewhere in the desert, the heat that it might be summer or that he is in a weird part of the country (but which, he wondered) and the wind hinted that a high pressure hit a low pressure and shit is about to hit the fan. Despite the mass input of alcohol and pretty much any other substance that could be chemically made, Robert was in a pretty sound state of mind. The wind did not know him on his feet, no matter how hard it tried. Robert turned around so the wind was on his back, put a finger down his throat and vomited Hard. The wind made it seem like projectile vomiting, which made Robert smile as he studied his own vomit in the dim light. He could make out two things, that he has not eaten for a very long time and that alcohol was NOT what had taken him to this .. area of the world. He wondered for how long he had been out of it or rather, he wondered about who he was, what the hell had happened and why. He doubted he would get any kind of answers out of any one in the house in front of him.

Robert went behind the small house to get away from the wind a bit and gather his thoughts. He ran a hand through his hair with one hand while pocketing for some kind of wallet with the other. None of his pockets revealed anything, except for a couple of pills and some girl's phone number. He examined the piece of paper on which it was written for any kind of clues, ”Jane” he said to himself. The phone number did not click, for some reason, on what area she would be from. He turned the paper around, but the rest was blank. So much for clues, he thought. He wondered what time it was. It was pitch black outside and he could barely see more than a few meters ahead. There were no visible moon or stars on the sky, which crept him out. For all he knew, he could be inside a huge hangar. He leaned back against the house, feeling the vibrations from the music in the wooden structure, took out the cigarette behind his ear and lit it. He inhaled and with a huge sigh, exhaled, collapsed against the wall and stared at the darkness.

He looked over his shoulder at the building itself. It was a pretty standard brick house, if you were not living in a desert. The more he came to think about it, the more the house looked more out of place. He turned over on his knees, took out his zippo lighter and turned it on, lighting up the bricks. He hit it lightly with his hand but not even dust from the bricks came off. There was absolutely no tear on this house. Suddenly it hit him. He could no longer hear the party. In fact, he could not hear anything at all except the wind howling. Normally music would be turned down or off at parties, but then you would at least hear some kind of chatter or yelling. Drunk people are loud, period. He stood up and tried to look in through the windows while putting the zippo away. The house interiors were all lit, but all he could see from his position, was the roof. He looked to both corners of the buildings, expecting some people coming around. If the party was over, they would have to stand somewhere to not be blown completely away.
He peeked around the corner of the house and was immediately hit by the strong wind. Nothing. He moved up along the house to the front and took a look at the door. The normal, closed door looked back at him. Robert was not sure what exactly he expected but a closed door was not it. The fact that there was absolutely no trace of the party, he thought he left just minutes ago, was tearing on his nerves. He looked over to the nearest window. It was as lit as all the other windows and no movement to see what so ever. He looked over his shoulder and moved a bit closer to the door. He put a slightly shaking hand on the door knob and opened the door. It was not locked and opened with such a force from the wind, he lost the grip on the knob and the door slammed against the wall. It creaked on the hinges. He looked into a brightly lit room which mostly looked like a waiting room at a dentist. There was no remains from a party – actually, it looked completely clean, except a bloody trail leading from one of the doors to a corridor on the left side of him. He stepped inside and forcefully pushed the door close. He tried to think back to before he walked outside, but he could not remember a thing. He suddenly felt a huge jab at his temples which sent him to his knee. A small pop in his head and suddenly a liquid streamed from both his ears. He reached up to his left ear and afterwards looked at his fingers. They were dark red.
Gasping for air, he got up on one leg and paused. A throbbing headache accompanied the pop and he tried to stabilize himself.

A faint noise had come from down the corridor -- where the blood is leading. He listened closely but the noise was gone. He got up on both legs and leaned against a wall. "Hello?" he called out, looking down the corridor. The blood led to a door in the opposite end of the corridor. He walked towards it and noticed that the handle was covered in blood. He moved slowly and listened carefully. The other doors in the corridor were closed but the blood trails went directly to (or from?) the door at the end. He studied the door. According to what he remembered about the structure of the house, this must either go into a small roof or into a basement. There was blood splatter on the door under the handle. It had been smeared on the door but there was no print from a hand or finger. Having thought that, he checked the blood trail behind him. Not even a foot print. It did not seem like any kind of blood trail you would see in a horror movie. It more looked like someone had been carrying a bucket of blood and occasionally tipping some out.

