Write a short story, Post it here : Othor Games

» Fri Feb 18, 2011 7:05 pm

Okay Folks, lets do this.

If you have written a short story, or want to write one for the thread, post it here.

It cant be to long, i dont have any specifics, but try to keep it within reason.

Also, this has to abide by forum rules, so nothing excessively gory, disturbing or sixual.

Also if your wondering why i am not posting one, its because im not creative. (although i am trying to write a horror short story)

(i got the idea from creepy pasta)

Note- so no one is confronted with huge walls of text, put all short storys in spoiler tags.

» Fri Feb 18, 2011 6:58 pm

This was for an English literature assignment I had a few months ago. I wrote it late the night before it was due in with very little planning, and it has never been redrafted, so go easy on it

Dialogue especially is something that I find extremely hard to pull off without the writing sounding amateurish. So far I've found the trick to be not to overuse it, but scarcity doesn't make all of it roll well. Any tips, writers in here?

By the way, this is set in the 1920s. We were doing Gatsby at the time.

Spoiler

The train swept along the bridge into Manhattan. The view was intoxicating: towering skyscraqers awash with sunlight, battling to pierce the sky first; perfect, uniform streets host to a multitude of people and machines fused together in the intense vitality of the city; wildly varied shops and businesses catering to every taste in the world – the view exuded promise and potential to a man like me. Visions of popularity and power and money danced across my mind. I couldn’t imagine a better place to start anew.

My brother met me on the platform. “You excited?”
“Nervous. Do you think I can do it?”
“Of course. You’re a great big new man now, reinventing yourself and all. You can do anything... ‘Alfie’.” He was mocking me, but I didn’t care. This was a new start for me – new name, new home, new job. Hell, even a new haircut. This time I would do things right. Jack didn’t believe that I could go straight, but he gave me a job at his company anyway. I was to sell his cigarettes to whatever businesses could move them. Simple enough.

I started small. We were a team of three, moving from shop backroom to shop backroom selling cigarettes by the box in the hope that they would be popular enough to get a contract going. Those men were my first friends in the city.

Jack provided me with enough to start me off. He gave me money and a job and an apartment. I loved the apartment. It has an amazing view looking down on Broadway, and I never tired of watching the city scurry around below me and knowing that I was a part of it, or would be anyway. The new direction my life had taken was amazing. At that point in time I could feel the entire world stretched out before me, and if I could only keep my nose clean it would be mine. The opposite approach certainly hadn’t worked. Then the phone rang and things got even better. Jack had pushed to get us a meeting with the biggest rising power in the tobacco industry: Marlboro.

Jack had a patent on his cigarettes. What made them special I didn’t know, but they were good. And that’s why Marlboro agreed to buy the patent from us. In hindsight of course perhaps that wasn’t a fantastic business move by us, but hindsight gives everyone perfect vision. We were ecstatic and rich – a very potent combination in New York – and we threw a party.

The worst decision I ever made unfolded in an unfortunate series of events, and they are all my fault. The party was at Jack’s apartment, and everyone was invited. Or at least it felt as though the whole city was there to celebrate. It was here that I was introduced to Nick, and through Nick I met Alex. Alex and I hit it off pretty well. Maybe it was because we were so similar. We were out on Jack’s balcony when I started to light up a cigarette.
“Wait… Alife. Alfie?” He was quite drunk. “Alfie, why are you bothering with that [censored]?”
“What do you mean?” I knew what he meant. My heart was pounding at the thought of it.
“Here.” He reached into his jacket “I wasn’t going to tell anyone, but I know that you’re the kind of guy I can trust. Got the feel of it about ya.” He pulled out a packet of white powder. “Just one, for celebration right?” He laid out one line of the stuff on the railing.
“I’m not sure. Jack would fire me in a second.”
“Yeah, but it’s just one and Jack doesn’t know.”
I leant down to the railing.