He smirked a bit at his thoughts - he was no detective but this seemed placed. Like a practical joke. Someone was pulling him a prank, there could be no other reason. The party that had suddenly vanished. The faint noise was probably someone's muffled laugh. But, he thought, what about his apparent memory loss? The sudden earpopping and throbbing headache? He shook it off as coincidental, perhaps a hit to the head. Robert wrapped his sleeve around his hand and attempted to open the door. Suddenly he withdrew it as the throbbing in his head started booming louder. He also thought he had heard a scream. It send shivers down his back. The scream did not sound human or anything like an animal. It sounded metallic in origin, like someone hit some iron yet had a female scream in it. He leaned against the door, out of breath from the pain in his head. He gasped after air but he suddenly felt weak and fell to his knees. The headache started again and he passed out.

Filed under: Short Stories No Comments
28Dec/091

Far Away (Short Story)

Far Away (A Requested Story)

Sophie have always been a good dog. She stayed put when her owner told her to do so. Even when he got into the car and drove off. Sophie just wagged her tail happily and lied down next to the road, resting her head on her paws. The windy autumn was slowly setting in. The sun was setting as the first rain came. Sophie had not moved an inch until she began to quiver from the cold rain, soaking her fur. Normally she liked the rain, especially puddles - but the wind just went directly to her aging bones. Sophie was becoming an old dog, one that have been living with his owner and his family since she was a little puppy. A favorite of the family's son, she often was played with and was taken on long trips, where she could run in the grassy fields. She always watched over him and she was often rewarded with hugs and affection, some times even a treat. Sophie was not too unfamiliar with the surrounding areas but she knew she had to wait for her owner. She sniffed the air, got up and located a dry spot underneath a big pinetree. She sat down and awaited the return of her owner.

After a couple of hours, the rain finally stopped. The wind was gaining in strength and Sophie's wagging have ceased. She kept looking at every car that passed but none looked like the one she have come to know. None smelled the same way, she have come to expect. She had not seen the son for a long time, at least a week or two. Maybe even more. She missed her daily walk with someone who did not mind her running around and she missed the affection. The son was not very old when they got Sophie as a small golden retriever puppy but he had grown, yet the affection for the old dog had not changed. She would always be there when he came back from school, friends, parties or work. Waiting by the door until he came around and as soon as she saw him, her tail started wagging and she jumped up and licked his face. It went like that for many years, until she started getting a little bit ill. It cost much and she suddenly did not seem so appreciated by the rest of the family. The son, however, always was there to help her or to give her a pat or give her food. She sensed the sudden hostility from the rest of the family and avoided them as much as possible - mostly spending time in the son's room. He did not come home for a very long time. Suddenly, her owner put her on a leash and took Sophie out to the car.

Sophie shook herself and sat down again, peeking out. It was slowly becoming dusk and Sophie stayed put. She did not have anywhere else to go. Suddenly, she heard a familiar sound, a car was coming. One she have come to know and like, as it come up through the driveway. One that sets her tail wagging. Her tail was wagging and she could not sit still. Suddenly she heard his voice crying out her name and she ran for it. She ran, like she have never done before.

Filed under: Short Stories 1 Comment
31Jan/101

Lone Warrior (Short Story)

The gun's metal felt cold in my hands. Yet another explosion nearby. I stared down the trench I was positioned in. Lots of dead bodies, soldiers, friends. Simon's lifeless eyes stared directly at me. A gaping bullet head in his skull stared, as well. I gulped down some saliva, yet my mouth was completely dry. I was sweating, yet it was freezing. I was warm and I was cold. An artillery shell exploded close by and I shielded my eyes from dirt. I heard a scream from further down the trench. Yet another casualty in a war that should never have been. He had been drafted against his will, yet was on the top list of recruits. The drill sergeants have called him a "killer that doesn't want to kill" and patted him hardly on the back. It was true, of the 12 missions he had been on, he have had the highest amount of confirmed kills. He knew he had his family support but now that he was stuck in a hell hole of a trench, in biting cold, all he could think of was being home. His friends. His family. His ex girlfriends. His life before the war. Abruptly taken away from him, just because this country had to flex it's muscles. Again.

He knew he would not survive this battle. As soon as the HQ had radioed in "RETREAT, THIS ONE IS LOST!" he knew it was bad to be in the front lines. Several squads stayed behind to make sure that most of us would get out. I was the last alive of my squad, so I figured it would be best just to stay. Avenge my friends against the enemy. But, I suddenly realized that the enemy is not them. We are our own enemy. We are here, in a country we have no business in. Another explosion. I sighed. Tears streaming out of my eyes, making everything blurry and foggy. My friends, I will never see them again. They will never see me again. My family. My dog. My education. The life I had built. Gone. I dropped my weapon. Crawled over to Simon to close his eyes. Simon, always taking about all the women he conquered. Came from a middle class family, no education or job. He was too young, killed by a sniper bullet to the head. His family will be proud. They thought it was best for him to serve the country. I smiled, thinking about the time he picked up a girl, who was a man in drag. I am sure we never heard all of that story. I looked up. Another explosion. I could hear no gun shots. Sounds like everyone except me is dead or have retreated. I could see movement further up ahead. I think they have advanced on me. I raise my hands, as a young guy came charging in, most likely expecting more than a lot of dead corpses and one guy, unharmed. He pointed his gun at me.

Filed under: Short Stories 1 Comment
6Mar/110

750 Words Stories – Meet Richard

Enter a pub in Southern London, where we meet a guy we shall call Richard, who is a 26 year old engineer. As you may have noticed, he keeps checking his phone and looking towards the door with a sad expression on his face. He had bought 2 drinks, 1 beer and 1 cider. The beer is almost empty, which suggests he has been here for awhile. The cider is untouched, sitting at the opposite end of the table and is a sad picture of a missing companion. Every few minutes, Richard sighs and looks down into his beer or checks his phone for a bit longer than normal. He is obviously distressed about being in this situation and occasionally glances around the pub for anyone staring at him. When he spots them, they turn away with a head shake and a nod to a friend. They all realize why he is here and what has happened. Richard have been stood up, once again.

To understand the predicament, we must go into Richard's memories for a bit. Richard is what people would call a "genuinely friendly guy", a good friend and a people pleaser. At this exact moment, he is waiting for a special lady friend, who he holds very dear. Problem is, she doesn't feel the same way and is, unfortunately, manipulating Richard a fair bit to get things done for her. Every time she contacts him, it is to do a favour for her, such as; putting up a shelf, help move the furniture, cheer her up if she is down, be her personal chauffeur and generally help her out - just to name a few episodes. Richard doesn't ask for anything in return, but the last 3 favours, spanned over 6 months, he has asked her to come out for a drink. Every time she have agreed to it and every time she stood him up. Richard really thought that this time was going to be different, as she assured him that she will come this time and that she had emergencies the other times. You see, Richard doesn't believe that there is a dark side to people. He genuinely believes that everything he is told, within reason, is true and don't see why people would lie to him. He never gets angry, but as you can see, he is starting to get a bit annoyed as he slowly realizes that she isn't coming. He knew that she wouldn't respond on her phone, like the other times, so he just sent her a disappointed text message and ordered another beer, while he started on the cider.

But, there is a hero to this story. A heroine, if you will. After Richard's third beer, a girl left her friends' table, despite their attempts to talking her out of it, and came over to him. Playing with his phone and drinking as quickly as he could, Richard barely noticed her arrive before she spoke. "I couldn't help but notice you've been stood up. Are you alright? Want to talk for a bit?" At this point, Richard was sure she was going to mock him but his positive side said she might actually be sincere and l her sit down. They chatted for awhile, Richard explaining the situation and the girl consoled him about it and just listened. Soon, they started chatting and Richard felt great, better than he had for a long time. They chatted for hours and eventually they shared phone number and both left with a smile. They have both found a new friend, one who is just like themselves, caring and friendly.

Weeks later, they've been on several dates together and decided that they were incompatible. They are still best friends, however. Richard have forgotten everything about his other manipulative friend, when he finally realized what she was doing to him. Through the newly met friend, he learned a lot about himself and set out to better himself in any way possible. Who knows, they might end up together. As long as they are both direct about their feelings and thoughts, what bad could happen? What you can learn from this is to take a chance, be direct, don't manipulate people, don't be selfish, don't allow yourself to be used, keep your chin up, think outside the box and learn to put a new perspective on everything. It will make your life different and, if you are willing, make yourself a better person.