The train swept along the bridge into Manhattan, but I wasn’t on it. I looked back towards Manhattan and remembered the exuberance I experienced upon my arrival. The potential of New York hadn’t escaped me. For a second I shared with Jack all the possibility in the world. And I threw it away. No more second chances for ‘Alfie’. I didn’t even know where I was going. There was nowhere for me to go. I looked over the bridge railing to the water below. Maybe there was a second chance after all.

» Sat Feb 19, 2011 6:01 am

Snipidy Snip

pretty good actually, considering you procrastinated

» Fri Feb 18, 2011 10:33 pm

An Extroverted Mirror
With the pen of the poet, Samuel Rheinberger said “Men oft believe, that when they here wordy pother, there must be in it a thought or other”. Rheinberger’s allusion to Mephisto from Faust was directed at a radio talk show he had been listening to, with a guest speaker talking about how Bradfordville’s decline in high school grades is directly related to recent library cuts. This is a talk show Rheinberger listens to practically every day on his way back from his job as a radiologist. Rheinberger has been working as a radiologist for 13 years now; it is a job he for the most part enjoys, considering he is one of the higher paid physicians in the town. His main problem with his job is the fact that it is more repetitious than modern heavy metal music. Every day he goes into the same office and is looking at X-rays, MRI’s etc… with almost no variation, and when there is, he usually has to report that the patient has some sort of a malignant disease. Through most of the day, Samuel is incarcerated in an isolated room, with almost no interaction with anyone else, and when he does, it is usually with another doctor. In spite of the repetition, he essentially likes his job, the same way someone likes a plain slice of bread.

After his Faustian aphorism, Rheinberger pulled down his driveway. He lives on a medium size house on a large property. His property includes a yard that encompasses a total of 123 meters, in that area, there are a modicum of trees and very smoothly cut grass. The rest of his property is mostly woods, oak trees and pine trees. There is a large animal populous in his yard. He oft sees deer, rabbits, chipmunks, squirrels and seldom snakes. His driveway is a 130 meter segment of gravel and rocks, with a dearth of branches. His house, three stories high, 4 windows on each side on the first floor; 4 windows on the front, 2 on the sides and 1 on the back in the second story; and 2 windows on port and starboard on the third floor (all of his have about a 1 foot by 2 feet area). His house is constructed of mostly wood, appears to be a 19th century building, with a very thorough white paint job (every centimeter of paint is in place), but the windows have a dark blue color, somewhat dismal like a dark gem stone. His house is placed about 80 meter down his driveway, the rest of his driveway extends down his yard, slightly into the woods, and at the end of the driveway is his shed, his shed, with the same shade of paint and windows on all four sides, is like a miniature caricature of his house. About 70 meters his driveway is a brick path that, in the shape of a snake, goes directly to the steps that leads to his porch that leads to his front door.

Rheinberger parked his car at the side of the house, as he usually does, although, it may preclude other people from gaining access. Rheinberger got out of his car, somewhat lethargically, moving one leg out, breaking for about 3 seconds and slowly moving the rest of him out, and then approached his house at three-toed sloth speed. Rheinberger flitted into his house somewhat surreptitiously, not wanting to make too much noise, because his child Mark is most certainly sleeping. Rheinberger’s wife was not in town, because she had to go to Scranton to visit her father, who has a brain tumor, or at least according to Scranton’s radiologists. The first thing Samuel did was approach his refrigerator with mild vitality; he scrutinized it like a handy-man would to a shattered window. Dr. Rheinberger grabbed a bottle of water from the back of the refrigerator, to get to which, he had to sinuously move his arm around many containers of left-overs and jars of things like pickles, olives and pickled herring; like a snake moving through rocks. Rheinberger had fingered the bottle of water with his first four fingers, and moved his arm back in an identical pattern with which he moved his hand to the bottle of water. He placed the bottle on his counter after switching it from his right hand to his left hand, because the counter was on his left. He then closed the refrigerator door, and stopped for a moment to open the bottle of water and take three moderately long sips. After the bottle had been about 60% full, he walked out of his kitchen, and into his dining room in which he noticed that there had been an empty bowl in which he had put blueberries in that morning. He ignored the empty bowl and proceeded through his hallway. His hallway was about 60 feet long, it was only about 4’7 feet wide, because his staircase was next to it, and his staircase had ascended about 20 feet to the penultimate floor of his home. His staircase and hallway both had a dark red carpet, almost the shade of blood immediately after it leaves a human’s body. About 25 feet down his hallway was a mirror which was about 2’5 feet long and 1’5 feet high. Farther down his hallway, are pipes that are placed near the back left corner, above which is his bathroom. Parallel to the pipes is another mirror, except this mirror was about 2’3 inches long and 3’8 inches high, and it had a gold painted base with a Romanesque texture, as oppose to the other mirror which was a wooden base with a flat texture. Both his hallway and his staircase have a tan wall paper, with dim, non-manifest depictions of various varieties of flowers.