Think about it and keep on smiling.

Filed under: Short Stories No Comments
20Jul/111

One Word, An Experience

This is a story I've wanted to write for some time -- or rather, it's a mix of several stories I wanted to write but couldn't really find the flow or the feel of it. It's based on several of my memories, one of them being from when I was 8 years old, the other being the memory of a girl. None of this is true, as it is purely fiction - but the message is still true.

“Hi!”
Had I known what I was in for, I would have done my best to -- well, I wouldn’t have been the same without this experience so I most likely wouldn’t have done anything differently. The older me had hoped she wouldn’t have said anything as she sat next to me, but I knew she would and boy am I glad she did but I was scared it might have been because of my staring. Only a brainless zombie of some sort would not have noticed my glaring.“Hi!” she tried again.
I looked up. None of the thoughts that I just went through didn’t appear at this point. They are only there as a part of my flashback on this memory, this treasured memory of mine, as I rediscover, take it apart, examine the good bits with a smile, put it back together and remember it with a smile.
As I looked up, I was approached by a gleaming smile. Not one of those Colgate smiles they want you to have, but rather a shy, genuine smile. A smile that, if directed at you, make your stomach want to fly off somewhere that isn’t here.

“Hello?” I cautiously said. I was sitting on a bench on a rather busy route doing pretty much nothing than think deep, pointless thoughts. She smiled wider at the acknowledgement. The more I looked at her, the more I realized I had seen her around - but just in fleeting moments. She was one of those girls who you would get images of when you close your eyes, someone who stands out well enough to be remembered but still ordinary enough to be consider humane and reachable. The stupid poet I am would probably describe her as a human angel.

"Mind if I sit down?" She asked, making a move to sit down. I scooted over a bit and figured that the conversation was over. I was entirely too shy to try anything and the 5 minutes we sat in silence (it was probably more like 10 seconds), I couldn't think of one word to say. Thankfully, she did.

"I really like your t-shirt!" She said, turning towards me and looking at my t-shirt. I looked down, having forgotten what I was wearing. A girl in navy blue hair winked at me. I figured she was being sarcastic, since it kind of stood out with it's colours and not many agrees to seeing a scantily clad girl on a t-shirt in a public area. I told her just that: "Thank you, I really enjoy it too." I then started ranting "But don't you think it is a bit too much? Ya know, the colours, the half-naked girl etc?" I actually said etc. It was me trying to sound smart when I had nothing more to say. The sentence could have been formulated so much better, had I thought more about it - but it's when you think about it, you don't say anything.

"No, it's nice. I like the colours, makes it prettier. I agree it makes you stand out, but is that such a bad thing?" I thought she winked at me, but that was most likely just nothing. It usually is. I smiled a bit, a natural smile. It was a compliment and I knew it was. She smiled back, as if it was contagious. "I suppose not," I began, trying to think of what to compliment on her. It was just about everything, I had to admit, the more I looked at her. The self-confidence came up and I thought I was in control of the situation. I could either compliment all of her and come off as an awkward romancer or play it safe, as a new acquaintance. I go for the latter, since the first can be creepy, but little did I know, that I was not in control. "I really love your hair", was what I ended up with. She smiled and pulled on her dark red hair, probably trying to look at it. She was just as nervous as me.

"Really? I am not a fan of it, myself." she admitted. "Why not? It compliments everything about you." She tilted her head puzzled "Err, what I mean is that you wear it really well. It makes you look very cute." Her hair was shoulder length and quite thick. Her face had spots of freckles, which looked like they come out mostly in the summer. She looked, well, cute. Amazingly so. She even managed to blush deeply from the compliment. She stood up and reached her hand out.

"I'm Clara, but my friends call me Rah". she said, smiling. I stood up and took her hand. "I'm honoured, but my name is Simon and you can call me whatever you want". She giggled from my cheap joke and smiled wide, while still holding my hand. "I think I will call you just that, then - that okay, Simon?" she said with a wink. "Then I shall call you Rah, if that is okay, Clara." I said. Her acknowledgement of my jokes had given me a huge boost, a healthy kick to the stomach that really had me up on edge. She let go of my hand and put them together in a nervous manner, one that can not really be described.

She let go of my hand while smiling at me. I wasn't sure where to look, but my confidence took over and I looked into her eyes. "I love your eyes" I blurted. Before I knew what I had said, she had looked away. I thought I had blown it, that this interesting human being would now disappear without a trace. A sudden rush of panic appeared and I felt a need to explain myself before she thought me a creep. She looked back at me.

"How do you do it?" she asked, her head tilted in confusion. "Hold eye contact, I mean. I am a complete stranger, yet you hold eye contact." Bewildered at such a forward question, I just shook my head and said what was the truth. "Normally, I couldn't -" I shrugged, "but something about you just.. you know, gave me the confidence to do so, if you know what I mean?" I hoped to fuck that she did. I smiled as she nodded, getting what I meant.

"Well, I am different, I think. Your compliments make me blush and make me want to look away. I wonder why that is". The last bit she muttered to herself, while looking down. She then grabbed my hand and held it firmly in hers, not like a handshake but a handhold. "Courage?" I asked, looking at our hands entwined. She smiled.

"I went for it and it felt right." she loosened her grip, looking a bit scared at me, but I kept it firm in my hands. "It does feel right" I said, nodding. She started to walk and I followed her, holding her warm hand in mine. We talked a bit back and forth, why we were here, what we are doing, what is going on in our life - general getting to know people stuff - but it felt so right and so amazing. I clicked instantly with this girl and I think it was the same way the other way around. Several hours later, as the sun set, we were still holding hands and chatting, making each other laugh and smile. I was amazed at how her straightforwardness have led this to be one of the best experiences I have ever had with another person, almost like a rush of adrenaline together with keeping each other's confidence up. Nothing was sacred to talk about - it just felt like we were in tune. She was open minded, I was open minded, she gasped at the right places and smiled at the right places, as did I. It felt magical, but yet it also felt right. We were both being as humane as possible and didn't let social boundaries keep us apart. No subject was holy, nothing was taboo. We were human and the best kind, the direct one where there were no lies, no second though after you spoke, no fear of rejection, just connection.

Before I knew it, we had walked for 5 hours. The sun was far gone and the moon glared at us and lit us up. I could barely see her, but could feel and hear every facial expression she'd pull. I had gotten to know this person better than any of my life-long friends over the course of half a day. Heck, I hadn't even seen her before in my life until just a few days ago. We had just walked at random and we didn't really know where we were but she was leading me up a hill. When we reached the top, she let go of my hand and sat down in the grass, looking out on the beautifully lit landscape. She patted next to her, I sat down and she immediately grabbed my hand again and rested her head on my shoulder. We had, from what I could see, walked very far. We were well outside the city we met in. It was such a gorgeous landscape,even at night, and with such an amazing companion, I could help but let a few tears stroll. Even thinking about it, makes me weep happy.

"What are you thinking about?" She whispered, as we both studied the landscape. I thought a bit, then said: "Why did you say hello?". Such a simple question. 5 words ending in a question mark and the answer defined a life philosophy for me. "Why? Because I wanted to and I went for it. Have you ever thought about all the meaningless shit that is going on? The games that people pull on each other for attention. The countless ways that one can indirectly say something and then it is up to the receiver to decipher it? Wouldn't this world be a better place if people were more direct. What I mean is if people said what they meant, so much more would get done. There'd be so much more love and feelings would be worn on the outside rather than hidden away. There'd be less uncertainty." She sighed and looked at the distance. I wasn't sure whether or not I should be apologizing about my question, but I followed her example and said a direct question that had troubled me. "Why me? Why not someone else you ran into?"

"You were.. are like me. I saw you, I looked after you, I saw you looking and I saw myself. Someone alone, but someone who also wanted to be outside and try to be social with people and challenge yourself, even if you're shy. I was so sure that you had thought the same thoughts I had, so I had walked past a few times -- thankfully you didn't notice -- and I said hi. The simplest of words and look what we have now." She leaned over and kissed me gently, my lips wet with tears. "Hi.." she whispered.

Filed under: Short Stories 1 Comment
26Sep/110

Disaster – Burning – Taxicab – a short story

This is a short story based on the brainstormer found here. It's not been proofread or revised. Thank you, Mona, for suggesting these words.