Rheinberger walked down his hallway relatively slowly, clutching his water bottle in his right hand, near his upper-thigh. Samuel had then moved surreptitiously down up his stairs, he did not want to wake up his son who was sleeping in his room which was located near the stairs, the doorway being about 2 feet in front of the stairs.
Rheinberger then flitted into his room. In his room is his large bed, about 8’1 feet by 6’7 feet, on the right side of the room, the side in which one enters the room, is his dresser, which has 6 drawers in which him and his wife keep things like clothing, and on which they have candles, pictures of them & their children etc…. He put his bottle of water on his bed, and then sat down. He only sat for a moment, pondering small things. After rubbing his eyes and releasing a small sigh, he stood up, remained stationary for a moment and then walked out of his bedroom, and into his bathroom. As the door was about half opened, Rheinberger switched on the light, and preceded in the same way he walked down the hallway. He hesitated as he approached an 2.3 foot area which is adjacent with his sink, and decided to use the bathroom. He undid his belt and the top button of his slacks, and pulled all his leg attire down to about his thigh, at which they fell to his feet and ankles. After he had urinated, he put down the toilet seat (he was exasperated about the fact it was up when he absconded it) and approached his sink. He put a generous quantity of soap onto his hands, after he dispersed it throughout his hands; he turned on the sink and let it remove all of the soap. He got a paper towel with which he dried his hands and had removed a minute amount of soap he had gotten on one of the handles of his sink. After a moment, he had moved his hand insidiously to a small shelf-like object on which his family kept their tooth-brushes, deodorant and the like. He had picked up the tooth-brush and brought it to side, slightly hovering over the counter of his sink. Samuil grabbed his toothpaste which was inexplicitly on the sink counter (but he was overwhelmed with joy to perceive the cap properly put on the tube), and assiduously put it on the toothbrush. Once the toothpaste fiasco was in order, he starting brushing his teeth. He started off by brushing his front teeth (both of which are slightly larger than usual) in left-to-right repetitive motions, after 26 seconds of that he moved on to the top left side of his teeth, he does similar motions but in larger strides for about 33 seconds, he then moves on to the bottom and back side of the middle-to-left side of his top teeth, which every single time he is to indolent to do properly and only does for about 13 seconds. He does a miniature version of what he previously did on the right side of his mouth which he does for about 37 seconds in no particular pattern. He moves in long regnant motions that occupy most of his teeth. He does the lower set of teeth far less thoroughly than he does the top, just enough to keep them semi-white.

After he had cleaned his toothbrush, and used a tissue to wipe off the toothpaste that had percolated through his mouth, he walked back into his room to retrieve his razor, for after he finished his routine shower. His razor was located in a night table on the right of his bed. He got to it from sitting on and sliding across the bed. After he had removed the electric razor from his bed, he sat stagnantly. After his eyes had scanned the area outside of his window, he noticed his neighbor who is an accountant pull into his driveway with his 2002 Mazda. This seemingly plebeian occurrence had a strong effect on Rheinberger. This had represented to Rheinberger, the pestilence of repetition that he so often neglects. He put his razor back into his nightstand, and glared into his mirror.