It hit me before I felt it. Even though this New York yellow cab was out in the suburbs, it had somehow managed to find the one thing it could crash into without us seeing it coming; the road itself. A massive earthquake had just teared up the entire street, several layers of the concrete was either disappeared or raised. Thankfully for us, we smashed into the latter, instead of falling into the first. The taxi driver.. not so much. As I rushed my wife out the side door, I glanced back at our poor taxi driver, with the regular name of Bob. What a sad end for you, Bob. His face was buried into the steering wheel's airbag but the apparent hanging of his neck meant that there was no helping him.

I fell out, flat on my face onto the tar and kissed it harder than I had any of my girlfriends, including my wife. A real jawbreaker, as it felt like it was sitting in my neck, waiting for the rest of my skull to follow it and then the aftershock came. While trying to get up without scraping my face across the entire road. My wife, however, had other plans. She grabbed my arm, whimpering, and pulled hard to get me out of the car, just as I heard an earshattering WOOSH and I singed just about every hair on my head, including eyebrows. The cab went on fire. No, fire just appeared from out of nowhere. In hindsight, it was most likely the leaking gas tank as well as the very warm summer weather, plus reflections and all that jazz.. not pretty. She dislocated my shoulder as she pulled me away from the firing heap of metal, with my screams barely being audible in the next aftershock. My wife couldn't hold her balance and went on her glorious behind and, thank fuck, gave loose of my arm so I could try my best at not moving it as much as possible. The beforementioned aftershock did not make it so easy.

I pushed myself further away from the car, expecting an explosion and half crawled, half snaked my way to the pavement, onto the cool grass that could get me away from this chaos that my mind could not understand, thankfully. If the adrenaline wasn't pumping, I'd be too aware of my dislocated shoulder, my singed -- and most likely horribly burnt -- face, as well as checking if my mouth wasn't still laying right next to the cab, in what I can only expect is fully engulfed in fire right about now. After what felt like hours, I finally felt the grass on my face, turned around and saw my wife storming in next to me as another loud WOOSH appeared. "Bye, Bob" is all I could muster before I passed out from the way too obvious pain.

Filed under: Short Stories No Comments
28Sep/111

750 Words and Three Words Challenge: Hurt, Relief, Disappointment

She stared at her mobile again. Then put it on the table, looked away for a second, then picked it up again. Battery level was fine, reception was good.. but it might drop, might be better to go outside. She shrugged, sighing to herself and putting it back down. This has been her daily ritual for the last couple of days, her life centred on this fucking phone just because of being uncertain about something. Other than crying, of course - which she have done plenty of. TVs been off for the last 2 weeks, batteries was taken out of the remote and thrown away. She wanted to be cut away from the world as much as possible, just waiting for that call.

She rummaged around in the kitchen, trying to find something worthwhile eating. She wasn't really hungry, but she knew she had to eat. Wait, was that the phone? She stopped rummaging for a minute, listening intently, sighing, then going in to check on the phone. No calls. No texts. No nothing. She went back to the kitchen, found some dry biscuits and ate one with disgust. It felt like she might vomit, just by the mere touch of food to her lips. She had already vomited several times, from nervousness, she told herself.

She had zoned out. She checked the clock. Must have zoned out for a couple of hours. She reached for the phone, still sitting on the table, charger firmly in. Nothing. It was dark outside now. Her head was spinning and she could barely get on her legs and she, for the first time in quite awhile, felt hungry. She contemplated using the phone to call for a pizza, but they might call when the line is busy. "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" She yelled. That startled the dog upstairs, which started barking. Angry footsteps ran across the floorboards upstairs. The sign of some life around here made her feel a bit better, a bit more protected. From what? There is nothing worry about, Susan. She looked in the kitchen again, sure she must have some weird food hiding away. Nothing still.

She was racing back and forth. Why did he have to do it? He knows I love him, so why did he need to fucking do this? Why. Fucking why. It's his own fucking fault, I shouldn't be this messed up from his actions, he justified for me countless times! She clenched her fists and felt like smashing everything she had in the apartment but sank down on a chair, all her energy gone, sobbing quietly.

Ever since Susan had heard the news, she had been a mess. She had mailed in sick to work for days now, she wasn't even sure it was the weekend. She just did it automatically, in the morning. She couldn't be around anyone. There had been an attack on her boyfriend's base. The last bit of information she had received from the TV, before she had decided to shut it all off, was that there was still no contact from them. She broke down - simply snapped - when she heard it. She had panicked, hyperventilated and passed out. She had told him countless times not to go. But he felt he owed it to the country, owed it to freedom. How can a girl deny that for selfish reasons without looking like a selfish bitch? You cannot, was Susan's conclusion.