» Sat Feb 19, 2011 1:12 am

snip

That's the kind of wall prisons need to have. Less prisoners would escape that way

» Sat Feb 19, 2011 12:57 am

What do you mean?

» Fri Feb 18, 2011 5:07 pm

What do you mean?

I was referring to your massive "wall" of text. No spaces between paragraphs etc.

» Fri Feb 18, 2011 10:01 pm

Dear lord, remove that wall-o-text now before my eyes bleed out completely.

» Fri Feb 18, 2011 6:17 pm

Dear lord, remove that wall-o-text now before my eyes bleed out completely.

We have a rule about constructive discussion on these forms - that post just failed it in every way.

If you, or anyone else. do not have any helpful and constructive posts, best to stay silent.

» Sat Feb 19, 2011 2:15 am

I have one but it's 100 pages long.

And 4 paragraphs of 10 lines is hardly a wall of text. I mean if you don't want to read, why post in a thread about reading?

» Sat Feb 19, 2011 12:32 am

We have a rule about constructive discussion on these forms - that post just failed it in every way.

If you, or anyone else. do not have any helpful and constructive posts, best to stay silent.

It wasn't meant to be taken "unconstructively" (lol words). Unfortunately the internet has lost meanings in translation (and the touchiness of the forums exposes itself once again) but it wasn't meant to bash Tausig. I would read it but it's painful too

And 4 paragraphs of 10 lines is hardly a wall of text. I mean if you don't want to read, why post in a thread about reading?

:rolleyes: I do want to read it. Unfortunately it pains me to read so I thought maybe if he just added a space after each one of his paragraph breaks then it might be easier to read. Jeepers creepers people.

EDIT: Thanks Tausig, I meant no offence to you ^_^

» Sat Feb 19, 2011 9:28 am

The Ugly Barnacle

One day there was an ugly barnacle. He was so ugly everybody died.

The End.

» Sat Feb 19, 2011 7:41 am

If you have posted a short story, edit it and post it in spoiler tags.

All short storys from this point on should be in spoiler tags as well

The title can stay above the spoiler tags

» Fri Feb 18, 2011 10:51 pm

Is it alright to read now?

I would like feedback btw.

» Fri Feb 18, 2011 6:56 pm

Is it alright to read now?

I would like feedback btw.

It reads like a blow by blow report. You're telling a story, not reporting someone's daily activity. Much too wordy - your story is overly detailed and it kills the flow and the atmosphere of the narrative. Imply, infer and insinuate.

» Fri Feb 18, 2011 11:34 pm

This is a great thread and props to those who have posted their work here - it takes courage.

» Sat Feb 19, 2011 8:04 am

Hello, My name is SentientSurfer. I'm from the Fallout Fan Fiction Forums. This is a short Fallout 3 story that used to be on the FanFic Forum but is there no more :sadvaultboy: . Please let me know if you like it, and I hope you enjoy:

Spoiler

The Ballad of Johnny Duke: The Roach King

A low wind picked up the scattered sands of the capital wasteland, swirling them into a cloud that obscured the desert.

Victor paused in his step to lean over and stroke Dogmeat. He brushed the sand grains from the dog's long fur, while the animal whined.

Victor waited for the sand to settle before continuing his journey. He was dragging everything he could carry back from Canterbury and didn't want to walk into a raider or mutant ambush with all of it weighing him down.

He checked his Pip-Boy to make sure he was still headed in the right direction, and then paused, waiting for the wind to die down. When the dust and sand settled, Victor saw something strange. For a second it looked like just another pile of garbage or twisted wreckage, but as he came closer and closer to it, Victor realized he was actually looking at a man. The man was seated on a large wooden chair, sitting completely out in the open, in the middle of the churning desert. The man was dressed like a raider, in crude rag-tag armor, capped with a strange, metal hat.

Alongside the man were heaps of junk and scavenge – empty bottles, dented tins, broken dishes, and moldy trash. Along with the worthless detritus were a few valuable odds and ends, and a rusty minigun.

The man was sitting in an oversized oak throne, with delicately carved armrests. Behind him was a towering grandfather clock, still frozen at 9:40 A.M. At his dirty feet were several fat rad roaches, nibbling on garbage.

Victor wiped his eyes like he was seeing a mirage. The desert dust and grime had become a second skin to him in the few weeks he had spent on the surface since leaving the vault. Although he was still mostly ignorant about life out on the wasteland, he had known since childhood that rad roaches were vicious insects that would eat anything. He used to shoot them as a kid with a BB gun when they breached the deep recesses of the vault - before his father had opened the doors to the outside and the insects attempted to consume everyone he knew.

Unlike those familiar, deadly insects, the roaches in front of the strange throne seemed completely docile. They didn't try to pick the wastelander's flesh off his bones, instead content to munch on the moldy scraps that lay at his feet.

As Victor studied the wastelander, he wondered if the man had noticed him. He hadn't yet turned hostile which was always a good sign. People in the wasteland could be unpredictable. Against his better judgment, he decided to initiate contact. He waved his arms at the wastelander in a nervous greeting. He could see the man push up his metallic hat, squinting at him through the sun.

As Victor came closer, he realized that the man's shimmering hat was a large colander - a strainer full of tiny holes.

"Welcome weary, wayward, wasteland wanderer. I am so pleased to see that another traveler has chosen to visit my magnificent kingdom. You have my official permission to traverse these lands or to stay and dawdle as long as you fancy," the stranger beamed.

"Thank you?"

Victor looked the man up and down, lingering on the roaches scurrying around his feet. Victor had become used to all the eccentricities of each individual wastelander. Every wastelander he had come across had, to some degree at least, mentally retreated into their own personal world to escape their soul crushing surroundings. This peculiar man, however, seemed to be in a league of his own in that department. Victor took his time thinking of how best to approach him.

"Hello . . . I'm looking for my father. His name is James. He is middle aged, about my height and weight, with black hair and brown eyes. He might be wearing a Vault 101 jumpsuit like this one," Victor showed the man the back of his blue vault suit. The words Vault 101 were emblazoned below his shoulders in bold yellow letters, "I was wondering if you have seen anyone like that out here."

The wastelander squinted in thought for a moment, "it is possible that he came here to partake in the jubilations at my coronation. It was a such a revelous celebration of insectivorian supplication. So many wasteland ambassadors chose to honor me with the pleasure of their attendance that I cannot remember the names nor the faces to go with them all."

Victor stood with his mouth agape. Dogmeat growled at one of the rad roaches that had ventured too close for the animal's comfort.

"Your coronation?" Victor blinked.

The man nodded and leaned back in his seat, "my official election to the Periplaneta Americana throne. It was only after said coronation that I was allowed to take my current appellation - The Roach King."

Victor scratched his dry scalp and glanced to Dogmeat. The animal seemed as perplexed as he was, "you're the Roach King?"

The man made a big grin and tapped his fingernails on his throne's lavish armrests, "I am Johnny Duke, the Roach King."

Victor couldn't help but smile. He noticed that the Roach King was nervously eying Dogmeat. Dogmeat looked like he was going to rip the King's cockroach subjects to pieces, like they were living chew toys.

Victor eased Dogmeat back with his dusty boot, "you were elected the Roach King?"

"Oh yes," the Roach King smiled, "I was chosen to take office after the great blattarian referendum of 2276 - following a runoff, of course, with my formidable electoral nemesis, the ignominious Baron of Munchsee."

The Roach King plucked a fat, glistening cockroach from the sand in front of his throne. He placed it on his lap and pet it like a six legged kitten. The insect's feelers brushed up against the King's face and the insect made a series of high pitched squeaks. The Roach King then delicately put the Baron of Munchsee back down on the ground.

Victor turned green, utterly revolted, "you realize kings aren't elected? They inherit being king from their father . . ."