She had tried calling the military on a special number she had received. They usually had more information than the media but they would contact her as soon as they knew anything. They still haven't. She looked at the calendar. 6 days since the attack. She unplugged the phone and fell down in the couch. She felt like she had to get out. Everything here reminded her of him but there was nowhere to go, especially since she wanted to be alone. She felt a vibration in her hand but shrugged it off. She had felt a bit feverish lately and had been twitching uncontrollably. When it didn't stop, she looked at her hand. The phone was vibrating. From an unknown number. Shaking hands, she picked it up, unable to even whimper a greeting or her own name, the words were simply stuck in her throat. "Hi, it's me." was all he said. She broke down in tears and a huge wave of relief flooded over here.

Filed under: Short Stories 1 Comment
2Feb/120

750 Words and Three Words Challenge: Vengeance for a Crime – Robotic – Priest

The first thing they teach you as a priest is to forgive. Forgiveness. To forgive everyone who wants to repent, who wants to shred them of their sins. At least, that's the Christian faith. When something bad happens, it is "God works in mysterious ways.", when one of their own is hurt, it's all part of God's divine plan. I was hurt. I am a priest. They told me just that and I got pissed. They told me to consult the book of the Lord to get rid of my anger. I tried. It helped for a bit. I found solace in a book. Heh, it sounds so petty when I say it out loud. Yet, there is so much anger in God's divine plan. God's anger. Why is he allowed when I am not? Weren't we created in his image? It didn't make much sense. It never made sense, but I just accepted it.

When the guy who hurt me, made me into what I am, got off in the court. Insufficient evidence that he was there at the time. I became angry. No, I became beyond angry. I was filled with rage. I held myself together in the court, but the way he stared at me as the judge said that the case was dismissed made my Christian heart rotten. My arm twitched. My robotic arm, which he had indirectly given to me, twitched so hard that I couldn't control it. It pulled in every remaining muscle in my entire body and I couldn't stop it. I panicked and fell over in the court in a yell of rage and panic.

The doctors told me that they honestly had no idea what would trigger such a thing and shrugged it off as nerves being triggered by the anger. To change the subject, one of them asked me when I would come back to the church. I recognized him, little Stanley, all grown up now. Imagine, he believes every bit of bullshit that book had said. He still attended before my injury. To calm him, I said soon but that was a fat lie. My first lie I can ever remember. It felt.. satisfying.

Ever since the surgery, that "saved my life", I had looked at myself in the mirror naked. The cold metallic arms, the metallic leg stared back at me. I had done my best to cover them up when out in public, but they felt so alien to me. They felt just like arms, everything I did worked the way it should but this isn't what I wanted. I didn't want to get hurt. Why did he hurt me? Why did he get let go? Evidence? I saw everything, isn't that enough?! I FELT EVERYTHING! The noise of the saw against my bones still runs through my head. I still wake up in sweat every night. His insane voice, whispering that he enjoys destroying something so pure booming in my ears. He was let lose and it could happen again, another priest could get hurt - fuck, even a child. I stunned myself. I had never cursed before, not even in my mind. I destroyed the mirror in disgust.

I honestly don't remember when I started laying the plans. I think it was mostly done in a haze and when I woke up, I had everything I needed right in front of me. I was in front of his apartment and knew he wouldn't be home for at least an hour. That cop was especially helpful after I slipped a few Benjamins and he jabbed away for a good 10 minutes about just about everything related to the case. I don't think he recognized me or he simply didn't care, or fuck, even wanted me to utilize my own sense of personal judgement upon him.

His door was unlocked, as the cop said. The apartment was dirty as hell, no sane person could live here. I was disgusted just being in the room and thought about abandoning the plan but then I heard him. He was right outside the door, breathing heavily. Flashbacks of the incident flashed through my brain and suddenly I held him high in the air, my robotic arms around his throat and my blood boiling. How could such scum be allowed to live on God's Earth, the sanity questioned my insanity. He couldn't breath at all. I could feel his windpipe was almost broke underneath my thumbs. In a surge of red anger, I crushed his neck and threw him out of the window. My red and grey world turned white instantly. It was beautiful.

Filed under: Short Stories No Comments
16Sep/120

He Films the Clouds

Inspired by this track: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TMKSbkISis8

He films the clouds. Some might find this odd or otherwise pointless. Some will shun him from thinking it is art, others will find other ways to ridicule this man, who'd much rather film the nature than do something productive with his time. None ever took the time to stop and reflect upon what he was doing, no one took the time to just look upwards. Upwards to clouds and the sky beyond them. Upwards to the stars currently unable to be seen through the marvel that is the sun. Upwards and towards the planets that move across the sky, out towards galaxies, the universe, the infinity that is beyond.

It wasn't until I stood behind him, eyeing him as he was filming. He said just a sentence to me, with a quirky smile "Experience the endlessness". I leaned back, my mind disappeared and I was floating in space, enjoying the beauty of the universe, realizing that I am just the smallest amount of dust in an ever expanding universe.

Filed under: Short Stories No Comments
11Oct/126

Corruption of A Damaged Man

Sometimes you sit down and reflect upon your life and how I am standing right now, with a .. sane enough mind is beyond me.

Let's start from the beginning, I was tossed into what can only be described as dysfunctional family. Dad was an alcoholic, who was barely home, except to sleep, yell, hit my mother and spank us kids. I know it sounds like a big fat cliché from just about any period movie. Mother whored herself out to anyone who'd pay and didn't care about her countless bruises. Most of the money went to giving us clothes and food. She was loving, however, gave us all her attention, when she wasn't staring blankly into space, tears rolling down her face. I had a sister and a brother. Both were older than me, by 5 and 7 years, respectively. I rarely talked to them, as they did their very best at being as far away from home as possible. Thinking back, it was probably the best thing one could do in such a situation.

My position in the home was that I was asked to do something and then I did it. I was a pushover at school and my teachers commented that I was distant and unavailable. The first time my dad heard this, I had a ringing headache for weeks afterwards and I did my best to be available and be the best student I could for him. My mother mainly used me for chores, when she was unable to, mostly when she couldn't stop crying or was completely exhausted. I ignored her cries and, probably, saw themselves as a sort of weakness. None in this household showed any sort of emotion, other than my mother who also did her best to hide it.  On the outside, it probably looked like everything was okay. We were bathed, we had food in our stomachs, reasonably new clothes but there were absolutely no family life what so ever. At Christmas  we'd get one gift from our mother and those Christmases were probably the times where she was the most happy.

At around age 10, it got even worse. Who'd have known, it could actually get worse. If I remember correctly, days were normally a haze. I had no one to play with, afternoons were spent doing homework or helping out at home. There were no friends and the only joy I seemed to have was when my mother wasn't crying. Dad brought home a friend, who introduces himself as uncle Bob. Ever the gentleman, "uncle" Bob said, dad said he could stay around here. My sister was 17 at this point and had, pretty much, moved out. My dad never noticed but my mother was happy for her and, sometimes, visited her at her new place. When she came home, her spirit was usually lifted. Uncle Bob took over her room, which was just a bed and a desk. Just like my dad, he constantly smelt like alcohol, but unlike my dad, he was more home.

I noticed he made a lot of moves on my mother, who she fought off with strength I've never seen before. I remember thinking he'd hit her now but it never came to be. Uncle Bob might as well have been a gentler version of my dad.

One day I woke up to him standing in the doorway. All I could see was his silhouette but he slowly moved into my room, obviously drunk. I'd imagined my dad was passed out in the living room and my mother had shaken off his advances. He came to my bed and attempted to get into it, hussing at me. I moved over, scared but feeling indifferent. I had no idea what was coming. I did as he asked and suddenly my head was in my pillow, turned towards the open door. He was big, I remember - so it hurt a lot. Suddenly, I saw my mother's silhouette in the door. She looked for a second, then ran down to her room. I heard the shot, but uncle Bob didn't stop. I felt nothing.

After the police had been here, the social workers arrived. They introduced themselves, but I do not remember their name. They were here to hear how I was doing in the middle of all this. I had refrained from saying anything to the police other than that I had heard the shot. I didn't know why, maybe because uncle Bob was there. They took me with them and asked all the questions I somewhat expected. I told them everything. About how my dad hits us, siblings moving out, my mother. But I didn't tell them about uncle Bob. I didn't tell them about what dad becomes when he stops taking his medicine. I didn't tell them about uncle Bob.

Filed under: Short Stories 6 Comments