"Homo sapiens may choose to select their kings through dynastic succession, but arthropods are much wiser you see. Through popular sovereignty they select the best and fittest among them to rule their kingdom."

Victor laughed to himself, "and you were the best cockroach then?"

The Roach King didn't seem to comprehend Victor's humor, "I was most fit to lead. . . who else could have ended the blood feud between the Duke of Glasgow and the Bishop of Falkland?" he asked seriously. The King pointed to two insects who were nibbling on a rancid Brahmin steak, "who else could have exposed the Baroness of Munchsee's advltery or more fairly apportioned the morsels from the state granary?" he tapped a crate of Fancy Lad Snack Cakes which lay beside his throne, "do you think Little Lord Dodsworth or the Duchess of Nhimsy could have solved these conundrums? I shudder at the thought of all of these poor subjects being led by those with such little leadership prowess."

Victor slowly nodded, "good point. . .ok then. . .I think I'll be on my way," he began to walk away, shaking his head in amusemant.

"You're leaving already?" the Roach King raised an eyebrow, "wouldn't you like the royal tour? Perhaps you would like to lodge for the night in my castle?"

The Roach King looked back to a small cot laid out on the sand behind his throne. The bed was littered with old trash and covered with yellow and black mold stains. A rad roach poked out from a tear in its mattress, and then disappeared into the bedding, making a small bulge in the surface as it crawled around.

"That's a definite no," Victor gagged, "I'm . . . just passing through."

"Hmmm. Ah, I see. You're in awe of my regal presence. Nobility can be such a curse. The hoi polloi are always too intimidated to mingle with someone such as myself. . .But it is so hard to live among arthropods and not feel the occasional pangs for mammalian companionship," the Roach King sighed.

"I met a woman who would be perfect for you. She lives just outside of Canterbury Commons, underground, in an ant colony. It's only a few miles from here. Calls herself the 'Antagonizer' - Queen of the ants. You'd be a cute couple," Victor laughed.

"Urgh!" the Roach King shuddered, "I could think of nothing worse then to live with formicidaen company. They're all the same you see - all clones of one another. No individuality to speak of. They have none of the endearing personal foibles and quirks of each, distinctive, blattarian personality."

Victor nodded, "yup, ants are gross. She was actually pretty attractive though. . . can't say I didn't try," Victor egged on Dogmeat, "I'll be leaving."

"Of course, of course," the Roach King sadly nodded, "I have delayed your departure long enough. BUT," he dramatically paused, "before you go, please allow me to knight you."

The Roach king immediately reached under his throne and snatched an old tire iron from the dirt.

"You want to knight me with a tire iron?" Victor smiled, amused.

The Roach King turned the tire iron in his fingers. His eyes seemed to sparkle, "this is my royal scepter. It was bestowed upon me by the Bishop of Falkland the day I was crowned," he tapped his metal helmet.

Victor pointed to the Roach King's hat, "that is used to strain noodles," he then pointed to the tire iron, "that is used to remove lug nuts," he chuckled.

The Roach King's smile faded. He seemed to become a little sullen and sat in silence.

Victor closed his eyes and sighed, "okay, you know what? Go ahead and knight me. Then I'll be on my way."

The twinkle returned to the Roach King's eyes. He rubbed his hands together and then readied his kingly scepter, "what should I knight you? Where do you hail from, wanderer?"

"My name is Victor. I'm from Vault 101."

"Please kneel," the Roach King commanded holding his scepter high in the air.

Victor shooed away the roaches and knelt down in the sand in front of the Roach King's throne. He shook his head in disbelief. He was silently laughing to himself, amazed that after all of the horror he had found outside, he was still willing to play along with something like this.

"I knight thee Sir Victor - The Valliant Vault Vagabond," the Roach King tapped both of Victor's shoulders with his royal tire iron.

Victor winced at his new title, "how about just Sir Victor of Vault 101."

"Hmm," the Roach King scratched his chin, "no. . .I don't like the ring of that."

"Of course you don't," Victor rolled his eyes. He stood back up, "well thanks for. . . .that. Now it's time for me to-"

"And now!" the Roach King loudly interrupted, "a brief libation to celebrate your new honorific."

The Roach King reached back under his throne and pulled up a warm bottle of whiskey. He then fished around in the trash at his feet, shooing away a few roaches, so he could pick up two filthy glasses from the detritus. The glasses were caked in sand and moldy grime. Seemingly oblivious to their condition, he began to pour the amber liquid into them. The dirt and trash swirled around in the alcohol.

Victor looked down at his disgusting drink. He hoped the alcohol had killed whatever horrible bacteria were lurking in it. He was eager to leave.

"A drink. Hooray," Victor said emptily. He began to feign swallowing the foul concoction, "cheers."

"No, no now," the Roach King grabbed Victor's arm, "a proper toast please."

Victor closed his eyes and sighed. While his eyes were closed, the Roach King stomped his boot in the sand, startling him and Dogmeat.

"Baroness Munchsee, stop goggling Lord Dodsworth and turn your attention to our honored guest!" the Roach King yelled at a squat, reddish cockroach.

The insect chirped once and continued to munch on a glob of white slime.

The Roach King smiled, satisfied that he now had everyone's attention, "ok, now a proper toast. Please do the honor Sir Victor," he held his dirty glass up high.

Victor raised his own glass, "uhhh. . .to life above ground, in this hellhole. Here's to the both of us finding somewhere much, much better to live."

The Roach King frowned, "what a depressing toast. Why not give thanks for your enlivening company or the glorious scenery?" He held his arms out, motioning to the landscape around him.

Victor scanned every horizon. They were in the middle of a bleak, desolate desert.

"The glorious scenery?" Victor made an exaggerated shrug, "look around. This wasteland is a hellhole. Everything is dead, everyone is either a murdering [censored], a garden variety [censored]-" he stared at the Roach King with a sarcastic smile, "or a mental patient. I can't wait to get back to the vault and Amata."

The Roach King smiled, "I see now. It's a woman who has gotten you in such a lowly state, isn't it. I know much of women and love. I was once in love myself."

"With one of your subjects?" Victor giggled at the thought.

"Oh no. No, this was years and years before I became a king," the Roach King said seriously, "women are such wily creatures. The games they play with our hearts. Did your Amata break your heart? Did she lay with another?"

"No," Victor paused in contemplation. He had been gone for a while and there really wasn't any way for him to be sure she hadn't, "this just isn't how I wanted to live my life. I was fine with being locked in that vault. It was never a cage to me. I was comfortable, I was safe, I had a girlfriend, and a future. I always liked tinkering with things, I was going to repair Pip-Boys. . . I only came up here to find my father, wherever he went. It feels like he didn't want me to find him anyway. . . but whatever. He must have had his reasons; I just need to know he's okay."

"There comes a time for all of us to mature, Sir Victor. The fa?ade of perfection and parental infallibility from your vault womb has been stripped away. Now you are in the wasteland of advlthood. You can see the world for what it really is, but don't dwell on the veneer. The essence of the wasteland comes from the meaning you give to it," the Roach King peered over his shoulder, "although this place may have once been greener and more pleasant, now it is quiet. There is enough freedom and emptiness for a lone wanderer to be able to mold this world to his whim. Out here, in the barren desert, any man can have his own kingly, kingdom."

Victor stared at his horrible drink. He took shallow sip, "you mean I shouldn't let this hellhole affect me," he paused, "I should affect it." He svcked on his tongue and stood silent for a few minutes. He then put his glass down on the sand and smiled, "shockingly. . .that's the best advice I've been given since I was abandoned."

The Roach King gave Victor a fatherly smile, "if you find your missing father, bring him back to my kingdom so we can have a proper feast, the likes of which the wasteland has never seen."

"I'm sure it hasn't," Victor laughed. He clapped to get Dogmeat's attention and began to walk off into the desert, "until that day. . . "

The Roach King watched Victor walk away. Before he was out of earshot, he called out to him one last time, "Sir Victor, always remember how wonderful the wasteland is. After all, in what other time or place could a man like me be elected King?"

» Sat Feb 19, 2011 7:26 am

This is not a story, it actually happened today.

Yeah, so I'm at a gas station. One of the clerks is explaining to this elderly woman how the lotto scratchers work. And at one point he says to her enthusiastically "No matter what, you win the chance to try again."

I look back, and the guy behind me is cracking up. I'm tying my best not to laugh.

» Sat Feb 19, 2011 9:38 am

It reads like a blow by blow report. You're telling a story, not reporting someone's daily activity. Much too wordy - your story is overly detailed and it kills the flow and the atmosphere of the narrative. Imply, infer and insinuate.

At the time (it was a little while ago), I was way into details. I had an English teacher who would constantly say "Show, don't tell" and I took that a little too strongly. I may post another one in the near future, probably a more recent one.

Though I think that many details can be affective, I don't really think that it belonged in my story. I have some others that might be a little more balanced, but they are too lengthy (ironically).

» Sat Feb 19, 2011 1:38 am

ES fan fic in my about me.

» Fri Feb 18, 2011 7:26 pm

One time there was this girl. And she wants to be rich and work hard for her money. And have a awesome husband forever. And be Miss. America. And win all the Miss.Connecticut titles ever. And travel a lot. ANDdddd be happy ever after the end. :foodndrink:

» Fri Feb 18, 2011 6:40 pm

At the time (it was a little while ago), I was way into details. I had an English teacher who would constantly say "Show, don't tell" and I took that a little too strongly. I may post another one in the near future, probably a more recent one.

Though I think that many details can be affective, I don't really think that it belonged in my story. I have some others that might be a little more balanced, but they are too lengthy (ironically).

it kind of reminds me of the extreme details put into the cloths descriptions in american psycho, knowing you, i thought this might be deliberate.

» Fri Feb 18, 2011 6:39 pm

Well the descriptions in American Psycho were what inspired me to include such details (in all of my writings at the time, not just that one).

» Fri Feb 18, 2011 11:02 pm

One time there was this girl. And she wants to be rich and work hard for her money. And have a awesome husband forever. And be Miss. America. And win all the Miss.Connecticut titles ever. And travel a lot. ANDdddd be happy ever after the end. :foodndrink:

Based on a true story?

Anyway, here's mine that I actually wrote a while ago for no real reason.

The Land of Time by Holy Assassin

Spoiler

The Land of Time.

In the land of Time, there lived a brave and noble warrior named Legend. Legend was madly in love with a beautiful maiden named Destiny. Destiny was loved by all, but only gave love back to Legend, and secretly, an evil sorcerer known as Doom. Destiny's sister Fate was jealous, as she was wretched ugly and no one loved her, so she exposed Destiny's secret to Legend.

Both Legend and Doom fought furiously for Destiny, accompanied by their allies. Legend brought in Courage, Might, and Honor among others, while Doom was accompanied by Misery, Hate, Corruption and more.

They fought and fought, but neither side gained the upper hand, as they always matched one another. One day a powerful magician known as Justice, who used to simply observe the land of Time, took a stand. He could see no more of this violence, so he cast Legend far onto one end of Time, while he cast Doom all the way on the other end. He then shattered Destiny into a million pieces, so she could be with everyone who loved her, including Legend and Doom.

Unfortunately, in doing so, Justice was drained of all his magic, and simply withered away.

Now in the land of Time, Legend and Doom are coming ever closer, looking forward to the day they meet once more. Meanwhile Destiny watches over everyone. No longer jealous, Fate has been left free to govern the land of Time, however the allies of Legend and Doom also remain free, to fight one another in the name of their friends.

Thus is the story of the land of Time. A land which will inevitably meet its destruction the day Legend and Doom come face to face once more. Until then, the battle between good and evil continues...

» Sat Feb 19, 2011 3:07 am

Have you ever read The Necklace SpEcTrE? That story always gives me inspiration.